Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 55048 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 275(@200wpm)___ 220(@250wpm)___ 183(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55048 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 275(@200wpm)___ 220(@250wpm)___ 183(@300wpm)
“Hey, what’s up with you and Dom helping Eleanor Lawrence move?” Beau asked.
“We didn’t know it was her until we were done.”
He furrowed his brow skeptically. “Really? You’d never seen her before?”
I shook my head. “I just moved here eight months ago, and you know I keep my head down.”
“Yeah, I get that. But now that we’re back, you’ll have to do all that captain bullshit. Fundraisers, cocktail parties, meet and greets. You’ll meet all the local celebrities.”
“Fantastic,” I deadpanned. “Thanks again for handing off the captain duties.”
He laughed. “I’m not meant to be a captain, man. I hate the politics.”
“Plus, the captain has to be the guy with the biggest dick, so…that’s obviously me.”
Beau lowered his brows, grinning. “What’s this? I haven’t heard you crack a joke in…” He turned to the seat behind us. “Colby, has Ford ever cracked a joke?”
“Nope,” Colby said.
Beau sat back down and looked at me. “I’m honored, man.”
I scoffed. “Yeah, it wasn’t really a joke. I do have the biggest dick. And you should be the one at the fundraisers. Bring your kid and show him off to everyone. They’d love it.”
“I’m not letting all those people expose my son to their germs. You do the captain shit.”
“What did you mean about Elle being a local celebrity?” I asked him.
“Her parents raised her in Denver, but they also have a killer place in Breckenridge. Her mom’s family is ultra-rich, like yachts and trust funds. And they gave Eleanor’s mom money to start her own business and it did really well, too. Her grandparents built a place in Breck for when they visited and it’s crazy. Everyone knows who they are because her grandpa always makes the Forbes list of richest people.”
“Shit,” I said, surprised.
Elle didn’t strike me as being wealthy. The things we’d moved into her apartment were ordinary. But then again, my rent was $10,000 a month, which meant hers probably was, too. Lots of square footage with the best mountain views, underground parking, cleaning, and laundry service didn’t come cheap. Newspaper columnists probably didn’t make that kind of money.
“Funny thing is, her dad’s an ordinary guy,” Beau said. “He actually played minor league hockey before he married his wife. I think she passed away a while back. Eleanor has a brother. He played hockey, too. My brother Asher played in a youth league with him for a while. His grandparents built a new arena for the league.”
I scrunched my face in confusion. “Seriously? How did Elle end up so anti-hockey if her dad and brother played, and her grandparents were involved enough to build a new arena?”
Beau shrugged. “No idea. I used to know her brother’s name, but I can’t remember it.”
Suddenly, I was more intrigued by Elle than ever. I’d been thinking about her a lot since our conversation the other night. It sounded like her brother was in a downward spiral, and her heart was clearly broken about it.
Seeing her vulnerable side had left me wondering if maybe I was approaching her the wrong way. Before meeting her, I’d assumed she was an unreasonable shrew. But maybe I could get through to her by getting to know her. Instead of telling her she was being unfair toward her hometown hockey team, I could show her. And get closer to her in the process.
A lot closer. She’d looked so sexy the other night, sipping her wine and sliding her teeth over her lower lip. It was her nervous habit. I’d spent more time than I cared to admit observing her doing it.
“Hey, I’m checking out for a few,” I said to Beau as I put my headphones on.
He nodded. We’d be at the arena in fifteen minutes, and I wanted to enjoy the last stretch of quiet I’d get for a while. I leaned against the side of the bus and turned my phone screen so only I could see it before googling Elle’s name.
Every hit was related to her work at the Denver Chronicle. I’d only read her columns about the hockey arena, and only in hard copy when someone from the team passed me a paper.
The column she’d written for today’s issue of the Chronicle was the first hit, and I clicked on it. There was a photo of her looking dignified in a green blouse and dark-rimmed glasses, her hair pulled back. It said, Eleanor Lawrence, Chronicle Columnist beneath the photo. I started reading, eager to find out about her opinions on things other than my team.
Teddy Jackson is a lot like other eight-year-old boys. He has some gaps in his smile from missing teeth. He loves swimming, popsicles, and hot chocolate. His favorite subject in school is science.
There are also some differences between Teddy and other boys his age. For instance, Teddy isn’t his real name. He’s been raised entirely in foster care because he was born with only a small part of his right leg. He’s endured dozens of surgeries. Like many foster kids, his greatest dream is to be adopted. And even though his foster family would sign the paperwork to make him officially their son today, they can’t, because bureaucracy is standing in their way.