Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 83358 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83358 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
I nod, throat tight. Of course I know all this, but having my mom say it… it seems more legit.
“Besides,” she says, tossing her head toward the living room. “You heard what Lucky said. All that online stuff is irrelevant to him and I think you should consider the same. You can step away if it’s too much.”
“But my followers are watching… expecting.”
“You owe them nothing,” she challenges.
“But see… I do. That’s part of the job of being an influencer.”
“Do you hear yourself?”
I frown at her. “What do you mean? I said it’s part of the job of being an influencer. That’s what it is.”
“No,” she says with a shake of her head. “Not what you said, but the way you said it. I don’t hear joy in your voice. It doesn’t sound like a very fun job right now.”
She heard that, huh? I decide to own it. “I wasn’t prepared for the negative backlash. People saying I’m not good enough. It messes with my head a bit.”
My mom’s lips curve into a fond smile. “I saw Lucky’s comments from your post last night. I think that’s the only opinion that should matter to you.”
I can’t stop my dreamy smile. “Yeah… that was pretty amazing.”
“Do you doubt him?”
“Not at all. He’s genuine, I’m sure of it.”
“Then focus on that and quit worrying about what everyone else thinks. They don’t matter.” Hearing her voice saying what I want to believe makes me feel better. “When’s your next date?” she asks.
“After he gets back from the road trip. He’s leaving tomorrow and won’t be back until next Tuesday.”
“I’m sure it will be here before you know it,” she says, cutting the pie into generous slices. “Where are you going for the date?”
I lift a shoulder, pulling napkins out of a drawer as I chuckle to myself. “I’m not sure, but since it’s part of our experiment. I’m sure it will be refreshingly average.”
“Not an experiment,” she says with a pointed look.
“Yeah, yeah… I know.” I test the words on my tongue. “He said it’s a relationship.”
Mom grins at me. “Sounds good, doesn’t it?”
I grin back at her. “Yes, it does.”
“Enjoy it, my love,” she coos, picking up the knife and using it to lift slices from the pan. “You’ve got something with this boy. And I think it’s real.”
I swallow hard. “He wants me to meet his mom. She’s coming in for the next home game.”
My mom beams. “That seems like a lovely next step.”
I nod slowly, unsure if I’m thrilled or terrified.
Probably both, but I wouldn’t get off this ride for all the money in the world.
CHAPTER 23
Lucky
This pub is glowing green.
Not metaphorically—literally. Every overhead light has a green filter, and there’s a four-foot inflatable leprechaun duct-taped on top of the jukebox. Everyone is wearing beads or novelty hats or some kind of shamrock-patterned shirt, and the TV screens are all tuned to a curling match like it’s the Super Bowl.
Welcome to St. Patrick’s Day in Montreal. I swear, my clover tats are practically vibrating in solidarity.
Atlas and I snag a booth near the back, away from the drunkest revelers. We had a practice this morning and team meeting at lunch. Most of the guys—myself included—took a nap and now our evening is free. Because we play tomorrow, this will be an early night. Most of the guys went to a downtown spot for dinner and drinks, but Atlas and I opted for this low-key bar near the team hotel. We both prefer this.
He lifts his bottle in salute. “To surviving a Canadian road trip.”
I clink mine to his. “To not ending up in a TikTok bar fight.”
He huffs out a laugh and sips. “That would absolutely happen to you.”
He’s not wrong.
I lean back against the booth, beer cold in my hand, and study him. Atlas looks tired. And pained. He bears a heaviness he’s not even trying to hide.
“You good?” I ask.
He nods, then shrugs. “Yeah. Just… yesterday was rough.”
Atlas’s friend is dying of cancer, and I can’t even imagine what that’s like. I’ve never had anyone close to me die and I’m not looking forward to it.
I hold my words, giving him space to talk if he wants to share.
“I got to spend a couple hours with Gray.” Atlas grimaces, his stare fixed on his beer. “He looked awful. Like a skeleton.”
“Jesus,” I murmur, leaning forward. “How’s his family taking it?”
Atlas shakes his head, face scrunched in pain. “He doesn’t have any. His parents died when he was young and he was raised by his grandmother, but she died a few years ago. No siblings.”
“Aunts? Uncles?”
“Some on his dad’s side but they were estranged, so he doesn’t know them at all.” Atlas takes a sip of his beer, his gaze locking onto mine. “The life’s draining out of him faster than I expected.”