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)
His head leans slightly off center. “What kinda jobs?”
“Uh…assistant director of athletic communications at some university in Florida and game radio analyst for some small-town local hockey team in Michigan and brand strategist in NY which really irritates me because it’s unrelated to my field but a guaranteed gig because it’s part of the family business and I am the family business but I don’t wanna be in it like the tumor that grew into a person I call my twin. I wanna stay in sports. I wanna stay in hockey. I wanna stay right where I am, and I wanna know why the fuck would you ask me that?!”
“Because.”
“Don’t make me hit you again.”
Becks gives his arm a small rub prior to professing, “Frosky’s the only person I’ve ever met in my entire life willing to give something up for me.”
My arms fold across my chest in a wordless declaration to keep talking.
“I’ve been on a lot of teams, Hoss. And played with a ton of boys. But none of them have ever had anyone’s back on and off the ice the way he does. Even after I was cut, he still called. He still texted. He still fucking cared. It’s rare shit.” His shrug is more innocent than anticipated. “And someone that fucking giving deserves a broadskie that can be that giving to him. I just wanted to know if the puck drop came that the snipe in his life would be willing to give shit up for him because there’s no doubt that he would give up everything for her.”
Internally groaning doesn’t take long to transition itself outward, “Ughhhhhh….fuck you for being a good friend.”
“Bien?” Becks shakes his head in denial. “Nah. But trying to be better, aye?”
He can have that point.
He is trying to be better.
He got out at the start of the week after finishing the program and really started to get his shit together.
According to the texts from Tanner – you know since we barely date in person anymore – they cleaned out his digital shit – including his contacts and social media – removed all booze and non-OTC meds from the apartment, and had a maid come in to deep clean.
It appears as if Becks has been keeping it tidy ever since.
They also found him a therapist to start seeing once a week – who specializes in dealing with athletes – and have hit the gym together a couple times to get him back into some sort of fitness routine.
I’m proud of Becks for not giving up.
And I’m prouder of Tanner for not giving up on someone who had no one.
Even if it means I’m spending a little more time on the bench while shit gets adjusted.
“Mmmmm,” happily hums Trent Frosky as he casually strolls into the room with Carson at his side, “your cookies smell absolutely heavenly.”
I redirect my stare to the man who gave my boyfriend his blond hair, blue eyes, and adorable accent at the same time Becks pipes up, “And they taste heavenly too.” He wiggles off a corner edge piece prompting me to slap him with the utensil. “At least what I’ve managed to have.”
Light chuckles pour out of both men upon their arrival at the island, yet it’s Carson who probes about the sprawling selection, “What all we got?”
“These are chocolate and orange,” my gesturing begins to my far right, “these are spicebush berry honey cookies-”
“My mum’s recipe that I sent?”
“Yup.” Uneasiness settles in my gaze. “And as someone who had no idea what the fuck spiceberries or wheat germ was, let’s just say I’m grateful for the adorable little Concession Stand broadskie who knew more about baking than I do about hockey, which says a shit ton.”
“That really does,” Becks agrees around their chuckles.
“And then these are oatmeal, apple, raisin.” I tap the edge of the finished pan.
“Such a wide variety,” Carson comments on a nod of what I hope is approval.
“Needed a backup,” the tool is motioned to the chocolate orange treat, “and an ebuc,” the object taps the closest pan again.
“Ebuc?” Trent puzzles out loud.
“Emergency backup cookie,” the three of us reply together.
“A hockey quip, I’m certain,” he chortles and slides his hands into his pants pockets. “And one I’m sure our son will appreciate.”
“Along with you arranging for us to come down for family night,” Carson adds, arm draping itself around his husband’s shoulder.
“I’m so glad you both could be here.”
It’s a first.
And I can’t wait to see Tanner’s excitement.
As much as I don’t love all this hockey girlfriend PR shit – especially ones that require me to fucking bake nearly burning down my boyfriend’s kitchen – I’m really amped about this one.
Not only because I can do it – and not get caught like the bracelet making – but because of how meaningful it is.