Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79564 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79564 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
I flop onto the couch when my mother answers. “Farren? Everything okay?”
“Hi, Mom,” I say, trying to sound upbeat but the hesitancy in my voice belies my dread at telling her I’m in Pittsburgh. “Listen… I decided to visit Rafferty.”
“Oh,” she says, a little bewildered. “So that means you won’t be here for Christmas?”
It’s four days away and that’s a legitimate ask. “Actually… I think I’m going to stay here for a bit. A little change of scenery.”
She’s silent a moment. “And your job?”
“I quit.” I wince, waiting for more questions.
It’s the one I dread too. “What about Derek?”
I sigh, feeling the heaviness of having to explain this to my mom. “It didn’t work out and—”
“What happened?” she asks, worry in her voice, and I’m not sure if it’s for him or for me. My parents liked Derek well enough, but they’d only met him a few times.
“It just didn’t work out,” I say with a sigh, hoping the true fatigue in my voice in discussing a relationship that ended months ago and never really felt that deep to me to begin with puts off further questions.
“Okay,” she says softly. “And… you know if you want to move back home with me and your father, you’re always welcome.”
“I know,” I say, a surge of fondness and deep love cresting like a tidal wave. Despite the fact I’m always on edge because I feel like a constant disappointment, I know I have a spot to land with them if I need it. “But I’m going to hang here with Rafferty for a bit.”
“I’m just glad Rafferty won’t be alone for the holidays,” she murmurs with the happiness of a mom at peace knowing her kids are all right, at least for the immediate future.
We talk for a bit more, lapsing into easy conversation. I love my parents so much, just like I love Rafferty. It’s hard being under the burden of expectations, especially when I’m not even sure if they’re real or not, but never once have I doubted my parents’ devotion to me. I’m just never sure if they really like how I turned out.
Regardless, the pang of loneliness feels diminished when I hang up because no matter how much I might fuck up my life on any given occasion, my family’s love is unconditional.
I settle back on the couch and tap my phone in contemplation. I definitely don’t have to be lonely in all ways while I’m here in Pittsburgh. There’s someone who’s been on my mind the past few months and it seems silly not to reach out.
I’m starting with a blank slate.
A new chapter in my life.
Typical Farren… I’m restless, craving something… more.
I scroll through my texts, find the conversation I have going with him, and see it’s been almost six weeks since we last spoke. My fingers tap out a quick, to-the-point message. Surprise… I’m in town. Want to get together?
Almost instantly, I see the dancing three dots indicating a reply is forthcoming and why is my pulse skittering in anticipation?
His reply is short, but exactly what I want to hear. You bet your ass I do.
No stopping the smile that comes to my face, and I don’t even try to quell the galloping of my heart. Admittedly, no one has ever perked my interest like this, and no one has ever caused my blood to race the way it is right now, just from a single text.
When? I type back.
Let’s talk tonight. More dancing dots as he types. Assume you’re going to the game?
Not exactly the passionate response I’d expected or the definitive plans for us to romp around naked in his bed. But he’s smart for inviting conversation first, because this is going to be tricky.
If my brother knew that I had hooked up with his teammate and close friend, North Paquette, on the two times I’d visited him before, he’d lose his shit.
Okay. Talk tonight after the game, I write back.
CHAPTER 2
North
The roar of the crowd hits me the moment we step onto the ice. It’s a sound I’ll never get tired of—the cheers, the loud rock music, and the low vibration of adrenaline that will kick into overdrive when the puck drops. The cold hits my lungs like a shot of espresso and I’m ready to kick some New York Phantoms’ ass tonight.
The blades of my skates cut smoothly across the rink. Around me, my teammates break off into their usual pre-game routines—Rafferty firing quick, accurate shots into the net, Drake stretching his legs at the blue line, and Atlas skating lazy circles, warming up his edges. I grab a puck, stick handle it a few times, then fire a wrist shot at the empty net. It clangs off the crossbar, earning a smirk from Camden, who skates by with a quick “A little high, eh?”