Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 79319 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79319 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Eddie traded his regular glasses for goggles, did a few squats, and swung his arms in preparation, then lunged on the wet sand and waited for the judge (Trinsky or me) to say go. He didn’t rely on muscle memory. He swam with purpose as if he were coaching himself through each stroke, remembering to breathe in, breathe out, kick one leg, kick the other.
It took Eddie much longer to get past the breakers, and though he had to work extra hard to tread water, he didn’t attempt to surf a wave without a signal from one of us. And each time he washed ashore, his smile widened with pride. I cheered him on as if there were a medal on the line, arms in the air, chanting wildly.
Trinsky was twice as vocal. No surprise there. I wasn’t surprised that he was a good coach, either. I’d seen him in action at Elmwood Juniors’ camp, egging teens on with over-the-top praise and encouragement. Sure, he bugged the hell out of me on the ice, but I’d never faulted his dedication to the program and his willingness to volunteer precious time off in the summer. He was fun and enthusiastic but also incredibly patient with kids. Something told me Eddie had a lot to do with that.
“Pretty good,” Eddie pronounced, trading his goggles for glasses, his towel slung around his shoulders. “I was the winner. We can agree on that, but you were both very good too.”
Trinsky ruffled his brother’s wet hair. “You rocked. Hey, I was better than Jake, wasn’t I?”
“Be nice.” Eddie scowled and turned to me. “D-don’t listen to Mr. Cool. He teases all the time.”
“Who me?”
Eddie nodded profusely. “Yes, you.”
Trinsky shrugged. “Guilty. Let’s go to the house and make sandwiches before Mom comes to pick you up. Are you hungry?”
“Yes.” Eddie signed something and seemed to get frustrated.
“Use your words, Ed. It’s okay.”
Eddie squinted and took an exaggerated deep breath. “I’ll make turkey and cheese. Do you like turkey and ch-cheese, Jake?”
“Love it.”
Eddie grinned. “Good. It’s my specialty. Right, Mr. Cool?”
“Oh, yeah. This guy is a super chef,” Trinsky agreed, slipping his sunglasses on.
Eddie tied the ends of the towel around his neck like a cape and pointed in the direction of the house. “Last one there is a rotten egg.”
I watched him weave through the beach chairs and umbrellas, securing my ball cap as I glanced at Trinsky. “He’s pretty great.”
Trinsky nodded. “Yeah. He wasn’t supposed to be here all day, but my mom had to go into the office this morning and asked if Ed could come over. He hates last-minute changes, but he minds it less if he can be with me. I miss spending time with him during the season, so I rarely say no. My house is his house.”
“That’s nice.”
“I’m nice,” he countered, trudging through the sand.
“I had no idea. I also didn’t know you had a brother who…”
“Was special needs,” Trinsky finished.
I lowered my eyes, staring at the sand as I walked. “No, I guess I didn’t know that. It’s never come up.”
“No, it wouldn’t have,” he replied cryptically. “My private life is private. Either way…thanks for being cool to him. Eddie likes you. But don’t get excited…the poor kid has terrible taste in humans.”
“Gee, thanks.”
Trinsky bumped my shoulder. “I’m kidding. The opposite is true. He’s the best at gauging people. If he doesn’t like someone, there’s usually a reason. And vice versa.”
“You’re good with him,” I commented.
“Eddie is my ride or die. I would do anything for that kid, who you’re soon to find out, is an expert sandwich maker. You’re welcome for the turkey-cheese hookup in advance.”
I smiled at his retreating back, more intrigued by the multifaceted Mason Trinsky than ever.
The turkey-cheese hookup lived up to the hype. Eddie was chatty during sandwich assembly. He told me about his friends, Sarah and Anthony, and a bowling trip coming up at camp. His speech was halting and sometimes it wasn’t easy to understand him, which was usually Trinsky’s cue to lay a hand gently over his brother’s as if to say, “There’s no reason to hurry.”
I was in awe of their dynamic. Eddie’s sweet-tempered mannerisms were a stark contrast to the hockey bad-boy attitude Trinsky had cultivated. The muscular hunk painstakingly cutting his brother’s sandwich at a perfect ninety-degree angle was nothing like the jerk who’d blamed me for his Stanley Cup loss and inadvertently launched a silly PR campaign.
No, this wasn’t Trinsky. This was Mason. And you know, I liked this guy.
Abigail Trinsky was yet another revelation. Mason and Eddie’s mother was a tall, striking brunet with a polite smile and sad eyes who couldn’t quite hide her surprise at my presence in her son’s home.
“Aren’t you…” She snapped her fingers. “I know you.”
“Jake Milligan. Pleased to meet you.” I motioned between Trinsky and me. “I’m…we’re—I play hockey too.”