Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 95107 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95107 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
I rub my tired eyes. Fuck. I miss her.
I type, I miss you.
She doesn’t respond. She must’ve fallen asleep. I stare at the phone for a while waiting for an answer, but it doesn’t come. So I pull up another chat thread and text Garrett.
ME: Quick drink at the bar?
HIM: Sure.
We meet downstairs and find a quiet corner in the lobby bar. It’s not at all busy, so it doesn’t take long for our beers to arrive. We tap our bottles together, and each take a swig, mine longer than his.
Garrett watches me for a second. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I lie.
His eyes narrow in suspicion. “Swear to God, if you’re about to bitch me out again about Alexander, I refuse to hear it. You broke into our house and planted him there to scare the shit out of Wellsy. If you think I’m gonna apologize for delivering him to you on Christmas, it ain’t happening, kiddo.”
Trying not to laugh, I cock my head at him. “You done?”
“Yes,” he huffs.
“Good. Because I also refuse to apologize. You know why, kiddo? Wait, are we calling each other that now? I don’t get it, but okay, sure. Anyway, we’ve all had to suffer at the creepy porcelain hands of Alexander. Hannah’s birthday just happened to be your time of torment.”
Garrett’s indignation dissolves into a grin. “Who you gonna ship him off to next?”
“I was thinking maybe a wedding gift for Tuck?” Our best friend Tucker is finally marrying his baby mama this spring, after three years of living in unwedded sin, that blasphemous asshole. I’m a bit surprised it took him and Sabrina this long to tie the knot—they’ve been engaged for-fucking-ever—but I think Sabrina wanted to finish law school first. She graduates from Harvard Law in May.
“Dude. No.” I swear Garrett’s face turns pale. “You do not fuck around with people’s weddings.”
“But the holidays are fair game?” I counter.
“Chicks are happy and agreeable during birthdays and holidays. Weddings? They turn into lunatics.” He shakes his head in warning. “Sabrina will rip your balls off if you do that to her.”
He’s probably right. “Fine. I’ll dump him on Dean. He deserves it more.”
“Truth, brother.”
A pretty, dark-haired young woman saunters past our table and instantly does a double take when she notices us. I brace myself for the wide eyes and piercing shriek, the plea for an autograph or a selfie with the Garrett Graham. But to her credit, she plays it cool.
“Good game tonight,” she says tentatively, her awed gaze shifting between me and Garrett.
We both tip up our bottles. “Thanks,” Garrett replies with a polite smile.
“You’re welcome. Enjoy your night.” She waves and keeps walking, her stilettos clacking against the lobby’s marble floor. She stops at the front desk to talk to the clerk, all the while continuing to toss quick looks at us over her shoulder.
“Aww, look at that, superstar,” I mock. “They don’t even ask you for selfies anymore. You’re old and washed up.”
He rolls his eyes. “Didn’t see her asking you for one either, rookie. Now are you gonna tell me why I’m down here drinking with you instead of getting my beauty sleep?”
I swallow another mouthful of beer, then slowly set the bottle down.
“I’m worried Grace is gonna break up with me.”
The bleak words hang between us.
Garrett looks shocked. Then, his gray eyes soften with concern. “I didn’t realize you two were having problems.”
“We’re not, really. No fighting or anger or cheating—nothing like that at all. But there’s this distance between us,” I confess. There aren’t many people I feel comfortable turning to for advice, especially about chick problems, but Garrett is a good listener and a damn good friend.
“Distance,” he echoes.
“Yeah. Literal and figurative. And it’s only gotten worse. It started when I played for Providence, but that schedule is nothing compared to this one.” I motion vaguely at our surroundings. I can’t even remember the name of this hotel. Hell, some nights I don’t remember what city we’re in.
The life of a professional hockey player isn’t all glitz and glamour. It’s a lot of traveling. A lot of time spent on planes. A lot of empty hotel rooms. And, fine, maybe this is sort of like somebody crying about how their diamond shoes are too tight. Boo-fucking-hoo, right? But great money aside, this life does take a toll, physically and mentally. And, as it turns out, emotionally.
“Yeah, it’s not an easy adjustment,” Garrett admits.
“Did you and Wellsy have any problems when you first joined the league?”
“Of course. Being on the road all the time puts a strain on a relationship.”
My index finger traces the label of my beer. “How do you unstrain it?”
He shrugs. “I can’t give you an exact answer. My only advice? Spend time together as often as you can. Go on as many adventures as you—”