Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79621 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79621 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
“Sorry to hear that.”
“Yeah, yeah. I ran into Jimmy at the market. He says you’re helping him again this summer. Don’t you have a better job? You’re a star. You shouldn’t waste your time with coaching. Let him do that.”
“Not really a star, Ma, but thanks.”
“Sure you are and you’re loaded. It’s nice having a rich kid.” She cackled, coughed, and sobered with a long sigh that had me bracing for the inevitable. “Speaking of money…I need to borrow a few bucks. Not much this time. A couple hundred will tide me over till my pension check shows up in my account. I’ll pay you right back and—”
“Got it. I’ll take care of it when I get there.”
“See? You are a star.” She took another long drag, adding, “If you could move the cash over sooner, that’d be great.”
“I’m driving, Ma.”
“You could pull over and—”
“I’ll try. Hey, I got another call coming through,” I lied. “I’ll see you soon, ’kay?”
I didn’t give her a chance to reply. I hung up, grinding my molars till my jaw ached. I had no idea why I let her money-grubbing ways get under my skin. I was her personal ATM, and I had been for years. If I’d known I was helping with something important like food or medication, I wouldn’t have minded so much. But no…I funded her scotch habit.
And the crazy thing was that my best intentions had created a monster.
See, I’d bought my mom her house outright a couple of years ago. I rented an apartment in Toronto for myself, but I made sure she didn’t have to worry about rent. She’d been over the moon when I’d explained that her pension would cover groceries and leave her with plenty of dough for fun.
Suddenly, I was the best son, I was the smartest, I was a star. My ego ate that shit up.
You’d have thought I was sixteen years old again, looking for my mother in the stands, wishing she’d fucking show up to my games when Dad couldn’t. I’d needed a parent in my corner telling me everything would be okay, but she’d been nowhere to be found. Now, she popped up all the fucking time…for money.
Fucking Jimmy.
I adjusted my baseball cap and instructed Siri to call him.
“Smitty, baby!” he answered. “What’s up, man? Everything okay?”
“Yeah, everything’s cool. Except the part where you told my mom I was on my way home. Fuck you very much. We had a rule, man. I get a week-long reprieve before we alert dear ol’ Ma. Thanks for narcin’ on me.”
My best friend snickered unapologetically. “I’m sorry. She caught me by surprise, and I swear that wasn’t even an hour ago.”
“Hmph.”
“Hey, congratulations. Have you been partying like a fiend, celebrating your storied career?”
“Storied? I don’t know about that, but yeah…I’ve had some fun.”
My brain immediately went to my night with Bryson a few weeks ago. Odd. I mean, yeah…that was a highlight for sure, but that definitely wasn’t what Jimmy was referring to. And I didn’t know why I was still thinking about Hot Dad anyway.
It had happened, and it was amazing, but it was over. Never to be repeated.
“Some fun?” he repeated, perking up. “Tell me all about it. Let me live vicariously through late night titty bars and tequila-fused hazes so I have something fun to think about while I clean dog puke and chauffeur my kids around.”
I chuckled. “I have nothing exciting to report. Most of my teammates are ten years younger than me. I don’t need to be their bad influence.”
“Is this really Smitty Paluchek? The original good-time guy?” Jimmy huffed. “The same guy who encouraged me to break curfew and skate hungover on the regular?”
Hmm. Well, yeah. That had been me…a long time ago.
My childhood friend and former teammate gave a couple of examples of my younger self’s debauched ways. Like the time I’d dared a rookie to moon everyone in our elevator, which had included a group of hockey-loving grandmothers or the time I’d instigated the raw potato eating contest…as one does.
I’d arguably had too much fun in the locker room back then, but if Jimmy had been hoping for any recent Smitty shenanigans to live vicariously through, he’d be disappointed. Or grateful he’d gone with his gut and retired at twenty-nine.
Jimmy gave up the high life to sell insurance at his dad’s firm in Warren. I’d told him he was nuts and had begged him to reconsider, but his priorities changed after his first child was born. “I don’t want to travel half the year and miss the important stuff. I want to be there for my kids.” Now he was a father of three, raising his family in the suburbs with his beautiful wife while I was…wherever I was.
The certainty I’d made the better choice had faded, but I shoved that unwanted thought aside.