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)
“You’re always here for the apple.”
Her teeth briefly bite her bottom lip. “And what’s an apple?”
“An assist in hockey.”
The thoughtless response drops my own jaw at the same time she eagerly nods in enthusiasm.
“Okay…” my brow pulls together while my heart begins pounding rapidly against my chests. “Okay, I’m ready. What’s next? What do we do next?”
“Next…” a mischievous smirk slides into place, “we’re gonna try something a little new.”
Chapter 26
Joey
This is definitely new.
Then again, I guess it’s really not since there’s literally photographic proof of me being in this spot.
However, not on my own phone that charged during my showering, shaving, and changing process. Seeing that Berks was right, that I did delete pictures and text threads and phone numbers, churned my stomach, yet knowing the lengths my so-called boyfriend is willing to go to in order to help jog something, to bring me back to him, calmed it down.
Calmed me down.
I honestly don’t think anyone – besides Berks – has ever given that much of a fuck about me.
It’s an amazing thing.
And it’ll be even more amazing when I actively remember it.
“Nanny Joey!” squeaks the little blonde-haired girl from the photos at the same she reaches out for me. “Yas cow chowl poutineveya!”
Welcoming her warmly into my arms is accompanied by a giggle. “And what does that mean?”
“It mean I miss you!” Her tiny face frowns as it falls to one side. “We always say to Daddy and Daddy always say to us, ‘member?”
Ignoring the tears her words conjure is damn near impossible. “Um…”
“Moya malen'kaya printsessa,” the older gentleman who carried her to the area gently starts, “Nanny Joey has a brain ouchie. She’s gonna need some help remembering stuff for a little bit, okay?”
Hearing the man whose name I wish I could remember come to my defense only collects more tears.
“We shoulda brought Make Me Better Moose!” She exclaims, cold tiny hands gripping my cheeks. “Are hurt or are you injured?!? He’s only for if you hurt! Not injured!”
The odd phrasing wriggles something familiar around yet not enough to give her an answer.
“Inside voice, please,” the white-blonde haired woman beside the male sweetly insists.
“Sorry Babu,” she says, prompting me to face the couple.
Uncertainty has me quietly questioning the male, “…Dedu?”
“Da,” the man happily informs. “Artyom.”
“Anna.” His wife gestures inward. “The mom.”
“Bella!” the kiddo wiggling around in my hold exclaims. “The princess!”
Princess Bella sounds an awful lot like something I’ve heard daily.
Then again, that could be because it sounds like Princess Belle, and that’s one of the best Disney movies of all time.
All of a sudden, the opposing team tramples onto the ice, prompting me to follow them until an announcer’s voice appears over the system, calling to us to welcome the team to the ice. Looking around the rather empty stadium has me wanting to investigate how bad are they since there’s practically no one here yet seeing one player take the ice solo redirects my focus.
“The Wookie!” Bella joyfully shouts while clapping.
Additional agitation spins around my mind igniting sparks of recollection.
Flickers of flashes that let me know we’ve already done this.
Lived this.
The rest of the team skates out, and after all completing a lap, number forty-two, glides over to us, pale blue gaze glowing so bright it practically burns to look at. “What in the f-”
“Tiny ears, tiny words,” I thoughtlessly fuss and adjust Bella on my hip.
He fights off the urge to smile.
“Daddy, you know that,” his daughter giggles prior to stopping. Panicking. “Ot-oh! Do you have a brain ouchie like Nanny Joey?! Is that why you no ‘member?!”
“No, Princess,” he lovingly reassures with a kiss to forehead. “Daddy’s brain is okay.”
“Is that why you traumatized your girlfriend?” his mother not so quietly mutters under her breath.
The glare he twitches is preceded by another, much younger woman dressed in business casual gear instructing, “Everyone group closer together by Alexeyev for a photo!”
His parents scooting over prompts me to create space for him to lean over into the photo but upon doing so, it causes him to grumble, “Uh…where’s your number, Joey?”
“Nanny Joey,” Anna firmly corrects, momentarily collecting my attention. “Relationship labels are very important at this age.”
“And really important when a child has a continuously changing environment,” Artyom concurs.
The throbbing increases.
Pushes for me to close my eyes and transport myself somewhere else.
Somewhere away from these people.
This moment.
It isn’t safe.
It doesn’t end somewhere safe.
Where can I go?!
Where in my mind can I go?
Should I hop on The Polar Express?
Book a room at The Plaza where I’m sure to run into Mr. Hector?
Ohhhhh, how I love Tim Curry.
“Alright.” Number Forty-Two shakily surrenders, anxiously doing his best to bring me out of my own mind. “Where is your number, Nanny Joey?”
“I…” Alarm thrums my voice until it’s nothing but air. “I…”
Unmistakable grief grinds itself through his gruff tone. “You’re not…You’re not wearin’ my number.”