Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 74956 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 375(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74956 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 375(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
So, while unplanned, this is not a completely shocking development.
“Hey, Roger. What’s shaking, man?” Stone asks, lifting an arm from where he’s settled at the kitchen table.
“Nothing, brother,” Roger says, dumping his pack at the door and dropping down into a squat to pet Barb, who’s wiggling happily at his feet. “Sorry to hear you’ve got a bum leg, though. But don’t worry, I’ll keep you entertained. All the best education is entertaining, too. That’s the only way you ever get people to listen. You gotta make the medicine taste good on the way down.”
“Oh yeah?” Stone asks, widening his eyes meaningfully at me over Roger’s head in a way that asks “what the fuck is this?”
“I told Roger how excited you were to learn more about the coup in Chile,” I say, smiling as I quickly breeze over to set his oatmeal bag in front of him. I avoid the hand he swipes at my arm as I hustle back across the room. “I’d love to stay, but I have to get to work.”
At the door, I turn back to Stone. “My dad says hi, by the way, and thanks. But we’ll both kill you if you ever do something like that to us again.”
“Noted,” Stone says, forcing a slightly nauseous smile as Roger moves to join him at the table.
But then, Stone did mention that he might “stab his eardrums out with a rusty nail” if he had to listen to any more of Roger’s anti-capitalism spiels…
“So, the first thing you’ve got to accept to understand how things got so ugly in Chile,” Roger begins, clasping his hands together, “is that the global financial system is designed to keep developing nations down.” He pulls out the chair closest to Stone’s, careful not to crush Barb, who seems much more excited about lecture time than her dad. “When other countries socialize for the good of the people, we label them enemies of freedom and attack. Full steam ahead. And why’s that, Stone?”
Stone pulls in a breath, presumably to ask why, but Roger’s already answering his own question. “Because the prosperity of the global north has always depended on extracting labor and resources from the global south. On subjugation and oppression, Stone. It’s not a bug in the system, friend, it’s a feature.”
With a final smile and a flutter of my fingers, I head out, not feeling an ounce of sympathy for my meddling boyfriend.
Martha will be here to save him with crafts and cookies before too long.
And I’ll be sure to thank him properly for his sweet intervention as soon as we’re cleared to do more than hand stuff. We’ve been extra careful the past few days in the name of helping Stone heal as quickly as possible, but I would be lying if I said I wasn’t already counting the days until his next scan.
Until I can bang my gorgeous man again and show him with every kiss, every touch, how much I love him.
Even when he’s in meddling mode.
Chapter 19
Stone
Seven months later…
* * *
The visiting team locker room at Climate Pledge Arena has a smell all its own—a potent mixture of ancient sweat, mildew, cheap cleaning products, and carpet deodorizer that sits solidly at the corner of Violet-Scented Poison Lane and Week-Old Vomit Drive.
Being intimately acquainted with the far swankier home locker room from my years playing for Seattle, the stink is borderline offensive.
Which is perfect for a night like this.
It’s an underdog smell, the kind that sends bile and rage surging through your chest, even before your coach makes it down from the ice to give one final “get your heads out of your asses” speech.
Not that we need one of those tonight.
We’re down 3-1 heading into the third period of Game Six against the Storm—mine and Tank’s old team—but the energy in our cramped quarters crackles with electricity and a rip-a-fucker’s-throat-open-with-your-teeth level of determination. The Badgers are ready to tear up some ice and make history.
Hell, we’ve been making history all year. These men haven’t let me down. My final season has also been my highest scoring, thanks largely to the locked-in teamwork of the players around me.
Glancing around at them, a wave of bittersweet nostalgia tightens my throat.
This is it, the last time I’ll watch Tank do his kinky-looking frog stretches, loosening up his hips to defend our net at all costs. The last time I’ll catch Grammercy pacing near the door, muttering prayers to whatever patron saint his mama told him watches out for hockey players. The last time Nowicki will bump my fist on his way past the bench, or Justin will blast a finger-whistle through the locker room to get our attention.
I’m so emotional, the piercing sound only makes me flinch half as much as it usually would as I turn to face our fearless leader.