Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 83756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
Especially after my rough day.
I’ve been working in the clinic for the last year. And don’t get me wrong, I love working under Dr. Abrams. But fuck, if this job isn’t stressful as shit. Since I wasn’t good at hockey, I wanted to make sure that no one had to leave the sport after an injury. I feel I let my dad down by not following in his footsteps. While he’s been nothing but supportive of Evan and his mental health journey, I don’t suffer from that. Evan was a carbon copy of my dad. He kicked ass on the ice; I just sucked. The hockey genes were evenly distributed between Evan and Owen, leaving me with only learning how to skate. Sometimes I feel like my dad thinks less of me because of that.
Which is why I want to help players get back on the ice.
What I didn’t expect was how much pressure there would be when you have someone’s body open and it’s your job to make sure to put them back together successfully. It’s terrifying. And I don’t know if it’s the upcoming wedding to Ava or if I’m just not made for this, but fuck, it’s hard to breathe once I step inside this clinic.
My apartment was my safe haven. And now, I have Emery there.
So yeah, I’m all for going to my sister’s house.
I may move in.
Shit. Emery would follow.
When I feel a hand cup my shoulder, I look up to see Dr. Abrams, a generic smile on his face. “Good work today.”
Yeah, I don’t believe a word he says. I was shaking so bad, I lost my grip on the Endoscopic Drill, but I guess I hid it well. He wanted me to take the lead, but I made an excuse of wanting to watch him more. It’s been almost a year. I’m gonna have to take the reins soon.
“Thanks, Doc,” I say, since calling him Jeremy is off the table. He isn’t soon-to-be family here, as he tells me daily. He is my boss, and I have to keep that boundary up. I can’t cross that line.
“See you at dinner, right?” His dark, bushy brows move with his smile, and my stomach drops. I forgot I had dinner with Ava and her family tonight. Fucking Emery, fucking with my head, and she hasn’t even been here twenty-four hours.
I press my lips together, letting out a long breath. “I was just about to call Ava. I have to cancel. My sister is going through some stuff, and she asked for me to come over.”
He doesn’t seem to care, and I’m sure he was only asking because I would give him someone to talk to. As much as I want to believe my charming personality appeals to him, I’m just the dude his niece is marrying. To give me a chance is to give her a good life.
Little does he know, I’m only around for a year.
His face shows nothing as he says, “I’m sorry to hear that. I hope it all works out.”
He pats my back and then turns as I say, “Thanks, Doc. See you tomorrow.”
He doesn’t acknowledge me while heading out the door as I exhale. Fuck me. Now I gotta call Ava. I hit her contact without reassuring Posey. She already knows I’m coming, even if I did have other things to do. My family is everything to me, and the pain Posey is feeling isn’t something I want her going through alone. I’m not saying that Boon, her husband, can’t handle it, but he’s hurting too. I think sometimes it’s nice to have support from outside your circle.
“Quinn,” Ava answers in a clipped tone, like I’m more a burden than her fiancé. “Are you on your way?”
“I’m not,” I say with more irritation than I intend. “I apologize, but something has come up. Posey got some bad news today, so I’m gonna go and have dinner with her.”
I’m met with silence. “My parents are expecting us. We canceled twice this month.”
I canceled. Because being around her family is like being in a funeral home. Everyone is drunk and miserable. I don’t get it. They’re songwriters, for God’s sake. They write love songs and happy little tunes. How can they be so depressing?
“Plus, Uncle Jeremy will be there,” she adds, and I run my free hand through my hair. “Can’t you visit with her tomorrow?”
I drag my hand to the back of my neck, squeezing it tightly. “Sorry, she needs me.”
She lets out a huff. “I really don’t get you. We are attempting to make this upcoming marriage seem real, but you keep canceling on my family. How are they supposed to believe us?”
“Ava, I don’t think they care one way or another,” I admit. “They hardly acknowledge me—or you, for that matter.”