Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 87439 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 437(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87439 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 437(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
Yeah, I had it bad.
And I wanted more.
“All right, man. I arrive Monday, the meeting with the GM is Tuesday, and press conference Wednesday. Boston…here he fucking comes!”
I cradled my mug and propped my feet on the wood railing on the outdoor deck, squinting at the family of rabbits hopping across the lawn. The April morning was chilly, but I didn’t mind. I liked the view of the lake surrounded by forest. It was peaceful and rejuvenating. I kind of wished I hadn’t accepted Ger’s call ’cause he was killing the vibe.
“Yeah…Boston.”
“Oh, fuck. What’s wrong? Don’t tell me you’re having second thoughts. We don’t do second thoughts in football, Si,” Ger groaned.
I chuckled lightly. “Settle down. Everything’s cool. I’ll see you in Boston on Monday.”
Silence.
“That’s it? Don’t you want to talk about the buzz we’ve generated? You’ve gone from yesterday’s news and Liam Sutcliffe’s girlfriend’s ex to a much-anticipated comeback kid. That’s me being a marketing genius, by the way. You’re welcome.”
“Thanks. To be honest, I’ve been offline as much as possible, so I probably missed your genius at work. Sorry.”
“Wow,” he deadpanned. “What have you been up to? I’m seriously curious. You’ve been radio silent at a crucial juncture, stuck in a fucking forest. I’ve been low-key worried about you. This is not my first phone call, asshole.”
“Get those boxers unbunched, Ger. I’m watching bunnies and sipping coffee outside by the lake and life is good. Don’t stress me out.”
Ger grunted. “Bunnies. Okay. That’s…all right, man. Whatever keeps you sane. Your flight and hotel are booked. Check your email for deets and read your damn texts. Is there anything you need? We can meet earlier if you want. I’m flying into Boston Saturday and—”
“No, I’m busy this weekend. I agreed to show up at a flag football kick-off in town. They want me to say a few words and—”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Flag fucking football? What is this shit?”
I chuckled. “You don’t know what flag football is?”
“Yes, I know what it is,” he snapped. “You can’t make random public appearances, Si. Your contract clearly states that—”
“I haven’t signed shit yet. And no one is going to care if I show up at a small-town function to toss a ball around with some kids.”
“Maybe not, but I should know about it in advance,” he griped.
“Well…now you do.”
“Hmph. Okay, it sounds harmless and actually…it could be good press. Maybe I can get someone to Vermont to—”
“Don’t,” I intercepted. “It’s not that kind of event. Hey, I gotta run, but thanks for everything and yes…I’ll see you Monday.”
I disconnected the call before Ger voiced any other bright ideas to turn a community event into a mini publicity circus.
This place was special, and I wanted to keep it that way.
CHAPTER 15
COOPER
Wood Hollow didn’t host many events. Until recently, we simply hadn’t had the infrastructure required to accommodate traffic and parking that wasn’t specifically related to the mill. And our only reliable eatery hadn’t been equipped to serve large parties. That had changed, though.
We’d widened our thoroughfares, cleared overgrown brush for parking, and had remodeled derelict buildings that were now leased to popular new cafés. Nothing fancy, but that was okay. We could offer guests a variety of quality bed-and-breakfasts, dining choices and conveniences, and damn it, we looked pretty in springtime.
The sky was a robin’s-egg blue dotted with cotton-candy clouds. The tapestry of pines, elms, and maple trees complemented the newly manicured football field behind Wood Hollow High’s gymnasium.
Not to belabor the point, but it sure as hell hadn’t been this nice when I’d gone to school here.
Back then, the grass had grown in ugly clumps, and the ground had been riddled with dangerous divots. In tenth grade, Reg had twisted his ankle on one the size of a small pothole. He’d literally been writhing in pain next to a mini crater, and the school’s response had been to throw some dirt in it.
“I think it made us tougher than the rest,” Reg liked to say. “We didn’t hand out Band-Aids for boo-boos. We rubbed a little dirt in the wound and played on. Life is rough, man. Falling isn’t failure unless you stay on the ground. And no one wants to do that in Wood fucking Hollow.”
He’d been joking, but also…not.
I tipped my head in greeting to Mr. Grubel, my eighth-grade biology teacher, and his wife as I waited for Ivy and Chase to scramble out of the truck.
They’d been in a funny mood this morning. Excited to see friends at the flag football kick-off and a little melancholy the way they sometimes got on what I secretly referred to as “exchange days.” I didn’t think they preferred Wood Hollow to Fallbrook or staying with either Sarah or me. We’d done a good job at making both places feel like home. But good-byes were never easy.