Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 83461 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83461 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Clasping his hands, he says, “I’m good. I’m dealing, and I’ll get it under control.”
He doesn’t say anything else, and I’m not going to push. He’s an adult and I have to assume he’ll do what’s necessary. I’ve made my offer, and I think Camden knows me well enough to know that my help’s a standing offer.
“Okay, then.” I stand from my desk, indicating the meeting is over, and reach out for a handshake. Camden looks relieved, likely because I could’ve browbeaten him and tried to pick until I got to the crux of his story. “I’ll see you at the team meeting.”
Although I’ll still be keeping a close eye on him.
“Thanks, Coach.”
When I’m alone, I sit back in my chair and heave a sigh. I wonder how Ava’s job interview is going. There’s a good possibility that it could lead to her moving away sooner rather than later. I’m not crazy about the headspace this puts me in… I haven’t felt like this about anyone since Melissa.
I didn’t shy away from telling Ava the truth about past relationships. I’ve had two monogamous relationships with women that I would’ve considered somewhat serious. Serious in that they lasted a moderate amount of time. One was eight months, and the other was almost a year and a half.
But ultimately, they faltered. I just couldn’t give enough of myself. They wanted love and marriage and children. Those were three things I could not offer, and the relationships ended. I think back to those times and ask myself what I would do if one of them had gotten a job offer in another state.
I don’t have to think hard to know I wouldn’t have done anything. I’m not even sure I would’ve been disappointed. I would have simply moved on, like I always do.
It doesn’t sit well with me that I’m already invested in feelings for Ava, and that the fact she’s on a job interview causes unease within me.
The easy way out would be to cut it off with her right now. Ava has the ability to make me want to care a lot more than I’ve ever been willing to explore.
But the easy route has never been the path I’ve been interested in, and I’m not ready to give this up yet. There’s a chance she won’t get the job, and until such time as she might leave Pittsburgh, I would like to keep striving to spend as much time with Ava as I can.
Whether it turns into something like my past relationships, I can’t say. Will Ava want something more than I can offer, and if she does, will I be willing to cede? My past experience tells me it’s way too complicated and way too early in the game to be worrying about such things.
My stomach rumbles, and I realize I haven’t eaten anything since scrambled eggs at my house this morning. I open one of my desk drawers intent on pulling out a protein bar, as I keep a handful around for just such emergencies.
But my phone rings and my eyes go to the screen, hoping it’s Ava to tell me the job interview is over and she wasn’t offered the position. Thinking that makes me a complete shit, but I don’t dwell on it because it’s not Ava calling.
It’s Melissa’s mom, Connie.
I hate the way my stomach pitches over seeing her name. I hate myself for wanting to ignore it, because I’ve got the perfect excuse of being a very busy head coach of a professional hockey team.
But I do my duty.
“Hey, Connie.” My voice is gentle because I know every single conversation with her has to be done with kid gloves.
She sniffles into the phone, and her voice is watery. “Oh, Cannon. How are we going to get through next week?”
I hate these fucking calls. I’m not an insensitive man, and I have all the sympathy in the world for Connie. Melissa was her only daughter, and she simply hasn’t recovered from her death.
What’s worse is she carries on our relationship acting as if I haven’t recovered from it either.
Or I suspect, at times, she knows I’ve recovered, but she does not want me to move on. By staying behind with her, mired in bleak grief, she has companionship.
It’s now time for me to walk a tightrope, balancing Connie’s feelings with staying true to myself.
“I don’t suppose November fourth is ever going to be an easy day for us,” I say with sympathy.
That’s the truth. No matter how well I’ve handled my grief and moved forward with my life, November fourth will always be the worst day of any year because that’s the day Melissa finally let go and died in my arms.
We are exactly one week from the anniversary, and Connie is already spinning out of control.