Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79621 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79621 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Smitty had made an effort to get to know her in his quest to draw Denny out of his shell. He encouraged her to come to the Hawks’ scrimmages and even talked her into bringing maple cookies from the bakery for the boys after practice one day.
He’d chuckled when he’d relayed her crusty put-upon response.
“Cookies? What’s next…a trophy that says everyone’s a winner and no one gets left out? What a bunch a hooey. In my day, you won some, you lost some. It’s called life,” she’d grumbled. “Suck it up.”
I’d tried to give Smitty some advice on how to handle the irascible old lady, but he’d just laughed and assured me he was a pro at dealing with cranksters.
“No worries. I’ve got years’ worth of experience on this one. Dealing with cranky coaches, parents, and teammates was just another day ending in Y for me when I was a kid. I got this.”
Apparently he did, ’cause not only did Annie bring enough cookies to feed an army, she also talked the Hendersons into sponsoring the new hockey booster club. That was awesome, but the best part, according to Smitty, was that she was getting to know Denny’s teammates. Her habit of cheering or yelling semi-helpful words of encouragement had made her a mini celeb amongst the teens, who got a kick out of the old broad.
I loved that, but I was also a little…jealous.
I hadn’t been to a single scrimmage, I didn’t know the team’s dynamic—how they played together, what their strengths or weaknesses were. I only knew what Smitty reported. I was a good listener, but the truth was that I’d erected an invisible line between my life in Elmwood and Smitty’s.
To the outside observer, nothing had changed for me over the past two months. I sold real estate, volunteered in town, and…not much else. In reality, I led a double life.
I spent my evenings at Smitty’s. We made dinner, watched preseason hockey and baseball, played foosball and video games, and we had a lot of sex. We talked a lot, too. I felt like I knew him better than people I’d been friends with for years. I knew he had a soft spot for The Office, hated mushrooms and capers, and that he loved to fix things around the house. He’d regrouted tiles and rehung the cabinet doors in the rental’s bathrooms, and repaired loose shingles on Dale’s roof.
But he didn’t know much about me. I mean, yes…I shared tidbits from my day and reciprocated basic likes and dislikes, but…I never really let him in.
For example, Smitty had never slept in my bed. He’d actually only been inside my house once, and that was to fix a leaky faucet in a guest bathroom. He’d been outraged at the idea that I’d call a plumber when he was practically an expert.
“My dad was a plumber. I was born with a wrench in my hand and skates on my feet. Don’t fuckin’ piss me off, Bry.”
I’d politely offered him a drink afterward and had answered a hundred questions about the copious family photos of Jake and assorted friends on the walls in my great room, but he must have sensed I was uncomfortable. We ate at his house that night, and he hadn’t been back since.
That was on me. I stiff-armed him like a tight end pushing away the defense to gain a few precious yards closer to the end zone. It was my mad specialty. I protected my world at all costs. Sure, I’d dated occasionally in the past, but none of those men had entered my home or met my son. Even JC hadn’t known Jake until we’d agreed that we were better off as friends than fuck-buddies, and that was ancient history.
But something about Smitty was different and I couldn’t help but feel that by keeping him to myself, I was missing out. There were people in Elmwood who potentially knew him better than me and I didn’t like that idea at all. Besides, he wasn’t an out bisexual man. He wasn’t going to want to hold my hand or kiss me on Main Street, for fuck’s sake. We were friends, though, and I could certainly act like it in public.
So, I decided it was time to put it all out there and attend the Saturday afternoon scrimmage between the Penguins and the Hawks. I figured we could go from the game straight to Pinecrest and not waste any time. That was what I told Smitty anyway. If anyone in town asked why I was there…well, I hadn’t gotten that far, but I’d think of something.
Of course, no one cared.
The stands were half-full, but the parents and fans in attendance screamed their lungs out as if the Stanley Cup were on the line. Their focus was locked on the boys hacking at the ice in an inexpert attempt to score. And unfortunately, the Hawks weren’t doing so well.