Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 132951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 665(@200wpm)___ 532(@250wpm)___ 443(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 665(@200wpm)___ 532(@250wpm)___ 443(@300wpm)
Pain lances my heart. “What does that mean?”
His jaw tics, but his eyes remain on mine. “She needs a heart valve replacement. If she can’t have the surgery, I could lose her inside a year.”
The truth is sandpaper rubbed across raw skin. There’s an answer to his problem, a way to keep Lucy here, but it’s out of reach. That’s almost more than I can bear. Maybe because my world is falling apart, and I already stand to lose so much if I can’t figure out what to do about my apartment. Maybe because I sense how devastated Connor is by the prospect. Maybe because I’ve come to see Lucy like the grandmother I never had.
I reach out and cover his wide palm with mine, his fingers flex, but he doesn’t pull away. “I’m so sorry.” Emotions rain down on me, and tears well up—for making my emotions his to deal with, for his pain, for my own.
He looks at me strangely. “You didn’t make her heart weak.”
I withdraw my hand and rummage in my bag for a tissue, still on the verge of tears. This is his loss, not mine. Then why does it hurt so much?
“I should go.” I finally find the tissue I was looking for, but with it comes a piece of paper.
It unfolds as it flutters to the ground, and Connor scoops it up before I can. His brows pull together as he scans the document—the one from my landlord.
“You’re in trouble.” It’s a statement, not a question.
I grab the letter and stuff it back in my purse. “It’s a misunderstanding. I’ll figure it out.” I rush down the spiral staircase, wishing a fairy godmother would appear, wave her magic wand, and fix my problem.
It seems all gifts come with a price.
CHAPTER 3
CONNOR
Iconnected the dots a while ago that Meems’s favorite librarian was the woman I sit next to at Callie’s games. But I kept that to myself until recently, mostly because it meant I had an unguarded, unfiltered view of Mildred through my grandmother’s eyes.
My palms dampen as I enter the arena. I keep trying to shove Mildred back into the neat little box labeled my enemy’s best friend who I sit beside at Callie’s games, but yesterday she stepped out of it, and now I can’t get it closed.
Because on top of how sweet she is with Callie, I saw the way she was with Meems. They care for each other, and I witnessed how much it hurt Mildred to find out I could lose Meems—that we could lose her.
I watched Flip at practice today for signs of stress. Mildred is his best friend—maybe more, but I’ve never seen evidence to prove that. He was his usual self at practice, focused, no signs of worry, no compulsive phone checking in the locker room. Which begs the question: Does he know she’s in trouble? And if not, why?
The kids are already on the ice and Callie is in net. I scan the seats and spot Mildred, my heart rate spiking as I head in her direction. She’s sitting in the front row, wearing a team toque, bundled in a winter jacket. There’s a smile on her beautiful face as she adjusts her glasses. She hasn’t noticed me yet. Neither have the team moms a few rows back.
“He’s usually here by now,” one of the moms says as I enter hearing range.
“Maybe he’s not coming.”
“Here’s hoping. He’s such a bad influence on these kids.”
“Right? When isn’t he mouthing off on the ice?”
“Or getting into fights. Did you see the most recent article? Apparently the head coach is worried about the season without Hammerstein.”
“I heard he was the only one who could keep Grace in check,” another mom agrees.
I’m used to this kind of chatter. I’m always the bad guy, always the team problem. And I feed into it. Why shouldn’t I? The hockey world always needs a villain, and I’m the perfect candidate. Rich family, entitled, bought my place in the pros according to the media, and an asshole on the ice. And off it. Might as well give the people what they want and live up to my reputation.
Mildred never treats me like the bad guy, though, even if her best friend, one of my teammates, hates me. It’s one of the many reasons I find her fascinating.
I reach the front row, and the moms who were openly shit-talking me drop their voices to a whisper. Anticipation makes my skin prickle as I slip into the seat beside Mildred. She smells like books and strawberries and vanilla.
Her shoulder-length brown hair is tucked under her cap, her glasses need to be cleaned, her nose is pink, and so are her cheeks. She looks every bit the librarian she is.
Mildred glances at me and then over her shoulder before refocusing on the ice. “They’d probably shut their mouths if they saw you with your Meems.”