Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 64727 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 324(@200wpm)___ 259(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64727 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 324(@200wpm)___ 259(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
She was right.
Gus was real. He cared. His support was genuine, no hidden games, no agenda.
I hummed along, my mind whirling faster than I could catch up. And did any of it matter? In a few short weeks, Gus would be here and I’d be in Pittsburgh or Syracuse or…somewhere else. Life would go on, and this clusterfuck would feel like a dream.
Just a dream.
Gus was in the kitchen, humming off-key to a Beastie Boys classic barely audible above the buzz of the blender and the sizzle of onions sautéing on the stove. The beat-up table we drank coffee at each morning was set for two with two plates, two bowls, napkins, silverware, and a single candle flickering in the center. I was pretty sure the only candles we owned were from the emergency kit in the event we lost power during a storm, but I couldn’t deny that it looked inviting and that whatever he was making smelled delicious.
“What are you—”
Gus jumped in surprise, knocking the blender off its base and adjusting the volume on the portable speaker. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ, Rafey. What’re you doing sneaking up on me? And why are you home?”
“I wasn’t sneaking. I live here. Remember?”
“Yeah, well…don’t look. Just…” He motioned me toward the table. “Sit.”
I obeyed, my gaze flitting to the vase of sunflowers on the counter.
“Are those for me?” I asked, my voice raw with uneasy emotions.
Gus fidgeted with his collar and shrugged. “You still like sunflowers, right?”
“Yes, I love them. I—”
“Yeah, yeah, but you’re not supposed to see them yet. It was a surprise.”
“Ahh. Should I close my eyes?”
“Definitely. You’re going to be like that for a solid twenty minutes, though. Then the sauce is ’sposed to simmer for another thirty minutes.” Gus kissed my nose. “Want a blindfold?”
“No.” I smiled in spite of my off mood. “What if I promise not to peek at…whatever you’re making?”
He sighed theatrically. “Fine. It’s pasta with homemade pesto. I called my mom for the recipe.”
I hopped off the chair and met him at the stove, ignoring his exasperated growl. “You did? Is everything okay?”
Gus flashed his signature lopsided grin. “Yeah. She called to talk some sense into me. I let her vent for a while and once she’d run out of steam, I asked for the recipe. Disarming your opponent is Hockey 101, right?”
“If you say so.”
“I say so. Try this.” He held a spoon to my lips. “Be honest. Too much garlic? I can add basil.”
“No, it’s amazing just as it is.”
“Sweet.” Gus licked his fingers and moved to the stove. “I’m making a flatbread too with jammy tomatoes, crispy onions, and cheese. That’s the part that’ll take the longest. You have time to shower if you want.”
“Okay. This is…wow. You’ve gone to a lot of trouble.” And made a bit of a mess too, but catharsis was rarely neat and tidy. “You must have had a good conversation.”
He pushed the onions with a wooden spoon, sliding a quick glance at me. “Not really. She still thinks I’m confused and immature, and I didn’t want to hear it, but pesto sort of made it better.”
“How?”
Another shrug. “I don’t want to be shut out and stuck in the family sin bin forever. Pesto was my olive branch. My way of letting her know I still want her opinion and advice, but…not on everything.”
My eyes stung with unshed tears. How did he do it? How could he be so unapologetically himself while intuitively managing the expectations of others? He fought a private battle and I knew it wasn’t easy, but Gus was a warrior. Pain was second nature.
“That’s pretty smart,” I said in a gravelly tone.
He turned off the burner with a frown. “You okay?”
I crossed my arms and leaned on the counter. “Yes, I…um, my short program is coming together, I skated well, and with any luck, I’ll find out if I made the team in the next day or two.”
Gus tapped his temple. “I fuckin’ call it now. It’s happening.”
My lips curled in amusement, but I sobered quickly and blurted, “Eli was pissed that I backed out of the interview. He sort of spiraled and insinuated that he knew there was something between me and you. He wasn’t quiet about it, so now my whole team thinks I cheated on him with you. And he made a crack about wondering how Smithton High hockey players and their parents would react if they knew their incoming coach was queer. Those weren’t his exact words, but that’s the gist. I’m sorry you got dragged into this. I figured you should know in case someone asks if you’re…with me.”
He cocked his head curiously and snickered. “Hang on a sec. You’re fucking with my flatbread. The dough is temperamental. It has to be the perfect temp, or it sticks to your fingers.”