Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 55599 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 278(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55599 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 278(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
The little boy’s eyes fill with happy tears and he looks at his mom. “Can I?”
His mom is smiling through tears as she says, “Of course, baby.”
It’s a good thing the Mammoths’ PR office sent two of their photographers with us to capture this meeting on video and in photos because I can’t keep it together anymore. I have to step out of the room to go clean my tear-streaked face off in the bathroom.
Archie and his family deserve all the joy in the world. All I asked Dane to do was come here and meet Archie, but he asked Arnold for a private area where he, Archie and his family could watch a game. He’d read through posts Archie’s mom had put on social media and knew steering clear of germs was important for him. That’s why Arnold is giving up his own private box for tomorrow night’s game and having it disinfected from top to bottom so Archie and his family will have a safe place to watch.
I take a short walk, get a Diet Coke from a vending machine and put my mask back on before returning to Archie’s room, where Dane is crouched down next to his bed.
“Does it hurt when you get hit by a puck?” Archie asks him.
“Not too bad. Unless you catch a puck to the old coin purse without pads on.”
Archie laughs, his hand still holding firmly to Dane’s.
“Who’s your favorite player of all time?” Archie asks him.
“All time?” Dane considers.
“Mine is a tie between you and Gretzky.”
Dane grins. “Wow. I don’t compare to him, but I’m honored.”
“Sometimes Regina lets me hit pucks down the hallway when everyone’s asleep.”
A young woman in scrubs on the other side of the room laughs. “Archie, that was supposed to be our secret.”
The photographers take several photos of Dane and Archie and then more with Archie’s parents and younger brother. Then Archie asks if he can show Dane the room where he watches the games, which turns into a tour of the whole floor and Dane meeting and taking photos with several other patients.
He’s the best version of himself when interacting with the kids. Kind and funny. Most importantly, he listens to them. He never rushes them or acts disinterested in what they’re saying. It’s hard to believe this is the same guy Arnold referred to as “a PR nightmare” when he hired me.
“That was fun,” Dane says to me when we’re leaving the hospital after being there for nearly three hours, and I can tell he means it.
“You were great,” I say.
“That’s one thing I never mind doing.” He glances away and then back at me. “My younger sister had cystic fibrosis.”
I have to process that for a few seconds before I can respond. He said had. Past tense.
“I’m so sorry,” I say.
He shrugs. “It’s a brutal fucking disease. So is cancer. If I can do anything to brighten a kid’s day when they’re fighting a battle like that, it’s a tiny thing. Nothing compared to what they go through.”
I nod as an elevator takes us down to the hospital’s main entrance, a lump in my throat. His suspension turned out to be a blessing in disguise. Dane’s time with Archie today was more important than any hockey practice or game.
A few hours later, I’m taking Mr. Darcy’s blanket out of the dryer when Dane calls out from the kitchen.
“I need to get out of the house. I’m bored as fuck.”
So much for my evening plans of catching up on work, ordering pizza and reading.
“Okay, I just need to take a quick shower before we leave,” I said. “But first, I have to empty the lint trap because that’s critically important to me.”
“It is important, Nosy!”
I roll my eyes as I take the tiny amount of lint and hair from the trap and carry it into the kitchen to throw away. Then I return Mr. Darcy’s blanket to my bed and walk into the kitchen, where Dane’s eating crackers.
“Where do you want to go?” I ask him.
He shrugs. “Someplace low key.”
I walk over to the refrigerator to get my water bottle, Dane making no effort to move out of the way as I brush past him. I’d be embarrassed for anyone to know how hard my heart pounds when we’re so close I can feel the heat of his body. I’m here to do a job, but I’m still human, and it’s been a long time since I was in close quarters with an attractive man.
“Anyone ever tell you you’ve got great legs?” he asks casually.
His compliment makes my mouth go dry. I’m wearing shorts and a T-shirt, my hair up in a ponytail. I love that he was looking at me, but it also makes me feel a little panicked.
“Um...I don’t know,” I say.
No. The answer is no. No one has ever told me that, but it’s hard to be coherent right now.