Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 90524 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90524 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
But it’s fucking temporary.
All I gotta do is find her replacement before her memory kicks back in.
And thank fuck that day ain’t today.
It’s our season opener and my first season here wearing the C, so all my focus, all my extra non-Bella related fucks to give are going there.
I’m already on thin fucking ice with the owner.
The last thing I need is to earn another penalty by losing her first game as the new GM.
Gently nudging open the cracked door to the guestroom reveals to me a sight I’m simultaneously happy and devastated to see. They’re innocently cuddled in the middle of the queen-sized bed under my daughter’s favorite Golden Girls blanket she pilfered from my mom with Bella’s head pressed sweetly against Joey’s. While that’s enough on its own to create an ache in my chest, seeing her tiny hand death gripping one of the fake nanny’s fingers multiplies it exponentially.
Despite the fact she met this woman less than twenty-four hours ago, my daughter is attached.
Like a fucking duster to the bench.
She stayed playing with her hair while the doctor had me poorly explain a blind zebra’s version of the event that led up to the ER moment. I, of course, left out the parts about accidently pulling the plug – I claimed I couldn’t remember – and checking her into next week to stop Bella from being trampled to death – which then left Joey to unwillingly reenact that traumatic moment in The Lion King. She was cleared shortly after that second shittastic explaining of my infraction, yet it was suggested she wait a couple days to do any operating of heavy machinery, which is why I drove her to her car to grab all of her shit – the woman is currently living out of her fucking car which just so happens to only be two suitcases and a duffle bag – and why she’ll have to ride with my parents to the game tonight. During the drive home, Bella insisted – demanded – we exclusively play her perfect playlist of Disney songs and Cooper Copeland hits. As always, I was ready to cave – because when it comes to my adorable three-year-old enforcer I’m always ready to cave – but to my surprise, I was blocked by our new fake nanny who used the moment to discuss the concept of sharing.
How to share.
Why we should share.
The importance of sharing.
It was like one minute I was being ordered around by a bite-size bench boss and the next I was expected to just do the coaching.
Which I don’t know how to fucking do!
Damn sure not fucking well!
Most of Bella’s life I’ve let her run shit because I know what it’s like to grow without your old man around, to have him spend more time on the road than at the dinner table, to have him say good night over the phone if he has a minute instead of tucking you in.
I don’t want her to hate me for the shit I have to do for work – like road games and charity events and interviews and camps – so I overcompensate by letting her have anything and everything she wants, pretty much whenever she wants, especially since her mom died.
Is it probably the best play long term?
No.
But at this point in my fucking life?
It’ll do for a few shifts.
When it comes to everything in my current existence, I’m definitely more on a period-by-period focus versus an overall season.
Quietly shutting the door precedes me retreating back downstairs to head for morning practice. Oddly enough, worry doesn’t creep into my mind once. Nor does anxiety. Or fear. In fact, for the first time, in a long fucking time, a sense of relief is the only thing floating around my system.
I know it’s fucked up for Joey but having her here is the right thing for Bella and that’s all that really matters to me.
That’s what a captain does.
He makes the hard calls that are best for his whole team.
And right now…Bella is my whole team.
Rounding the corner into the kitchen unexpectedly puts me face to face with the most important woman in my daughter’s life as much as my own.
“Morning, Cap,” my mom warmly greets, extending a homemade protein smoothie in my direction. “You ready to bring home a ship?”
“I’d settle for not sinking like the fucking Titanic.”
“You sound like your father.” The object transfers from her possession to mine. “Except he’d use famous fishing boat vessels that went over my head.”
Father loves to fish.
Hates to read.
I hate to fish.
Love to read.
One of the only things besides hockey we’ve ever really been on the same page about was One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish, which is probably why it’s Bella’s favorite non-Princess Belle related book.
“Where is the retired razor?” I ask on my way past her to retrieve a couple bottles of water from the stainless-steel fridge. “Sharpening his blades?”