Total pages in book: 53
Estimated words: 51902 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 260(@200wpm)___ 208(@250wpm)___ 173(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 51902 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 260(@200wpm)___ 208(@250wpm)___ 173(@300wpm)
If you asked me, Malcolm was my lucky charm.
Somehow, he had a calming effect on me. Maybe it was that he wasn’t obsessed with hockey. Everyone I knew was invested in the sport to some degree. My teammates, coaches, and agent obviously, but this whole damn town was hockey crazed too—random classmates, girls with hungry eyes at parties, professors, baristas, and the waitstaff at Bear Depot put me on a pedestal of expectation.
They wanted me to win…for the school, the town, for them. It was a lot of fucking pressure. Most of the time, I didn’t mind it. Some days, I lived for it. But win or lose, after graduation, I knew they’d forget about me. That was reality. Out of sight, out of mind. Even my friends would fade. I’d made hockey my priority to the point that no one knew me for anything else.
For example, Ty didn’t know that I loved Star Trek and low-key wished I was astronaut material. Langley didn’t know that I’d collected baseball cards since I was seven, and Regan didn’t know that I didn’t hate pineapple on pizza because it was disgusting, but because I was deathly allergic.
But Malcolm knew.
“Pineapple. Interesting,” he said, returning the container of pineapple sorbet to the shelf in the freezer section. He chose lemon instead and waited for my thumbs-up before dropping it into my basket. “How old were you when you discovered your allergy?”
“Fifteen. My dad and stepmom got married in Hawaii. I was ambivalent about the wedding, but excited to go somewhere tropical and new. I wanted to surf and snorkel. My brother and sister were coming too, and I hadn’t seen them in a while. It was going to be amazing.”
“But…”
“I ordered a poolside smoothie seconds after checking into the hotel and chomped into the pineapple garnish.” I led us to the next aisle and chose a package of chocolate chip cookies. “Nothing happened right away, but an hour later, I had a rash. It was worse the next morning. My dad thought it was a reaction to the sun, and I was devastated. Everything I wanted to do involved being in the sun. But I took his advice and sat under an umbrella, playing games on my iPad while…sipping smoothies decorated with pineapple.”
Malcolm stopped in his tracks, his mouth a perfect O as he stealthily sneaked a packet of wafers into the basket. “What happened?”
“The rash escalated and by dinner, I could hardly breathe. But I powered through, picking at my dinner and…the piece of pineapple on my plate. That’s when I went into anaphylactic shock and almost ruined the wedding.”
“That’s horrible.”
“Yeah, it sucked. The trip was a bust. I didn’t feel well until the day of the wedding, and it was nice and all, but…weird.” I pointed at the wafers. “Do you really like those?”
“They’re okay. Layla does, though. She has a deep, abiding love for Jane Austen. She’s read every novel multiple times, has made pilgrimages to places Ms. Austen lived and visited in England, and has developed a taste for tea. And everyone knows that if you’re going to have tea, you need a cookie too.”
I chuckled. “Sounds logical. She’s cool.”
He inclined his chin, pointing at the open kiosk in the self-serve section. “Why was the wedding weird?”
It took me a beat to switch gears. I waited till we’d paid for our junk food and were heading away from campus to reply. “Two people with kids merging in one happy family unit without drama is a fairy tale. Everyone has issues from the previous marriage, and now what? You just power on and act like you’re all happy to start over? Nice try. Long story short, my brother Breck is an overachiever like our dad, but they clash. And Tatum has a hard time dealing with change. She spent her week in Hawaii reading in her hotel room. She didn’t want new siblings or a new mom. She wanted our real mom to sober up so we could be the happy family we never were.”
“And you?”
I nodded at the guy yelling, “Go Bears” from the crosswalk, and grunted. “I didn’t care. I just wanted to play hockey.”
That wasn’t the whole truth. Not by a long shot, and Malcolm probably knew it. But he didn’t press or call bullshit. He let it go.
I liked that about him. We could share pieces of our pasts like odd-shaped rocks we’d found at the beach, put them into our pockets, and move on. It didn’t feel heavy or strange.
Maybe I was slow, but it didn’t occur to me till after we’d rolled around naked in my bed for an hour or so that I was the one doing all the sharing. That wasn’t Malcolm being secretive either. That was me cluing in that I wasn’t in the habit of asking about other people’s lives.