Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 94300 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 472(@200wpm)___ 377(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94300 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 472(@200wpm)___ 377(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
The sister-in-law goes back to bouncing him and settling him with shushing sounds.
Ollie, Max, and I are in some sort of three-way stare-off.
“I don’t get what the big problem is,” Vic says out of nowhere. “It’s not like Ash isn’t moving on with as many guys as possible. Ollie’s allowed to have a boyfriend.” The remaining two brothers glare at Vic, and Ollie’s silverware clatters on his plate as it falls from his hands.
Max’s eyes narrow. “Boyfriend? Really …”
Ollie ignores Max and instead stares at Vic. “Ash is doing what?”
“You have a boyfriend.” Vic throws his arms up in the air in defeat.
“And that’s why I’m the married twin.” Nic slaps his brother over the back of his head. “Because this one doesn’t understand shit about relationships.”
Vic looks like he’s going to defend himself, but then he gives up. “Yeah, okay, that’s true. I just didn’t think Ollie or Ash would care. Like, they’re both living separate lives now.”
Just because their relationship’s over doesn’t mean they’re over it I want to say, but it’s not my place.
And if anything, I totally see where the ex is coming from. Dating someone who’s closeted? Not fun. I should know.
Max stands. “I knew I shouldn’t have come here.” He storms away.
In perfect timing, Ollie’s salmon is delivered to the table, but as it’s placed in front of him and his other plate is removed, all he does is stare at the new dish with no intention of eating it anymore. “I’m … I’m gonna go find Max.”
He pushes away from the table and chases after his brother.
And when I think it’s safe to keep eating my food, his mom needs to have her say.
“Ash, Ollie’s ex, is Max’s best friend. They grew up together, so Max is … defensive. We all thought they were going to get married, but with hockey and his unwillingness to come out—”
Unwillingness? Like he’s being stubborn about it?
“While I appreciate you trying to explain to me, you don’t need to. Like Ollie said, we’re new, and I know the score. I’m well aware of the industry he’s in.”
I’m only in sports journalism, and the amount of shit I get from coworkers annoys the crap out of me. Like them saying I should be writing fashion instead of sports because, you know, the fashion and gay gene are one and the same. It’s mainly said in jest, but they don’t understand how it’s insensitive and inappropriate—probably because they’ve never had to deal with being put in a box and told that’s where they belong.
“But—”
“Ma!” Leo, the tall, lanky, basketball coach snaps. “Just … let it go, okay? You hover over Ollie’s life enough as it is. Don’t scare his new boyfriend away.”
“She wasn’t—” I start, but then I get more glimpses of the family Ollie was hiding from.
“You don’t have to take on that tone,” his dad says to Leo.
“I didn’t mean anything by it, but come on—”
Nic and Vic join in, and the table is surrounded by so many strong Boston accents, I end up not knowing what the hell they’re talking about.
I’m thankful when my phone vibrates in my pocket, and I don’t even have to fake an incoming phone call. I don’t hesitate when I see my editor’s name on screen.
“Sorry, I have to take this,” I say, but I don’t think they can hear me.
I leave my laptop bag but make my way to a quieter corner of the restaurant. By the time I reach somewhere I can hear, Harry has hung up. But a few seconds later, a message pops up.
The Pat’s IR list got updated. Get your ass to the stadium ASAP. They’re holding a conference. They lost Johnson.
I quickly type back: On my way.
Their star quarterback, who was recruited to replace Marcus Talon at the beginning of the season, is on the injured reserve list. What the hell happened?
Part of me wonders if the coach is up to old tricks. He’s known for updating the IR list close to games to throw off the opposing team’s strategies. Still, it can’t be ignored. If Johnson really is injured, that could mean the defending Super Bowl champs are done for the season.
Rushing back to the table, I grab my bag, and the bickering between the family members stops.
“Oh no, sweetie, you don’t have to leave,” Ollie’s mom says.
“Thanks, but there’s been an emergency at work, and I’ve got to go.”
I’m not sure they believe me, but I can’t stay to reassure them. Won’t matter anyway because after the game I’m flying back to Chicago, where I live, and I’ll never see the Strömbergs again.
I tell myself this is a clean break. I don’t have to tell Ollie who I am, and I don’t cover hockey, so I won’t be running into him anytime soon. I don’t know if this little charade has done him any favors or created more family drama, but I hope I’ve at least achieved them getting off his case about the ex. Or maybe with the way Max stormed out of here, we’ve made things worse.