Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 82651 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 413(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82651 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 413(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
“We’re like peanut butter and jelly,” I tell him. “She’s the type of woman I could talk to for hours, and well…she’s got all these embarrassing stories about you growing up.”
Van gives a soft, relieved laugh.
“Seriously, though,” I tell him. “She’s amazing, and it’s no wonder you love her so much.”
“I’m glad,” he says, and then I can feel his body settling. I take this as an indication that he’s at peace enough with everything else that we should get some shut-eye. It’s been a grueling two days between the reporter’s call, traveling across the United States, and the first away play-off game for the finals, which they lost.
But just as I wiggle a little to get more comfortable in his arms, he makes me go still when he mutters, “I played like fucking crap tonight.”
I hold my breath, afraid to even move. I have no clue what to say. Van and I don’t talk about his hockey prowess. We’ve never needed to because he always plays so damn great. But more than that, I don’t know the game on a level deep enough I could help him analyze the mechanics where he was failing. I just know he missed some passes, but how or why, I have no clue.
So I wait and see if he just wants to vent.
“Too much shit on my mind,” he continues, and I let my breath out slowly. I do nothing more than squeeze him with my arms. “Losing my focus out there.”
“You’ll get it back.” I feel safe enough to say that because Van is one of the most determined men I know. “Everyone has off days.”
“Not during the play-offs,” he argues and there’s no mistaking the bitterness. “Fucking Arco’s still messing up my life.”
God, I want to take him, palms to the side of his head, and squeeze so I have his undivided attention. I want to laser my eyes onto him with such intensity he will be powerless to look away.
And then I want to tell him that’s not fucking true. Arco is done. He’s dying. Van has the rest of a glorious life in front of him. Concentrate on that. Celebrate that. But don’t boil a shitty game down to the fucker who fertilized your mom’s egg.
But I don’t.
I can’t say that because Van doesn’t want to hear that. More important, he doesn’t want to hear that from me. Van has come to expect that I will give him the time and space necessary for him to figure out his limits. It’s a given that Arco will continue to hang over some of the decisions he makes in life.
It’s a given that Arco will continue to influence just how far Van will be able to open himself up fully to a relationship, and possibly love.
I don’t even dare to think past that, because that’s so far down the road the distance could be unsurmountable.
So I do what I think is best to deal with Van in this situation: give him another squeeze of validation for his feelings.
It’s apparently all he needs, because within just a few minutes, he’s sound asleep.
Chapter 25
Van
The buzzing noise is more like an annoyance, and I’m pretty sure it’s a fly zipping around the bed. It’s enough to wake me up, but not enough to make me want to hunt down the pest and kill it.
Besides, Simone’s warm, naked body wrapped up in mine feels too good to disturb right now. Both of us like to sleep with the air-conditioning turned down low, preferring to burrow naked under the covers and use body heat to warm us. Trying to put an end to the pesky buzzing sound isn’t worth giving up the small cocoon we’ve made for ourselves.
Simone mumbles, “Turn that thing off.”
I find this amusing, since you can’t turn off a fly, but then it hits me: that’s not an insect making that noise, it’s my phone.
Specifically, it’s the repetitive buzzing that occurs when you get several texts in a row while on vibrate mode.
I come wide awake, my first worry that something’s wrong with Etta. I throw the covers down—ignoring the yelp of surprise as the cold air hits Simone—and roll toward the nightstand, where I’d left my phone charging. I always turn it to vibrate before I go to bed.
Tugging the charge cord out, I hold the phone up, and I’m surprised to see the text icon sporting a red notification bubble containing thirty-six text messages. There’s also a bar notification that I’ve missed eighteen calls.
“What the fuck?” I mutter as I sit up in bed, pushing back against the headboard. Wiping my eyes with the back of one hand, I’m vaguely aware of Simone sitting up in bed beside me. I don’t look at her, but I can feel her gaze upon me. Blinking my eyes, I go to my texts first.