Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 90524 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90524 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Eagerness to hear more has me unconsciously leaning in a little closer.
“And then…moya babushka, my grandmother, worked for a small local bakery. She could rarely see my father play hockey because she needed to work to help afford it, but she would always make his favorite good luck meals even if it meant working ten hours only to come home and cook another four more. And my mom is a lot like that too. She’d work whatever hours necessary to be there for my games or tournaments or fundraisers. And eventually, she even refused to move around the country anymore – despite being offered raises and bonuses – just so that I could put in the hard work and hours with the best trainers and coaches and nutritionists.” The small shrug that leaves him is innocent. “Family on my knee is a reminder to always put in the work for something you give a fuck about.”
Unmistakable aching starts to spread throughout my chest making it hard to breathe.
Baileysandschnapps…I wonder what that’s like.
Not only to be that committed to other people but to have people be that committed to you. And I know that they are. To be honest, I probably spend more time around them than him and it’s Kris Kringle clear that they feel the exact same way. It’s why we constantly have family gatherings to watch his away games on the big screen while still wearing his number and why whenever they invite over neighbors or Artyom’s team post their own game he spends every chance possible spewing his son’s stats against others in the league, wanting – no needing – everyone to know how devoted his only child is to the sport.
To his team.
A team which also constitutes family.
Meaning he gets up and pushes on for them too.
I’ve honestly always been the one fighting for others.
Foster sibs who were picked on.
Ignored.
Abused.
Undervalued and under loved littles at nurseries and preschools.
Hell, the only reason I even know what it’s like to have someone fighting for me – other than myself – is because Berks latched onto me in college like a long lost sibling, she made a Christmas wish for.
Without her I’d have no family at all.
And I guess a family of two is better than a family of none.
“You’ve got a good egg comin’ in,” Igor calmly informs as he heads towards the fridge. “I’mma get you an icepack, aye. You want Belle or Anna?”
“Belle, please.”
“Of course, it’s Belle,” he retorts while retrieving the compress. “Who else could it possibly be in this house?”
“Yeah, I honestly don’t even know why you buy other princesses for her.”
My boss makes his way back to me bearing a crooked grin. “I don’t. Other people do.”
“Fools.”
“Da.”
Instead of handing me the object like I expect, he takes the liberty of placing it on the swollen area himself prompting me to hold the stuffed animal a bit tighter on a faint, “Thanks.”
“Pozhaluysta.” He lets his pale blue mirth-filled stare fall to me. “You wanna tell me why you were spying on me?”
“I wasn’t spying…”
The quirked eyebrow I’m presented with in argument gets me huffing.
“Okay, I wasn’t intentionally spying…I didn’t go in there with the intent to snoop or watch you…do…the…” Heat unforgivingly burns my cheeks along with the end of the sentence. “I just needed to ask you about a few things before you left today.”
“Like?”
“What’s the deal with this weird bone broth instead of coffee shit?!” My free hand gestures to the collection. “And how am I supposed to properly store it?!”
“It’s not weird.”
“It’s not weird if you’re a cage fighter.”
“Or a cage fighter that happens to do it in blades?”
This time his arched eyebrow purses my lips together in defeat.
Light laughs precede him adding, “And how is me drinkin’ bone broth to get my protein and collagen levels up any weirder than you drowning little baby meatballs in blindingly bright red sauce to train my daughter to up hers?”
“Encourage not train.” Sassily smirking mindlessly occurs. “She’s a person, not a puppy.”
“And we are not getting one of those no matter how hard she begs, Nanny Joey. Understood?”
“Understood, Daddy.” Small snickers successfully sever any lingering uncomfortableness allowing my shoulders to slump in relief. “And um…sorry about…interrupting? Er…ruining…um…the uh-” The brief cringe that’s flashed receives a couple chuckles. “You didn’t close the door, which is pretty much the universal ‘it’s okay to come in’ sign, and then I saw what I shouldn’t have seen and-” Additional redness coats my face calling for me to shut my eyes for a brief moment to collect my composure. “Sorry, Ig. I crossed a boundary I had no right to.”
To my surprise, he doesn’t address the situation itself yet something else. “What are you doin’ back so early?”
“Huh?”
“First period is dropping Bella off at school, second is hot chocolate from Loca Mocha Casabloca, and third is The Concession Stand for groceries.” He makes a minor rotation to the cold press. “That usually runs you about two and a half hours. You’ve only been gone one.”