Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 99723 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 499(@200wpm)___ 399(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99723 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 499(@200wpm)___ 399(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
“We have to what?” I ask, certain I must’ve misheard him.
Cricket is a game. One I don’t play.
Cricket is an animal. One I don’t hear.
Cricket is definitely a noun, though Harley seems to be using it as a verb.
“Cricket,” he repeats as if I’m stupid. Maybe I am? Is this part of tucking in that I’ve forgotten? “Lie down.”
“Uhm . . .”
“Take your shoes off. Mom says no shoes on the bed.”
I nod. “She’s right.” I don’t lie down, though. Instead, I sit at the foot of Harley’s bed and toe my tennis shoes off. “Now what?”
“We cricket. Close your eyes, rub your feet together like a cricket, and slow count to ten while you think about your day. Then you tell me the best part of your day and I’ll tell you the best part of mine.”
Of course. Cricket. Doesn’t everyone do this?
Assuming I’ve understood what is obvious to him and foreign to me, he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. Slowly, I let my eyes fall closed, though I peek once—okay, twice—to make sure he’s not fucking with me. But his eyes are closed and his lips are moving as he silently counts to ten, so I breathe and count too.
“You go first,” Harley tells me.
“The best part of my day was skating around the ice before the game, hearing you call my name, and seeing you and your mom sitting in the crowd. I was nervous tonight, something I haven’t been in a long time. But you two being there made me feel like everything was going to be okay, win or lose.”
He smiles softly. “The best part of my day was—”
I already know what he’s going to say—the game. Front row seats at a league game is a pretty special experience, so it’s completely warranted.
“How many times Mom smiled at the game. She did it a lot, like a lot, a lot.” The emphasis he places on that tells me how many times Briar must’ve grinned while watching the game. Or was she watching me?
“Hockey makes me smile too,” I tease. Am I pumping the kid for information? Absolutely, and I feel no guilt over it because the woman waiting in the living room makes me smile a ridiculously crazy number of times too. No small feat on a typical day, and when I’ve been traded away from home, almost impossible. But she makes the impossible, possible.
“She should do that more,” he says seriously. He’s fidgeting with the comforter and won’t meet my eyes.
“I think everyone could do with a few more smiles, but I know one thing that always makes your mom happy.” He glances up questioningly. “You.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, kid,” I assure him. “Now, get some shut-eye.”
We say our good nights, and he hugs a new-looking polar bear in a Blizzard jersey to his chest. He must’ve gotten it as a souvenir. I pause at the door, glancing back at Harley. He really is a sweet kid, which is a testament to Briar.
My plan is to tell her that, but when I go back to the living room, I find her lying on the couch, fast asleep. A smile steals across my face. Yes, another one. I can’t help it. Even though I truly wanted to talk to her about the game and more, she deserves to rest. She does so much, for so many people. So I’m quiet as I grab a blanket from a basket and lay it over her, tucking her in too.
I should go. Just let myself out the front door, but I can’t do it. I want to stay by her side, just soak in her presence, and protect her while she sleeps. From what? I don’t know, but I can’t leave. I’m nearly silent as I sit down in a chair across from her, sprawling out and simply watching her. She looks peaceful, relaxed, and comfortable. And slowly, I relax too. Until . . .
The gasp yanks me from sleep, putting me on high alert instantly, although I’m confused as to where I am at first.
“Harley?” Briar’s sleep-scratchy voice orients me quickly.
I blink to focus, finding her sitting upright on the couch, hair tousled and eyes wild. “It’s okay. I tucked him in hours ago,” I say, glancing at the time on the microwave in the kitchen.
“I fell asleep?” she asks. “What’re you doing here?”
“Watching you sleep like a creeper,” I joke as I stretch my arms overhead. “Until I fell asleep too.”
“Guess I’m not great company after ten p.m.” She reaches up to smooth her hair. I should tell her that there’s a bump right at the top that’s sticking up wildly, but I don’t. It’s adorable, making her look freshly fucked more than freshly woken up. “You want a drink or something? I have soda, juice, water . . .” She trails off, listing out drinks like this is a kid’s playdate.