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)
“Yeah, Riley’s sister lives in Rochester so every once in a while, I talk him and JC into flying to Syracuse for a quick trip.”
“Cool. Wow…hey, I wish I’d known. It would have been nice to see him. Not like we’re buds or anything, but I got nothing but respect for that man. Talk about a sweet career,” I commented appreciatively. “He ended it the right way, too. On his terms. I’ve heard great things about that camp he helps Vinnie Kiminski run. It sounds like Elmwood is the place to be.”
“It is! It’s incredibly beautiful. Think of your quintessential small town—rolling green hills and a skyline dotted with church steeples, winding roads, and a lush forest. We have a quaint main street that boasts some of the best places to eat or grab a cup of coffee. And of course, we have hockey. Do yourself a favor and visit sometime.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Do you work for the travel bureau or something?”
Bryson snickered. “No, I’m a real estate agent. I make my living singing Elmwood’s praises and making an average hundred-year-old three-bedroom house sound like the best thing since sliced bread.”
“Best thing since sliced bread? Dude. Please take this the right way, but that sounds like…dad-speak.”
“Dad here.” He raised his hand and grinned. “And I’ve got the jokes to prove it.”
I waved in mock surrender. “Oh, no. Don’t do it.”
“Which kind of bear is the most condescending? A pan-duh. Get it?”
I bit the inside of my cheek to keep a straight face. “Yeah, that was awful.”
“I’ve got more,” he assured me, propping his foot on the rung of my stool. “Why are elevator jokes so good and so classic?”
“Dunno, but I’ve a bad feeling you’re going to tell me.”
“They work on many levels. Get it?”
I burst out laughing. “Yep, got it. Another doozy. Stop while you’re ahead. I almost feel sorry for your kid now. Did you torture him with those at the dinner table when he was growing up?”
Bryson beamed. “I still do.”
“Evil. No wonder he’s turned to violence.”
“That’s hockey. Not dad jokes. I like to think I’m a stable, nonjudgmental, friendly port in the midst of the hectic world he’s part of now.” Bryson focused on the halftime report for a moment, his right elbow resting on the bar. “You know, I’ve had three and a half martinis so I’m probably oversharing here, but I have to admit, I’m bummed Jake isn’t getting a traditional college experience. Sure, he’s taking classes in his spare time, but he’s missing out on so much. Constant travel, grueling workouts, and games like tonight where he’s going up against men twice his size. He loves the sport and I know he’s lucky, but he won’t get these years back. I hope he never regrets it.”
“He won’t.” I inclined my chin toward the bartender for another round.
“You say that with conviction.” Bryson set his hand over his glass and shook his head.
I hoped that didn’t mean he was going anywhere soon, but yeah…a fourth martini was asking for trouble.
“ ’Cause I know what I’m talking about. He’s in the pros. They don’t let just anyone play, for fuck’s sake. You gotta be very fucking good. He’s young and he’s got some tricks to learn, but if he had an ounce of regret, it would show.”
“How?”
“He’d lose his game and eventually, it would stay lost.” I tapped my temple, thanking the bartender for the fresh beer before continuing. “Everyone has bad games and deals with self-doubt. That’s life. It’s the mental fortitude that keeps you going. You have to fuckin’ love what you do and be willing to sacrifice the things other people take for granted. He’s doing that right now. Every time he straps on those skates and takes the ice for his team, he makes a choice to be the best damn player he can be.”
“True, but—”
“Dedication, drive, sweat, blood, and tears are all part of the process. Don’t worry about him. So his path is different from yours, so what? He’s gonna be just fine.”
Bryson’s Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat, his blue eyes fixed on me as he shredded his lower lip between his teeth. I got the impression he was holding a well of emotion at bay, and it freaked me out. I ran my speech through my head, wondering what I’d said wrong, when he set his hand over mine and squeezed it.
“Thank you. I think I really needed to hear that.”
“Sure.”
Sure? Geez, I was hopeless. The guy was practically bleeding on the bar and all I could come up with was…sure. Yeah, I was done peopling for the night. I buried my nose in my glass like a coward, chugging half my beer.
My companion seemed unfazed. He sipped the dregs of his martini, flitting his gaze between me and the flat-screen. “Not to get heavy here, but I know what regret feels like and…I don’t want my son to repeat my mistakes.”