Total pages in book: 153
Estimated words: 152064 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 760(@200wpm)___ 608(@250wpm)___ 507(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 152064 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 760(@200wpm)___ 608(@250wpm)___ 507(@300wpm)
I adjust my toque and step out into the blustery January evening. It’s only four thirty, and the sun is already setting. This is my least favorite time of year. The frigid temperatures, the bone-chilling wind, and the short days deplete me. Add in all the other stuff, and the stress is an impossible weight.
I scurry out of the cold and take the elevator to the office floor, but I stop outside my dad’s door, and center myself before I alert him to my presence. He’s wearing reading glasses, pen tapping against his bottom lip, his focus on the papers in front of him. Despite being over six feet tall and built for sports, he somehow looks older and frailer. Like a regular man, not the super dad I used to believe in. It breaks my heart that my rose-tinted glasses are gone.
He looks up before I knock, and his expression brightens. “Tallulah. Come on in, kiddo.”
Roman sometimes calls Hammer kiddo, but it sounds different coming from him. I don’t know why it irks me when my dad does it. Maybe because Roman puts so much effort in, and my dad doesn’t.
He pushes away from his desk and stands, rounding it to hug me. It’s wooden and awkward. I miss the way things used to be, but I don’t. I’ve always been a pleaser, seeking his approval. Maybe because it meant for a few minutes, his attention was on me instead of the team. He’s never been present enough for us to be close, and it took my parents separating for me to see that.
He squeezes my shoulders before stepping back. “How are you?”
“Okay.” It’s not even the truth. I throw the question back at him. “And you?”
He motions to the desk. “Keeping busy.”
“So same old same old?” Apparently, I don’t feel much like giving grace today.
He sighs. “I’m not good at balance.”
“No, you’re not,” I agree.
“I’m sorry, Tally.”
“You didn’t even fight for us.” We didn’t meet at a restaurant, I had to come to his office first.
“Honey, you don’t understand,” he starts.
“You were never around, and even when you were, you weren’t really present. Your whole focus has always been hockey. We were just side dishes.” I fling a hand toward his desk. “Why aren’t you trying to fix it now instead of burying yourself in work?”
He crosses his arms. “Did you just agree to dinner so you could pick a fight with me?”
“Did you think you could just rip our family apart and expect me not to have feelings about it?”
“I know you’re hurting.”
“How do you know? Because you’ve asked me? Because we’ve had a conversation? Do you just want me to pretend everything is fine?”
“I don’t want every interaction we have to be a battle.”
“And I want you to be a better dad. I guess neither of us gets what we want.” This was a bad idea, I’m not ready for this.
His face falls, but before he can answer, there’s a knock on his door.
“Hey, Coach!” Flip appears in the office doorway. “Oh sh—sugar. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
He’s wearing black pants, a long-sleeved shirt, and a peacoat. He looks incredible, and it makes my heart hurt even more. Everything I want is out of reach.
“Hey, Talls.” He lifts his hand in an awkward wave.
I want to sink into the floor. “Hi, Flip.”
“I can come back later.” Flip’s eyes move between me and my dad. “Or tomorrow.”
“It’s okay. We can chat now,” Dad says.
I’m sure my disappointment is written all over my face.
Maybe this is why my parents’ relationship is over. If Dad’s default is to jump ship at the first sign of turmoil, how impossible would it be to resolve their issues?
Dad’s phone rings.
“Hold on a second.” He lifts a finger—for whom I’m unsure—and takes the call.
I glance at Flip, and he glances at me. Then we both look away.
This day could not get any worse.
“Can’t it wait until tomorrow?” Dad’s brows pull together. “Yeah. I understand.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “No, no, it’s fine. I’m on my way.” He ends the call and grimaces. “I’m so sorry. I have an emergency meeting. Rain check, honey?”
Or maybe it can get worse. “Whatever.” I brush past Flip and head for the elevator. Fuck this bullshit.
“Tallulah!” Dad calls after me.
I keep walking because yelling at him is an embarrassment neither of us needs.
Flip says something, but I don’t catch it.
I stab the elevator button until the doors open and throw myself inside. I rocket punch the close doors, but Flip’s hand appears before they can, and he steps inside with me. And then it’s just the two of us and all of my exceptionally large feelings stuck in a box together.
“That looked tense,” he observes.
“Yup.” I wrap my arms around myself, as if it will keep me from falling apart.