Total pages in book: 53
Estimated words: 51902 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 260(@200wpm)___ 208(@250wpm)___ 173(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 51902 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 260(@200wpm)___ 208(@250wpm)___ 173(@300wpm)
“Get ’em by the balls! Come on, fellas!”
I widened my eyes at the octogenarian sitting two seats away.
“Don’t mind Sally. She gets excited at these games,” the old man next to me chimed in, putting two fingers in his mouth and whistling shrilly. “Our grandson is out there.”
“That’s great,” I replied, but my focus was on the ice now.
I jumped to my feet, clapping wildly as Jett swooped in to save the day, stealing the puck from Chicago’s forward with ease.
Sciarra had glided to Jett’s weak side, ready for a pass. Jett had delivered the pass, pushing a defender out of the way and—oh, I recognized this formation. I’d studied hockey like nobody’s business over the past few years. Jett was in position with the narrowest of openings. This was risky for sure, but if Sciarra’s pass was accurate and the stars aligned, Jett could score.
The lamp lit up seconds later.
“A one-timer from the slot! Erickson is money tonight!”
The crowd roared their approval, stomping their feet, and yelling, “Jett, Jett, Jett!”
Jett raised his arms triumphantly as his teammates descended for a congratulatory ritual of manly hugs and stick tapping. And just as he did whenever I was in the stands, he waved in my direction.
I waved back, butterflies fluttering in my chest. “That’s my boyfriend. Jett Erickson.”
The man lifted his brows and whistled again. “You don’t say? I’d like to meet him someday. I heard he’s the reason the Spiders reinstated Pride Night.”
True statement.
As you might have guessed, life had been rather eventful over the past few years. Jett’s public coming out had sent ripples throughout Smithton and every college hockey program in the nation. In a way, the attention was understandable. Jett was an extraordinary athlete who looked like a cross between a body builder and Superman. He was a star player for a small program who’d “risked his future for love.” That quote came straight from a Hollywood reporter, by the way.
See, Walker’s already popular Valentine segment for What’s New, Smithton? went viral when he posted the photo of us kissing in front of the physics building along with an apology for leaking the original pic.
The story was an instant global sensation, and to be honest, it had been overwhelming. I’d never been the subject of curious glances around campus…other than on the occasions I’d tripped or fallen into something regrettable. And the perfect attendance in classes I’d TA’d for had been an anomaly too. Sure, the Bears’ games were sold out for the rest of the season—however, that was entertainment and worth the ticket of admission. But I wasn’t as interesting.
Unless one happened to be a fan of the physics of electromagnetism and motion.
Not to brag, but yes, a portion of my thesis had been chosen for the collegiate textbook. I’d been thrilled! And…an academic publisher for a high school science curriculum had commissioned an extended essay from me, specifically focusing on hockey. In a twist, I’d had extra data on hand and had been more than happy to contribute to the cause.
We never found out who’d taken the blurry picture. I’d been so angry and scared at the time, and I’d never felt more helpless. It was an ugly episode for sure, and oddly, it had shaken the foundation of our town—rallying students, faculty, and friends.
The Bears hockey community was especially supportive of Jett. Smithton had drawn a line in the proverbial sand and chosen truth and community over libidinous gossip.
Thankfully, the unexpected attention on our personal lives died down a bit after graduation. Jett finalized his contract with the Spiders, who had no issues with his newly out status, while I sent out countless résumés for teaching positions. I interviewed formally at St. Clement’s, as well as at MIT, John Hopkins, and Stanford. But get this…Smithton offered me a job. Smithton!
It was an easy yes and a wonderful opportunity that became even sweeter when Jett applied for and was accepted to the master’s program at Smithton. The forty-five-minute commute to Syracuse had been reasonable, but his schedule with the Spiders was demanding. He wasn’t able to take as many classes as he’d hoped, which meant he wouldn’t finish for another year.
Jett wasn’t in a hurry. Smithton was home. We both had friends here, like Ty and Langley. And of course, Layla, whose girlfriend had recently moved into the apartment we used to share. We loved long walks and occasional jogs (just kidding) along the lakefront. We loved meeting up at Bear Depot for dinner, our knees bumping under the table as we chatted about our respective days. We also loved being relatively close to Pine Ridge.
My family welcomed Jett warmly, charmed by his charismatic personality and the sweet way he looked at me—my mother’s words, not mine. It was true, though. I’d caught him grinning at me during my dad’s tour of the veggie garden. One of his indulgent, affectionate smiles that was meant for me. Only me.