Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 139259 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 696(@200wpm)___ 557(@250wpm)___ 464(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 139259 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 696(@200wpm)___ 557(@250wpm)___ 464(@300wpm)
Go in.
In a flash of black, the puck darts in the air, zooming past the goalie’s glove.
Before I realize what’s happening, I’m on my feet, cheering with the crowd.
I forget everything—our bet, his smirk, the way he drives me insane. All I see is his skill, his brilliance. He might be a bastard, but he’s beautiful on the ice.
31
Hudson
Mom: Guess what, birthday boy! 🎉🎂
Anna: Oh no. What now?
Dad: We’re coming to visit you for your birthday!
Mom: Flights are booked, bags are almost packed.
Anna: “Almost packed”?? Mom, we’re staying for, like, ten seconds.
Mom: It’s called being prepared, Anna. Not that your brother will read this.
Dad: He’s probably asleep. Needs his beauty rest.
Anna: Extra beauty sleep. Lord knows he needs it.
Mom: Be nice, Anna.
Anna: I am being nice. I didn’t even mention his hair.
Mom: Leave his hair alone.
Anna: I can’t. It looks like a bird rolled around in it.
Dad: That’s a sign of character.
Anna: Sure, Dad. Character.
Mom: Has anyone heard from Hudson? He’s been suspiciously quiet.
Anna: He’s either napping or pretending not to see this so he can act surprised later.
Dad: Or he’s eating. That boy’s appetite is a sport of its own.
Mom: True. Hockey burns a lot of calories.
Anna: So does sleeping.
Mom: Hudson, are you alive?
Anna: Are you being held against your will?
Anna: Do you guys think we’ll get a ransom note?
32
Hudson
A few days later, and with two more wins under my belt, I wake to a familiar smell.
It smells like my childhood home.
Which is weird since I’m not there. I’m in Redville in my bed.
But still, that doesn’t stop the fragrant smell of sweet, buttery, delicious food from hitting me in the gut.
Wait, maybe I’m still asleep.
I keep my eyes shut.
Refusing to allow myself to wake from this phenomenal dream.
I wonder if the biscuits will taste as good as they do in real life. Despite not wanting to, my eyes pop open. Curiosity killed the cat, after all.
Wait.
That smell is real.
The sounds coming from my kitchen are most likely real too.
The clinking of pots and slamming of drawers don’t usually end up in a dream. A nightmare, maybe.
Early morning sunlight streams in through the drapes, and I know it’s time to get up and see what’s going on.
Once dressed, I head downstairs.
The full smell hits me before I even make it down the stairs. I take another step and hear laughter—my mom’s laughter.
I jog down the last few steps. Standing in my kitchen are my parents and younger sister, Anna. My mom is flipping pancakes, Dad fiddles with the coffee maker like he’s never made himself coffee, probably never has, and Anna—who’s a troublemaker like me—is eating whipped cream straight out of the can.
“My darling birthday boy,” my mom squeals when she sees me.
“What are you guys doing here?”
“I thought that part was obvious. We’re making you a birthday breakfast.”
“It looks like only you are.” I gesture to my sister and dad. “Anna looks like she’s about to get high on whippets, and Dad, well, Dad already looks high.”
“Um. Okay. I guess happy birthday,” Anna says, barely acknowledging me.
My mom places the spatula down and comes up and hugs me.
“Wow, you’re all really here.”
“We are,” my dad says.
“Why?”
“We didn’t want you to spend your birthday alone.”
Anna nods enthusiastically, still holding the whipped cream can. “Yep.”
I blink and stare at the counter. This must be a dream. I missed my family, and here they are. On top of that, my gaze fixes on the towering stack of pancakes and crispy bacon sitting in the middle of the table. My family came here and made me breakfast.
“You didn’t have to do this,” I whisper.
My mom waves me off. “Of course, we did. It’s tradition.”
But it hasn’t been. Not for a while. Not since I left home.
I rub the back of my neck, glancing around the room. The sight of my family standing in my kitchen makes my chest tighten.
This is what I miss.
I clear my throat and try to lighten the moment. “How did you get here? I don’t want you spending money to see me.”
My dad gives me a pointed look. “Hudson, we’re not discussing that.”
“Seriously,” I press, walking over to lean against the island counter. “Let me reimburse you. I’ll cover the tickets, the hotel, whatever. Just say the word.”
My mom shoots me a look over her shoulder that says stop, all while continuing to flip another pancake. “We’ve been over this. We don’t need your money.”
“Yeah,” Anna chimes in, licking whipped cream off her finger. “We’re good. Chill.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “You don’t have to do this, you know. I want to help.”
My mom turns around, her expression soft but firm. “We know you do. And we appreciate it. But I promise we’re good.”
I open my mouth to argue but stop.
There’s no point, and when my mom drops a plate of pancakes in front of me, the smell alone is enough to shut me up.