Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 83355 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83355 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Inside, the house has a warm, welcoming feel. The living room, with its hardwood floors and a large bay window, lets in plenty of natural light. The walls are painted a soft beige, adorned with a few family photos and some abstract art pieces I’ve picked up over the years. The kitchen, where I spend a lot of my time, is functional and homey. It has white cabinets, a simple but sturdy dining table, and a small island with a couple of stools.
“What is this?” Brittany exclaims upon walking in. She beelines for the coffee pot and after pouring a cup, leans against the counter giving me a critical once-over.
I look down at my outfit. I’d chosen a cozy, oversized cream-colored sweater with a turtleneck to keep warm in the chilly rink, paired with some dark skinny jeans that are quite stretchy to allow for easy movement. While I very much wanted to wear my camel-colored ankle boots with a low heel, they’re not practical if I need to step out onto the ice to help one of the children. So I went with a pair of black Converse high-tops and hope to God they have enough traction to keep me from falling. “What is what?” I ask, perplexed.
“You’re all gorgeously trendy looking. You look nothing like a hardened, peewee hockey coach ready to take these kids to victory. You’re not even wearing a whistle, for goodness’ sake.”
I snort at the mental image. “You give me far too much credit. I think if we can come away from this game with none of the kids yelling at each other or getting hurt, it’s a win in my book.”
Izzy walks into the kitchen like a zombie. Her red curls spring up all over the place, her bottom lip pouted out. “It’s too early,” she whines.
“Hey, you’re the one who insisted you wanted to play hockey, princess.” I wave my spatula. “Take a seat. I’ve got my famous blueberry and mango pancakes on the griddle.”
Izzy’s eyes light up with excitement. “Can I have orange juice too?”
“Got you covered, kiddo.”
Brittany pours the drink and brings it to Izzy, who opens her iPad and pulls up an educational game she likes to play.
“I got a second interview for that warehouse manager job,” Brittany says, moving closer to me.
I glance over at her, frowning. “But their schedule was bananas. Third shift is awful.”
“Yeah, but I’m tired of being a mooch. I need to find something.”
I flip over the pancakes on the griddle and turn to face my sister. “You’re not a mooch. You help me around the house and outside of you roping me into coaching, I generally love having you here. So, my advice to you is to turn that warehouse position down and find something better suited.”
“Easy for you to say. You have a medical degree and can go anywhere. I have a high school diploma, little work experience and no one wants to give me a chance.”
“I’m glad to put out feelers for you in the medical community. I’m sure I can find something in the administrative field.”
Brittany shakes her head, too proud to take my direct help. “I’ll find something on my own. It’s enough that you’re letting us stay here for free.”
Reaching out, I take Brittany’s hand and squeeze it. “You’re my sister, my closest friend, my forever ally. We protect each other. Always have and always will. So don’t you think on it another minute. Just keep plugging away at trying to find something you want to do and also keep thinking about college. That’s always an option.”
Brittany blinks away the sheen of gratitude in her eyes and I know it’s purely from my reference to us protecting each other. We grew up in a household where that’s just what we had to do. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for her, nor her for me.
I release her hand and turn to the pancakes before this melts into a blub-fest of tears because if she gets going, then I’ll get going, and Izzy will be freaked out. That little girl doesn’t know about my and her mom’s battle with an abusive, alcoholic father growing up, and Brittany has kept Izzy fairly well shielded from her dad.
It’s ironic and even embarrassing that both my sister and me ended up falling for men who were abusive and demeaning to us, same as our father was to our mother. It’s that horrible cycle that you say you’re never going to repeat, but then that man exhibits one little thing that makes you think you can change them and you’re a goner. At least Britt had the sense not to marry Jeff. While she stayed a lot longer than I did because she was somewhat dependent on Jeff’s income to raise Izzy, she had no qualms about leaving him once I offered her my home and protection.