Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 100661 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100661 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
“I know you do.”
“But I want you to be happy too, and sometimes you have to risk a little safety to get there.”
“If it were only about me, maybe I would have. Maybe I’d have put my feelings out there and asked him to give us a fighting chance. And if he’d turned me down, I’d forget him and move on. I’d never have to see him again and be reminded of the hurt. But I have the baby to think about, Ari. I can’t just forget Joe exists. He’ll be in my life forever.”
“True,” she said with a sigh. “So how are the shoes?”
“Stunning. Wait till you see them. And the new car is beautiful too.”
“Of course it is.” She shook her head. “You know, I’m not one to wish anyone ill, but when you finally find the one who loves you the way you deserve, I hope Joe Lupo pines away for you for the rest of his cold, lonely days.”
I laughed. “Thanks.”
TWENTY-THREE
joe
On a Saturday night in mid-January, after a shitty defeat to a team we hated losing to, a bunch of the guys went out for a few beers.
“You were off tonight, Lupo.” Next to me at the bar, Tessier’s voice held a trace of irritation, and I didn’t blame him. We’d lost seven games out of the last ten since Christmas, and our division standings had slipped. I was blowing passes and shots I should have been able to make in my sleep. My skates felt like they were made of lead. I’d started playing too carefully, too tentatively. It wasn’t my game. And my fucking shoulder hurt like a bitch.
Worse, there was some hotshot player that management was talking about bringing up from the minor league affiliate—and they were calling him the next Joe Lupo, which pissed me the fuck off.
If I didn’t get my shit together, the only hockey I was going to be playing next year was on the Dad Bod Squad.
I was trying to do what I’d always done before—tune out everything else in my life and just play hockey—but even that wasn’t working. I couldn’t compartmentalize the way I had in the past. I didn’t feel in control.
“Sorry,” I said with a grimace. “I’ll do better.”
“Something wrong?”
I wasn’t even sure how to answer that question. Since I’d driven away from Mabel’s house three and a half weeks ago, everything had felt wrong. We weren’t talking as much, and when we did, there was a formality to our conversations, a stiffness that wasn’t there before. We didn’t tease each other. We didn’t make jokes. I didn’t flirt with her or tell her she looked beautiful or call her cupcake.
I fucking hated it. I missed the way things had been before, and at night I lay awake thinking about where we’d gone wrong. What I’d done wrong. Or hadn’t done right.
But that was nothing I could offer up to my captain as an excuse for my poor performance, so I only shrugged. “My shoulder is bothering me.”
“You sure that’s it?”
“Yeah.” I lifted my beer.
“How’s the pregnancy?”
“Good.” Mabel had texted me yesterday that her doctor’s appointment had gone well. Baby was growing right on track.
“When’s he due again?”
“April.”
“How’s the girl? Sorry, I forgot her name.”
“Mabel.” I took another pull from the bottle. “She says she’s fine.” Actually she’d mentioned that her blood pressure was a little high, and I’d panicked and called her.
“Hi Joe,” she’d said when she picked up.
“Hey. Are you okay? I saw your text about the blood pressure.”
“I’m fine,” she assured me. “The doctor told me it’s common at this time during a pregnancy.”
The sound of her voice hit my bloodstream like a drug. I wanted more. “What else did she say?”
“That the baby is probably just under two pounds. And guess what?”
“What?”
“He got the hiccups while we were there!”
I laughed. “He’s got some of his mom in him.”
“Right?” She laughed too, and it made my chest hurt.
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Positive. How are you?”
“Fine,” I said.
“How’s the shoulder?”
“Not great, but I’m icing it and resting it when I can. Doing PT a few days a week.”
“Be careful. I know you must be down about the last few losses, but I worry about you playing too hard.”
“You don’t have to worry about me. Just take care of yourself.”
“I am.” She paused. “I should go. Austin and Xander are here to help me move the furniture out of the office so we can get it painted.”
“Okay.” My gut wrenched—I wanted to be the one helping her move furniture and paint the baby’s room. “Let me know how it goes.”
“I will. Good luck tomorrow night.” She hadn’t said anything about watching the game or wearing my number or cheering me on, and it dragged me down even deeper into the funk.
“Hey, Tessier, can I ask you something?” I turned to my captain, and he nodded.