Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 88895 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 444(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88895 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 444(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
Hearing him chuckle heats my temperature to the point that I have to tug at my collar to let in additional air.
What the fuck is going on, on this bus?
Did they turn it up to super sauna temps?!
Can we turn it back down to a would keep your coffee lukewarm level?
“Why uh…” I clear my throat in an attempt to collect my composure. “Why crosswords?” Seeing his unexpected reluctance to share has me curling my frame inward. Leaning forward. Playfully pushing. “Do I need to promise that it’ll be our dirty little secret?”
He shoots me an unsuspecting soft smile. “I would appreciate it if you did.”
Additional shock has me instantly nodding. “Okay. Promise.”
Tanner lowers his volume and frame in tandem at the same time his eyes lock onto mine. “I have two dads.”
The declaration has me cocking my head to the side as a silent indicator he has my full attention.
“Dad – the ‘All-American’ blue-collar hero – is the one who took me to every pracky and game and tourney and has been in the crowd for every monumental moment of my career from minis to majors. People see him and think typical hockey dad.” Pain briefly flashes in his stare before he presses onward. “Father – the Doctenn born history professor whose sperm took to the egg to create the biological glory that is me – is the one who has to be with me in spirit at every pracky and game and monumental moment because of the backlash that comes from having gay parents.”
One hand falls to his thigh in unspoken sympathy.
“I’m not embarrassed,” he firmly declares. “At. All. If it were up to me, they would both be there. They would both see me play. Cheer me on. Celebrate my victories. However,” the slow headshake encourages me to deliver a soothing stroke to his leg, “the collective consensus is that’s unacceptable in the sport. Growing up, anytime we attempted to pushback against the status quo, I was punished. Benched for entire games. Scratched for others. Dropped from premier teams-”
“All because you’ve got two dads?”
“All because I’ve got two dads.” An almost heartbroken shrug is given. “Father decided it wasn’t worth ruining my dream just to be seen physically there, which is why he stopped coming. He even missed my rookie skate.”
“Ohmygod…your rookie skate?!”
“Yeah…” I swear there are tears in his voice but choose not to acknowledge them for fear of him shutting down. “Dad is the face the world knows while Father travels with me in spirit.” The pen purposelessly taps the page. “Crosswords have always been something we did together as a family – with Dad’s answers feeling eerily similar to Wahls – so they naturally became part of my pregame ritchy along with carrying around one of these.” It only takes a brief second for him to pull out a mini warrior figurine from his pocket. “He would always slip one of these into my hockey bag to find on gameday.” The grin that grows is borderline bashful. “They were my little piece of ‘him’ that were there to support me in my greatest battles including the first time I made it to playoffs in The Show.” Tanner casually slips the miniature back into his pocket. “I have quite the impressive collection.”
“Show me someday?” leaves me so lightly and easily that I’m not even totally sold on being the one who said.
“Any day, Ducky,” Tanner warmly whispers back, attention dropping back to the booklet we’re working on. “Any day.”
Chapter 10
Tanner
Becks: Lease is up in a few weeks.
Becks: Need a place to crash til I figure shit out.
Becks: Got couch?
I lean my back against the wall of the Ann Arbor dive bar we’re occupying for the commercial and promptly text back.
Me: Got spare bed.
Arden places an ice-cold brewskie down on the nearby table at the same time she fusses, “Do. Not. Drink. That.”
It’s impossible not to chuckle. “You brought me a brewskie to not drink?”
“Yeah.”
“Is this some new torture tactic you are testing?”
“No.”
“Some sort of game mentality patience you’re strengthening?”
“No.”
“Some metaphorical representation of our relationship?”
“We don’t have a relationship.”
“We don’t not have a relationship.”
We most certainly do.
It’s just a wee bit more complicated than any other I’ve ever had.
All of a sudden, a leggy, long nosed, blonde production staff member pops up into the conversation with a small wicker basket full of beanbags in hand. “For the scene.” I slide my phone into my dark ripped jeans and transfer the object into my possession. “And don’t drink the beer.”
“Why?” There’s no stopping my head from tilting to the side in curiosity. “Is it poison?”
“It’s a prop.”
Arden sassily waves a hand in the air to indicate that was the point she was trying to make.
“Understood.”
“Your scene partner should be here in the next ten to twenty. Try to stay in one place until then.” She taps a button on her headset and spins on her heels to return the way she came. “What do you mean the app is gone? He wasn’t supposed to actually eat it!”