Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 106346 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 532(@200wpm)___ 425(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106346 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 532(@200wpm)___ 425(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
“Ready,” he says. Wiping his hands on his shorts, he nods his head and grabs his hockey bag at the door. I look at it, and I know that by the time the new season starts, he’s going to need a bigger bag since his equipment also needs an upgrade. He opens the door, and I close it behind me, locking the door. We walk down the hot hallway, then the five flights of stairs toward the parking garage.
Opening the trunk, I put his bag in there and hold his hand as we walk around the back of the car. I open the door, the squeaking noise echoing in the empty parking lot. “Get in, baby,” I say, and he climbs into the car and sits in his booster seat. I buckle him in, kissing his neck at the same time.
“Mom,” he squeals. I close the door, walking around to the driver’s side.
Another squeaking door when I open my own door, getting in and putting the key in and turning. It turns over three times. “No, no, no,” I say under my breath. “Please, please, please, please,” I send out another silent prayer. This time, the car starts, and I have to wonder how much longer the car is going to last. According to the guy in the garage, I should have scrapped this car last year, but with thousands in credit card debt and a minuscule salary, there is nothing else I can do.
The drive to the arena is smooth without much traffic. When Dylan’s coach called me two weeks ago to tell me that he enrolled him in a hockey camp, my heart immediately sank because I knew no matter how many days I ate ramen noodles, I wouldn’t be able to afford it. Then he told me the best news; it was all paid for through the Justin Stone Foundation. When I told Dylan about it, the smile and excitement on his face was everything. I knew I would eat all the ramen noodles in the world just to see him that happy.
Getting pregnant in my last year of high school was not something that we thought would happen. I was on the pill, we used condoms, and when I found out, it was the same day Andrew got the letter accepting him into the University of Edmonton for football. It was what he had worked for his whole life. Breaking the news to our parents was not an easy decision and deciding to keep the baby was even worse. My parents said it was me or the baby, and when I chose the baby, they kicked me out of the house. Thankfully, Judi, Andrew’s mom, took me in, and two days before Dylan was born, I married Andrew.
He wanted us to have his last name, and with his scholarship, we’d have housing since we were married. I had this idea of what it would be like to be married and have his child, but once Dylan arrived, my idea of perfect and Andrew’s were very different. He was riding the wave of his football until he tore his ACL and had to have surgery, and well, then he went down the rabbit hole of drugs. Though he did it so sly and sneakily, I had no idea how far down he’d gone until two guys showed up at our house and beat him right in front of me and one-year-old Dylan. The scholarship was toast, we were kicked out of the housing, and to add the cherry to the sundae, he had used all his scholarship money on drugs. By the end, he was addicted to fucking meth.
“Mom, will anyone I know be there today?” Dylan asks from the back seat, and I look in the mirror, watching him watch outside.
“I don’t know, but the good news is you make friends fast,” I say over my shoulder. The rest of the ride is quiet with him singing some of the songs from the radio.
“Okay,” I say, putting the car in park and looking in the back. “This is it. How ready are you?”
He unclips his seat belt. “How long am I on the ice for?” he asks when I open the car door and get out, going to the back and opening his door. “Is it all day, you think?” He jumps out of the car at the same time a truck pulls up and parks next to us. Walking to the back, I pull his bag out, and I’m getting ready to carry it when he grabs it from my hand. “I got it, Mom.” Picking up his bag, he struggles to carry it to the door. It’s so heavy, he ends up dragging it halfway there.
We get to the front arena entrance at the same time as someone else, and when I reach out to grab the door, a big hand covers mine.