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)
“I did it,” Dylan says, skating to me. “I did it.”
“You did, buddy,” I say, holding up my gloved hand. “Okay now, let’s go teach some kids,” I say, and we get off ice one and walk over to ice two and three. We separate, and when it’s lunchtime, we all gather upstairs for lunch. I look for Dylan, who is sitting with Michael, and they are laughing at something. “How great is this?” I say to the guys who look around.
“You are doing a good thing here,” my father says. “All these kids not having the chance to get on the ice, and you are paying for them to do all of this.” I shrug.
“There are a couple that if they are given a free ride would just be out of this world,” Matthew says.
“I have an idea for the Horton Foundation.” Max says of the foundation that he started long ago. He works with the child’s oncology department because his sister is a doctor there. Her stepson is a survivor, and she helped treat him.
“Yeah,” Evan says. “I’d pitch in money to help kids.”
“You guys are all copycats,” I tell them, taking a bite of my chicken.
“But with all that said, it’s a good thing.”
“Your kid,” Viktor says now, and I look over at him. He was quiet at first, and he took some time to come around. But after he went through his recovery and got with Zoe, he really blossomed and opened up. It was good to see. “He’s got hands; he’s got speed. If he had just a touch more height, he could even be three levels ahead. But it will come.”
“His hands are insane,” Evan says. “I was with him and the other kids his age. The kid didn’t even look up when he is doing the drill, but he just stared straight and let the puck feel the stick.”
I smile. “I taught him that,” I say, and I look over at my father, who just smiles as he remembers teaching me the same thing. “He really is great,” I say, my chest filling with this enormous pride that I didn’t even know was there. I look over at him, and it just clicks into place. Everything was there. I knew that I liked what we had, and I knew that it was special. What I didn’t know was that I would do whatever I needed to protect it. Now I just have to convince his mother.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Caroline
For the whole day, I am on pins and needles. I keep coming up with excuses on how to bail for tonight, but Dylan is with him. I pick up the phone no less than one hundred times an hour, phrasing a text, but in the end, I never send anything.
“You look like you are ready to crawl out of your skin,” Cheryl says when she pokes her head into my office at two o’clock.
“Yeah,” I mumble. “I’m meeting Justin’s family tonight,” I say, and she comes in smiling.
“How exciting.” She sits down in one of the empty chairs. I look toward the window, seeing the sun outside shining.
“It’s just …” I start to say and she crosses her arms over her chest. She is wearing one of her long white flowy skirts with a bright pink top.
“It’s just that you don’t think that you fit in.” She finishes the sentence for me. “You aren’t worthy.” She doesn’t stop either. “That he deserves to have better.”
“Pretty much.” I lean back in the chair. My legs shake, and my fingers strum. “We are from two totally different worlds.”
“See, that is where I think you’re wrong,” she says, and I look at her. “You are not that different. Do you smoke?” I shake my head. “Does he?” Again, I shake my head. “Do you do drugs?” I roll my eyes. “You see where I’m going with this.”
“Okay, I’m not a drug addict,” I start.
“You are in this place because you fell in love with a man,” she says.
“I don’t know if I ever really loved him,” I tell her. “I was seventeen when I got pregnant, eighteen when I had Dylan. My parents kicked me out, and he took me in. How do you know what love is at that age?”
“Exactly.” She raises her eyebrows. “You are a survivor. That is what you are. You are doing what you are doing for your child, which makes you just like everyone else in the world.”
“Yeah,” I say. “I’ll remember that tonight when I look around and feel like I want the earth to swallow me up.”
“You do that,” she says, getting up. “See you Sunday.”
“Have a great weekend, Cheryl,” I say to her, and she walks out with her signature wiggling fingers in the air.
I close the computer and make my way back to the apartment. The phone rings right when I turn on the street, and I press accept on the Bluetooth. “Sweetheart.”