Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 136559 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 683(@200wpm)___ 546(@250wpm)___ 455(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136559 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 683(@200wpm)___ 546(@250wpm)___ 455(@300wpm)
I groan privately, then give in since it’ll just be easier. “Maybe give him a consequence if he leaves it up and a reward if he puts it down. K, thanks, bye.”
I hustle into my bedroom and slam the door, breathing a huge sigh of relief.
But five minutes later, the sound of the flushing toilet, a theatrically loud snap of the closed lid, and a squeal from Indigo filters under my door.
Seconds later, she’s saying—no, shouting, “That makes me so hot.”
He brays right back. “I knew it would, babe. Let’s both enjoy the reward…of passionate sexual intercourse.”
That’s it.
I groan, exasperated, but as I slip into bed and tuck my hearing aids into their charger, I revel in the blissful quiet.
Sometimes, it’s a blessing to have this kind of control over the noise. The hum of the refrigerator dims, the noise of the street fades, and the distant sound of voices drifts away.
Except…
“Oh god, yes! Play with my balls, baby.”
I wither inside. They must be having a really good time if he’s not saying “touch my testicles.”
“Fuck me harder, honey,” she shouts.
Somehow, some way, they’re louder than my loss.
In the morning, when I trudge, bleary-eyed and yawning, toward the shower, they’re already in the kitchen, arms crossed, arguing by the coffee maker.
“I feel that when you make coffee, you should make enough for me.” Ezra adjusts his man bun like it’s a crown before crossing his arms.
Indigo flicks her sleep-mussed braid off her shoulder. “I feel you should ask me to.”
“I feel you should know.”
“I feel we should ask Leighton,” she says.
They both brighten, snapping attention to me like I’m the solution to all their woes.
I hold up my hands, and shake my head as I sidestep them on my way into the bathroom since I feel I should get new roommates.
I slump down on the players’ bench at the Sea Dogs arena as my father flops down next to me, skates still on. He reaches for the coffee I brought him.
He works out there in the mornings, still snagging ice time for himself.
Perks of being a pro coach, I suppose.
I down another thirsty gulp of my tea, then sigh. “I think the tea is working—finally,” I say, but my voice sounds dead tired to me.
That’s no good.
“Rough night?” Dad asks.
“I barely slept, but the guys and I have a shoot today with senior dogs from Little Friends. It’s for the rescue’s campaign to highlight overlooked older pups. Worth it, but whew, I need more caffeine.”
“Is it the futon? Those things are the devil’s work,” he says.
I crack my neck, shifting it side to side. “I wish it were the futon.”
He shoots me a sympathetic look. “What is it then?”
After a semi-truck-size yawn seizes me, I blurt out all my frustration. “I’ve become their mediator,” I say, then tell him all about my roommates’ constant bickering.
I leave out the dirty details.
When I’m done, there’s a serious look in his dark blue eyes. He’s quiet for a beat, and I can tell he’s devising a plan. His coach mindset runs deep in him. His strategic mind never rests. He takes a fortifying drink of the coffee, then sets it down on the bench. “I know you want to make it on your own, and I respect that, but this situation sounds miserable. What if I helped with rent? You could find a place you actually like.”
My heart tugs. His offer is so ridiculously tempting. “Thanks, Dad. Let me think about it, but at first blush, I still think I need to do this whole life thing on my own.”
I switch to sign language because this feels intensely personal. Know what I mean?
His smile is kind, a touch sad. I do know.
He taught me how to navigate the world. He gave me the skills and the faith. Now it’s up to me to show that I can do that—carve out a life for myself. I don’t know what the future holds; no one does of course. But I know I need to be independent. And I know, too, that he respects that.
He wraps an arm around my shoulders and squeezes. I set my head on his shoulder, feeling safe for the moment, like I did growing up.
But even though I know deeply that I can always count on him, I need to be certain, too, that I can always count on myself.
28
HE’S GOT THIS
Miles
As I pop in my contact lens in the morning, I’m mentally running through my schedule for the next couple weeks. Mom’s dog-sitter, Dania, sprained her ankle freeing a stuck cat from a curtain, so Charlie and I offered to handle the dogs during the cruise. We’ll trade off taking the hellions based on my travel schedule—the dogs arrive this afternoon, I take off in two days for a road trip, then I’ll have them again for a few more days when I return. It’s a lot but it’s doable with the two of us.