Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 90524 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90524 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
“No therapy until next month. Dr. Bouchard is off until the second week in January. She went home to visit family in Scotland.”
“Then I guess…I’ll just go…pack my bag.”
My head tilts sarcastically to one side. “You know that’s already done.”
“With-”
“Your Miss You Bear tucked in the front pocket.”
“Then could you please give me an assist here, Joeski?” He shoves his hands forcefully into his sweatpants pockets. “Anything to get me out of this conversation before it can get awkward again?”
A familiar, faint humming noise suddenly begins, prompting me to cover my mouth to stop the giggling.
Wow.
Should’ve seen that coming.
Ig’s face brightens to a shade that Santa would love to have on his sleigh at the same time he croaks, “Mne nuzhno yabloko.” His complexion continues to crimson during the translation. “A. Fucking. Apple. Baby.”
“Why don’t you and your father go check the backyard?” I wave a pointed finger in that direction. “You can make sure we don’t have any new wildlife moving in next to Bella’s new castle before we leave.”
“Da!” The sound thankfully disappears indicating he spoke loudly to cover his action. “Brilliant idea.”
Artyom lifts a curious eyebrow. “Yenoty?”
“Net. Krysa-mutant.”
“They’re not rodents!” Amused headshakes are attached to humor-filled eyerolls. “They’re marsupials!”
Ig leans over to deliver a peck to my cheek prior to repeating himself to his father, “Krysa-mutant.”
Artyom chuckles and launches into a full-blown conversation in Russian that he knows I can’t fully comprehend.
It’s not that I’m a slow learner.
It’s just that we’re really only learning the basics.
And Russian’s a lot harder to pick up on than people realize!
Pretty sure the only reason I even get certain words is because they kind of sound similar to their English counterparts.
Once we’re alone in the kitchen, Anna gives her platinum blonde hair a small ruffle. “When do you two have to be at the landing strip?”
“Couple of hours.” The question reminds me to retrieve the broom now that I have a moment. “We’ll wake up the little princess in a bit. We won’t leave without saying goodbye. It’ll make the transition from us to you two a bit easier than if she were to just wake up and not be able to see or hear from us.”
Anna sweetly hums while watching me retreat into the pantry. “Always so thoughtful…”
“I do my best.”
“I hope you continue to extend that courtesy to the other Slayers this weekend.”
Adjusting my grip precedes me shooting her a puzzled look.
“I just…” her lower back rests against the nearest counterspace. “I remember not feeling welcomed in the ‘Hockey Wives Club’ when Arty was pro.”
Rather than interject or investigate, I slowly begin to sweep the room in between glances, so that she understands she has my attention despite my movements.
“While every club he signed with had him on a two-way – at least until his very last contract – he mainly spent his time in the minors. Therefore, the majors didn’t welcome him the same, slightly looking down on the man ‘not good enough’ to play in The Show fulltime, and their girlfriends and wives gave me similar treatment whenever I did find myself among them. As for the players at the lower level, they embraced Arty through and through as part of the team, they understood getting called up and pushed down is just the nature of the beast; however, their girlfriends and wives tended to treat me and Ig like traitors. Like we had no place being welcomed when it was clear we were never going to put down real roots with the affiliate.”
Her choice of phrasing momentarily stops my movements.
Collects my full gaze.
“It was harder on me than I care to admit. I didn’t need to be accepted by them, but…I wanted to be. I wanted that network who would understand exactly what the fuck I was going through, basically being a single parent. Thankfully…when Ig got a little older, the other hockey moms on the teams he was a part of gave me that sense of belonging…” Her smile is thoughtful. Brief. “But you…without even being an official wife or girlfriend somehow carved yourself a place. Made yourself a pillar in that community. Became the spokeswoman without consciously trying. I just…” Somberness slightly glosses over her stare. “I just hope you make every partner and every child that is tied to one of those boys feel like they are part of the family because nothing is more heartbreaking than having your four-year-old son ask why he was the only rink rat not invited to Soddy’s birthday.”
There’s no stopping my shoulders from sinking to the floor as I whisper, “I swear, Anna. I’ll never be that person. And more importantly? I’ll never let that shit happen to a child while I’m around.”
You know, I may not have a “real family” because letting myself get attached to anyone or anything that long goes against my natural instincts but doing whatever it takes to not let a child feel alienated or alone or unwanted, the way I spent the majority of my childhood, will always outweigh everything else.