Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 93683 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 468(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93683 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 468(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
“Give me everything, thirty-five…” One last solid tug of my tee paired with those words breaks whatever resolve I had left. “Make it our dub…”
Sloppy smacks to the cabinet are timed to sweltering surge after surge searing her orgasm and sparking an unexpected second. Both of Gilly’s hands latch onto my pecks as my fingers dig into her ribcage, fingers playing the notes recently tatted into her beautiful skin, notes I got on on mine, on the same side, wanting the whole world to know we’re on the same team.
Same song.
Same fucking note.
Low, feral groans rattle around my throat, luring her to continuously sway towards them, coating my cock in toe-curling slickness that I know I’ll never get tired of singing praises over.
Despite being sweaty and sticky and finished, neither of us rushes to move or disconnect.
Not now.
Not when our panting is practically one last outro to the life I once knew.
Being granted a leave of absence from the team wasn’t hard.
And unfortunately, it wasn’t too long.
Once Grams was stable enough to get out of the hospital, she was home for about a week and then passed – in her sleep – the day after Christmas.
Yellow Heart Road truly lived up to what they had promised.
Everything from getting her removed to cremated to what happens to the house and when was handled.
The only thing we had to do was convey what we wanted in terms of a memorial.
Truthskies?
It was a glove save made by Grams that I didn’t even know I was gonna need.
Not having to think or make tough decisions in a moment where I could barely lift my own head up was amazin’.
And so was havin’ Gillybean here for every step of the process.
She was like gospel bells on a Sunday.
Well-timed.
She also did most of the communicating with the company and caring for Bronny when it was clear I couldn’t, when I needed a moment on the bench to simply, let go.
Bronny – who already left in the other truck with Dubs and Nee, the happy couple that’s planning to get married this summer – let her care for him.
Let her spoil him with attention and affection.
She stayed on top of his school stuff with him.
Made sure he had gym and weights time with me to keep up his endurance training for lacrosse.
They went Christmas shopping together without me, to give me space, to give me a chance to just not be needed for a second.
It was the parental shift Grams warned us would naturally occur.
And it did.
Like a smooth fade from one to tune to the next.
During her final days we all spent time with her together as much as separately.
She embarked her last bits of wisdom – mostly in regards to dessert making and big pharma alternatives for basic ailments.
Made us swear to spend less time being sad about those we’ve lost and more time being grateful for the memories we had together.
It honestly just felt like a typical goodbye.
The type I’d been giving most of my life when it was time to go play in another city or state or country.
Coach – um – Mil came down with his parents for the memorial, missing a game along with Frosky’s New Years Eve wedding. Of course, Snowman understood and the boys all sent love to us while we sent them good vibes and cheers – and gifts to the wedded couple according to Gillybean.
It was hard missing that moment.
Other team moments.
Events.
Outings.
Dinners.
Games.
Fuck.
So many games.
Seeing Mil made it a little easier.
Plus, having him and his parents excited over our engagement definitely helped me skip the guilt track more than once.
In spite of hitting the nearest rink a few times a week to stay in shape and stay sane, getting back on the ice last month was still hard.
My first loss was expected.
The next accepted.
The third had me trying to bench myself, but there’s a reason I’m not the boss.
And a reason Hot Rocket fought so hard to sign me.
And after a little extra pracky with my goalie coach along with the boys in their spare time, I found my rhythm again.
We’re talkin’ Gloria Estefan style.
We’re talkin’ Ian Dury and The Blockheads level.
We’re talkin’ Snap! shit.
I went from struggling to catch anything to an inability to miss anything.
I’m currently back to leading the league in shutouts for the season with this little calendared winter break welcomed.
It’s only a couple days, but that’s all we needed to move the things we didn’t wanna sell out of Grams house before it’s officially transferred to the Shaws.
They’re good people.
Always have been.
There’s no growing up in Middlebrook and not knowin’ or runnin’ into at least one of ‘em.
Grams selling to their family for the land to be turned into more space to grow their now world wide known beer makes a lot of sense.