Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 57576 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 288(@200wpm)___ 230(@250wpm)___ 192(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57576 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 288(@200wpm)___ 230(@250wpm)___ 192(@300wpm)
Which is more important to me? I guess it depends how our conversation tomorrow goes.
Since the day I first saw Reese a year and a half ago in Kauai, no woman has drawn me in the way she does. She’s got a way of making me feel more—more happy, more passionate, more alive.
I can’t remember what life was like before I reconnected with her. How do I go back to that?
“Got everything you need, Knox?” our equipment manager, Chuck, asks me. “I think I brought everything, but just want to be sure.”
“Yeah, it looks good, man. Thanks.”
He nods and walks away. It looks like Anton told every single member of our team and its staff that I don’t want to talk about my dad. On a day when I want to save all my energy for the ice, it means a lot. He’s a damn good team captain.
I’ve got some down time before I have to get dressed for the game. What I really want to do is call or text Reese. That short conversation we had wasn’t nearly enough. I don’t care if we talk about important stuff; I just want to hear her voice.
But she’s at work, and I should probably focus on pregame stuff, anyway. I put in my headphones and get out my jar of peanut butter from my equipment bag, hoping Twenty One Pilots will get me back in the game zone.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Reese
The moment I open my apartment door and see Knox’s face, I fall apart. His expression is grief stricken, with dark circles beneath his eyes.
We reach for each other at the same time, and he holds me close, kissing the top of my head and then pressing his cheek to it. I’m crying and he’s crying, but somehow he makes it through the doorway and closes the door behind us.
I want to be the person who comforts him right now, but after a minute of hugging and crying, I can’t help pulling back and asking, “Why didn’t you tell me?”
He looks down at me forlornly. “I told myself it was never the right time. That I didn’t want to bring any sadness into our relationship. But I realize now that was bullshit. I just didn’t want to…” He swallows hard. “…say the words out loud.”
Nodding, I try to understand.
“It’s fucking dumb, I know,” he says. “But until the very end, I had this irrational hope that a new experimental treatment would be found, or that he’d start to get better somehow.”
I reach up and use the pads of my thumbs to brush the tears from his cheeks before they reach his beard.
“It’s not that I don’t trust you,” he says, his expression tortured. “It’s nothing like that at all. I just wanted you to be my escape, I guess. I’m always just happier being around you, and I wanted to keep it that way.”
I look up at him, sighing softly. “I can see how you’d want that. I went to Switzerland to escape everything even after our brief time in Kauai. But I was alone that time. When you love someone, aren’t you supposed to share the good and the bad with them?”
“Yeah. I should’ve told you, babe. How did you find out?”
“Reading the news on my phone.”
He closes his eyes, looking shamed. “I’m sorry.”
“You didn’t even mention he was sick.”
“I didn’t tell anyone. Lots of people in the hockey world found out other ways, from friends and stuff since Dad was a player. When people found out, they would ask me how bad it was and whether the doctors thought he’d make it.” He looks away, tears shining in his dark eyes. “I hated talking about it.”
We both take a breath, and I realize he’s still hurting badly. This loss is still very fresh for him. When my mom died, I felt like I was in a fog of grief for weeks afterward.
“Come on in and sit down,” I say. “Can I get you a drink?”
“A shot of whiskey would be nice,” he replies quietly.
“I’m fresh out,” I say with a slight smile. “Want some water?”
“Yeah, that’d be good.”
I walk into my kitchen and get a bottle of water out of the fridge, checking my hair in the reflection of the microwave door. I’ve been nervous about this conversation since we set it up yesterday. Knox and I have never had tension between us until now, and I don’t like it.
“So—” I start as I walk back into the living room, but Knox cuts me off.
“Can we talk about anything but my dad? It’s not that I don’t want to tell you things, I’m just…”
“Raw. I get it.” I pass him the water.
“Thanks.” He unscrews the cap and takes a sip as he sits down on the couch. “How was New York?”
I sit down in a chair across from the couch. “Do you want the glossed over version or the whole truth?”