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)
“You have friends?”
“Grr. Why do you spend so much time with my dad?”
I froze in the doorway, gnawing my bottom lip as I waited for a very Smitty reply.
“We’re fuckin’ neighbors and…I’m a fuckin’ nice guy.”
“Keep telling yourself that,” Jake snorted.
“I will.”
“Good. Are you finished?”
“Nope, still tightening the nut.”
“Gross.”
Smitty laughed. “You don’t have to stand here. I got this.”
“You might steal toilet paper or something. Whatever. My dad made pancakes.”
“Is that an offer?”
“Nope, it’s a statement.”
Footsteps retreated and then…
“See you at the rink, sunshine,” Smitty called out.
That was either a mildly amusing or potentially troublesome exchange. I couldn’t decide.
I put my sport coat on and stopped by the bathroom. “How’s it going?”
Smitty glanced up and gave me a thorough once-over. “Day-um.”
I rolled my eyes. “Seriously.”
“I am serious. You look hot,” he whispered. “In other news, your toilet will be fixed in approximately three minutes and…I’m stealing a roll of toilet paper. Don’t ask.”
“Got it. Thank you.”
His smile was soft and warm this time. “You’re welcome.”
I started to walk away, but I couldn’t leave without touching him. Just…a touch. I ran my knuckles across his stubbled jaw and pressed my fingers to my lips, then headed for the stairs. I said good-bye to Jake, who griped about the stranger upstairs while he cleaned breakfast plates just as Smitty called out that the toilet was fixed.
The front door closed behind him, Jake griped some more, and I just stood there at war with a host of emotions I couldn’t sort through at once. I knew guilt and fear well, but under the expected twinge of apprehension that I assumed was a mark of two worlds colliding, I felt cautiously…hopeful.
16
SMITTY
Jake Milligan was a little prick.
Hey, someone had to keep it real. Might as well be me.
He was a cocky showboat who was too fond of his wrist shot. He was also unable to take constructive advice without clamming up like a…clam, and he wasn’t nice. Well, okay…he wasn’t nice to me.
Jake didn’t like me.
For no apparent reason. We had a sport and a league in common. We knew a ton of the same folks and had some interesting crossover. I’d known his coach for fifteen years and played on the same team as the star right wing before he was traded to Syracuse. And damn it, I was fuckin’ cool and people fuckin’ liked me.
Sure, maybe I wasn’t as friendly as Bryson, but Elmwood accepted me. They had high hopes for their fledgling high school hockey heroes, and I was their conduit to success. I wasn’t naïve, though. If the team still sucked donkey balls in three years, they’d probably run me out of town. Right now, it was sunshine and roses, and Jake did not approve.
I wouldn’t have given a shit if it weren’t for two things: A, he was Bryson’s son, and B, he was Mr. Congeniality to everyone else.
No kidding. Jake was Elmwood’s golden boy. They clapped when he entered the diner, waited to shake his hand at Rise and Grind, and called out greetings from car windows as he walked along Main Street. And he seemed genuinely gracious and grateful. Not an ounce of entitlement.
Nope, he saved his asshat ways for me.
The first weekend that he’d agreed to swing by the high school rink had gone…okay. Jake had ignored me for the most part and communicated primarily through Court. But he was great with the kids, especially Denny—and that was what mattered.
Jake worked one-on-one with the quiet teen and was consistently encouraging. Denny hadn’t exactly come out of his shell, but he was comfortable around Jake in a way he wasn’t with kids his age.
My idea to give Denny a leadership role was a work in progress. No one followed instructions from someone who never spoke to them, and while I was a firm believer in leading by example, the concept was a tougher sell amongst a population that scrolled social media content like they were spinning for a prize on Wheel of Fortune. I could play the long game with any of the boys. No problem.
But Jake…let’s just say, I wasn’t sad to see him go.
Of course, he was back two weeks later. And the week after that.
Hockey season was underway everywhere, so why the fuck a young pro player would choose to come home on his off days was anyone’s guess.
Of course, I’d done the same thing. I’d come home often in my early days to see my friends, hang out with my sick dad, and generally make sure the house hadn’t fallen apart in my absence.
In that way, Jake reminded me of myself. Yeah, I’d been enamored with my pro status in the beginning. I’d liked the attention, I’d liked the praise, I’d like being good at something no one could take away from me. But I’d shouldered a fuckton of responsibility at a very young age, too.