Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 81794 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81794 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
“Not true,” he replies as he picks up his fork. “You shared your history with me, and you didn’t have to do that. I know that’s not part of regular therapy, but I want you to know… had you not done that, we wouldn’t be sitting here right now having this discussion. It helped more than you could possibly realize.”
I smile, taking my fork in hand. “Then I’m very glad I did.”
“Does it get easier?” he asks. “Talking about it, I mean?”
“Yeah,” I say confidently. “It does get easier. I remember every time I told my story to someone—a counselor, a teacher, or a new friend—it came out a little smoother. Each time, I felt a bit more empowered that I could handle it.”
Tacker appears troubled. “Is it a secret?”
“A secret? You mean what happened to my family?”
He nods, regarding me intently.
“God, no,” I exclaim with a light laugh. “I mean… it’s part of who I am, and I’d never think to hide a part of me. Why?”
His gaze drops a moment before sliding up, a tinge of guilt there. “Because I told a few people about it yesterday. It came up inadvertently because Dax’s sister is actually in Kosovo now. She’s a photojournalist doing a follow-up story to the war. They were loudly talking about it. I asked them to hold it down so you wouldn’t hear, and, well… a discussion ensued. I told them about it—not in any detail or anything—but just that you were there and had lost family.”
Without thought, I reach across the table and take Tacker’s hand. It jerks in mine, but I grip him tightly. “It’s okay. I don’t mind anyone knowing the details. It’s not something I’m ashamed of, and it doesn’t hurt me to talk about it anymore. I promise.”
A gust of relieved air pushes out of his mouth. “Thank fuck.”
Laughing, I slide my hand free of his. With a pointed look at my plate, I ask, “Shall we try this?”
“You first,” he says with a grin, nodding at my plate. “In case it sucks.”
Ruefully, I shake my head and plunge my fork in. I scoop up a piece and bring it right to my mouth, letting it sit on my tongue for just a moment so I can relish the flavors of my youth.
I give a tiny moan, closing my eyes as I start to chew.
“Oh my God,” I say with my mouth full of honey, nuts, and heaven. “That’s amazing, Tacker.”
Seeming pleased with my reaction, he doesn’t wait, sliding his utensil in to grab a bite. He chews, swallows, and nods in appreciation. “Damn, that’s really sweet, but I like it.”
We eat in companionable silence and when we’re finished, we carry our plates to the sink where Tacker makes to wash them, but I wave him off. “I’ll get those later.”
“Okay, well… I’m going to unload that chicken feed and head out,” he says.
“Thank you again,” I say softly, and without thought, I move into him with my arms raised for a hug.
He bends, accepting my embrace, and I give him a tight squeeze. After a second of hesitation, his arms go around my waist. We stay just like that for a moment more.
When we pull back, we do so slowly. I don’t know if he feels the same, but, weirdly, I regret the loss of contact. His cheek scrapes along mine as we start to disengage from the hug. Neither one of us makes eye contact as we complete the final break.
Tacker pushes his hands down into the front pockets of his jeans, and I take a slight step back.
“You know,” I start since I think it needs to be said. “I’m really proud of the efforts you’ve made. You’ve done things that have been really difficult and outside your comfort zone.”
“All because of you,” he reminds me.
“No, all because of you,” I insist.
He smiles awkwardly. “Actually going to be a little weird not to see you this upcoming week because of the away games.”
“You have my cell number,” I say. “Feel free to call me if you need to talk.”
His eyes are inscrutable, but then he nods with a slight smile. “Okay… thanks.”
“Come on,” I say, throwing my thumb over my shoulder. “I’ll help you unload the feed.”
We head out to the barn, Raul nowhere in sight. Tacker and I make short work of stacking the burlap bags in an empty stall.
I walk with him back out to his truck.
As he opens the door, he gives me a last look. “Week after next… we’re back on, right?”
“Yup,” I assure him, knowing deep in my gut that I’ll be looking forward to seeing him again. “Whatever works best with your practice and game schedule. I’ll move some things around if I have to.”
Okay, that sounds a little too exuberant.
“And you and Raul are coming to the home game that week, right?”