Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 86826 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86826 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
His backpack is half hanging off one shoulder, his entire face lit up in a way I don’t see nearly enough these days. “Julian ‘Freaking’ Langley gave our entire senior class tickets to the Vipers’ game tonight,” he gushes.
I blink at him. “What?!”
The tap is still running behind me, water rushing steadily over a pile of dishes I’ve forgotten about because all I can focus on is him—and what he just said—and the way my brain is trying, unsuccessfully, to catch up.
Dylan nods so hard he looks like a bobblehead. “The entire class! I can go, right? I got all my homework done today at study hall so I’m good.”
“Wait,” I say, shaking my head slightly, like that might help rearrange the information into a coherent thought. “No, that doesn’t—why would he—how would—”
Dylan laughs, pushing himself off the doorframe and stepping into the kitchen.
“They’re doing this whole thing,” he says, dropping his bag onto one of the chairs. “Like, trying to get more kids into hockey. Social media, school stuff, whatever. We had an assembly about it last week, but I didn’t think I’d actually—” He cuts himself off, grinning again, running a hand through his hair. “They picked a few public schools and just… gave out tickets. Like, a bunch of them.”
I turn off the water without looking, the sudden quiet in the kitchen disorienting. “To tonight’s game?” I ask, my mind spinning on how to get him there. I mean, he can take the subway, but I’d be more comfortable if he was going with some friends.
“Yeah. Tonight’s game. Are you working tonight?”
I set the glass down carefully this time and nod, trying to figure out logistics. A strange, dizzying sensation stirs in my chest, and I’m caught somewhere between disbelief and joy. I dry my hands on a towel.
“Really?” I manage.
Dylan looks at me like I’ve asked a ridiculous question. “Yes, I’m serious,” he says. “We all got them. They gave us, like—actual legit good seats. Not nosebleeds or anything.”
I press the towel between my hands, grounding myself in the motion. “That’s… really good,” I say finally, and this time I mean it. “That’s actually—really good.”
Dylan’s smile softens a little. “Yeah,” he says. “It is.”
I glance at him again. For him, this isn’t complicated. It isn’t layered with context or connection or whatever strange orbit my life has suddenly fallen into.
It’s just… a hockey game.
A night out.
Good fortune landing, unexpectedly, in the middle of everything else.
And standing there in our too-small kitchen with water still drying on the counter and dishes waiting in the sink, I let it be that simple too.
My phone buzzes softly against the counter, the sound threading its way through the quiet just as I’m settling back into the rhythm of dishes and water and everything comfortably ordinary.
I try to ignore it, but the timing, or maybe instinct, pulls my attention down anyway.
It’s a text from Julian, and somehow… that seems right.
I pick up the phone, my thumb hovering for the briefest second before I open it.
Hopefully you know by now we have some special guests coming to watch the Vipers. Dylan should ride with us tonight, so you don’t have to worry about him.
I exhale, steadying myself, though I’m not entirely sure what I’m steadying against. I should decline his offer for Dylan to ride with us. The offer is beyond generous and would alleviate my concerns about how he will get there, but it seems decadent to accept when I’ve done nothing to deserve such a thing.
However, I know that even if I politely decline, he’s just going to strong-arm me into accepting. He’s done that on more than one occasion, and I’ve learned enough about Julian Langley to know he won’t accept no for an answer.
“Dylan,” I say, turning toward him. “Mr. Langley said you can ride with us to the game, so I need you to get ready.”
His mouth hangs open. “No way.”
“Yes way,” I say, a small, incredulous laugh slipping through. “He just texted me.”
“You mean the owner of the Vipers is going to give us a ride to the game?” he asks.
I lift a shoulder, tip my head back and forth. “Well, technically, I’m giving the ride since I’ll be the one driving, but it will be in Mr. Langley’s car and on his dime, so yeah.”
“Sweet,” he yells with a fist pump and takes off for his room.
The preparation before we leave comes together in a blur.
Dylan changes his outfit three times, presenting each version to me. Luckily, my attire for this evening is easy and I put on my uniform and pull my hair back into a low ponytail. I also touch up my makeup and put an extra coat of gloss on my lips.
By the time we leave, the sky has already deepened into night, the cold chillier now, more insistent. Dylan fills the space beside me with restless excitement, his energy constant, buoyant.