Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 82651 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 413(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82651 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 413(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Pushing up from the couch, I pick up my empty glass of water from the coffee table and take it into the kitchen. This house used to be so loud and bustling with activity, given the fact there were three boys and one girl running around. Now it’s eerily quiet as I’m the only occupant, and yeah, for a sociable girl like me, I’m fucking lonely as hell right now.
With a regretful sigh for many things—most of which would be ever getting involved with a man like Van I knew could probably break me bad—I head into my bathroom. I run a hot bath, add a lavender bath bomb, and then strip my clothes off. I pile my hair on top of my head, step in, and prepare to just relax. I’m hoping the lavender will destress me enough that I can at least get a solid night’s sleep. Those have been hard to come by, not only because of Van pretty much pushing me away, but the worry I’ve had constantly over how he’s handling things.
I’ve been stalking social media and news outlets, reading every single comment people are making on the article Vernicki released, as well as some follow-up articles by other news organizations. Van has made no comment, although the Cold Fury made a statement on his behalf.
At a press conference after game four, the day after the article was released, Brian Brannon specifically addressed it to reporters. He said, “Van Turner is an integral part of this team. He’s part of our family. He’s loyal, dedicated, and genuine. Any attempts to compare him to a man he barely knows can be nothing other than a sleazy attempt to boost ratings. Van has this team’s full support and we are very much looking forward to watching him in action to help us win the Stanley Cup.”
God, I thought that was so sweet. Lucas and Max both confirmed to me through a few calls and texts that the team was rallying around him. Almost everyone reached out to him either with a text, a call, or simply a slap on the back with a heartfelt, “Hang in there, buddy.” He was finally getting what he lacked all those years ago. Validation from peers that he’s a good person and what his father did has no bearing on the man he is today.
I also know Van is doing reasonably well because Etta has been in contact with me. I didn’t say goodbye to her when I left Vancouver and that pained me a little. But honestly, if Van didn’t want something with me, there was no sense in continuing a relationship with Etta. Besides, I was so pissed at Van I could only think about getting the hell out of there.
By the time I’d landed in Raleigh that night, there was a text from Etta. Van must have given her my number.
Checking to make sure you’re okay. Van is worried. He said all your stuff is gone.
Yeah, well what the fuck did he expect? Me to hang around like a little puppy because he generously offered me the room?
But I wasn’t mad at Etta, so my text back was nice and reassuring. I’m fine. Please tell Van not to worry.
I thought that would be the end of it. But it wasn’t. Her next text set me back on my heels. He made a mistake and he knows it. I know my boy and he’s regretting his words.
I couldn’t help the swift reply. He told you that specifically?
Her reply was not as quick, and I could read the chagrin in the tone. Well…no. But I know him. I can see it on his face.
I wanted to tell her that was probably a million other stressors she was seeing in his expression, but it was mostly because of the news article. I wasn’t even a blip on Van’s radar, I was sure.
I wrote her back a longer text just telling her I appreciated her concern but that I was fine and was giving Van the exact space he needed. I also made it clear that I was moving on and not looking back. I told Van it was now or never.
He chose never.
I am indeed moving on.
So here I sit, alone in my parents’ house in Quebec while my family is celebrating a Stanley Cup win.
It fucking sucks, and thus I’m going to soak away my problems in the tub.
Just as I settle down into the steaming, fragrant water and lean my head back, my phone chimes the arrival of a text.
I look at it across the bathroom, sitting on the vanity where I’d left it. That text could be from any number of people, and most likely from one of my parents about the Cold Fury winning the Cup. I expect right about now they are still having each team member skate it around the ice, and a sharp pang of regret robs me of my breath that I’m not there celebrating. My hurt over Van pushing me away caused me to turn my back on my brothers, and that’s not cool. Sure, they were all understanding when I told them I didn’t want to come, but that doesn’t lessen my guilt or my sadness that I won’t have that memory with Lucas. I at least shared last year’s win with Max.