Page 6 of Hot Shot
I know she probably has more to say on the subject, but she stays silent. Letting what she said sink in.
I should talk to my father, I know I should. Part of my hang-up is what he does for a living.
He’s a retired hockey player turned head coach of an NHL team. Hockey and I don’t exactly have a great relationship right now.
I know I shouldn’t let the past stop me from getting to know him. I’ve wanted to know him my whole life.
I remember asking my mom about him all the time. She’d always be cagey about what happened between them except to say he picked his career over us.
Never giving me the details. Now would be the perfect time to find out what really happened.
Hear his side of the story. But maybe I don’t want to. I can’t decide. This is an internal argument I’ve been having since the first time he contacted me.
“I’ll think about it,” I finally answer, getting to my feet. It’s the best I can do right now. I pick up my empty plate, carrying it to the sink. “Thank you for the snack.”
“Of course, dear. Dinner will be ready around seven,” Judy says, thankfully letting the conversation die.
“You don’t have to feed me every night, you know,” I say as I head to the kitchen door.
“I know but I like to. Let me take care of you for a little while.”
We’ve had this conversation at least once a week for the past few months and that’s the answer she always gives me.
With a wave of my hand, I head out the door and cross the short stretch of grass to my apartment.
Aunt Judy said it was an art studio when she bought the house. She converted it into a small apartment with the intention of renting it out but never got around to it. It sat unused until I moved to town.
I push open the door and step inside. It’s not much, but it suits me fine since I sold and gave away most of my belongings when I left Nashville. I didn’t even have a mattress when I moved in.
Aunt Judy happened to be redoing her guest bedroom and insisted I take the queen bed that she was getting rid of. The bed that looked brand new. I tried to argue with her but I lost that fight.
She alsofoundme a couch. She told me a friend of hers was giving it away along with matching coffee tables and end tables. I called bullshit on that too. But the couch showed up the next day.
I grab a can of seltzer from the fridge before making my way over to the couch with my Kindle. After the events of the day, I’m ready to relax with a good book.
But before I can get lost in the story my phone pings with a message. I grab it, scowling when I see who it is.
EJ:Can we talk? I miss you.
Nope, no way.
I sent him countless text messages that he never responded to and now he decides it’s time to reach out.
After all these months?
No thanks, EJ. You not only broke my heart, you broke our friendship. You were the straw that broke the camel’s back and made me decide to come to Orlando.
Chapter three
Madison
Thebuzzofthetimer has me pausing midchapter in my romance book, which I hate to do, so I can check on the blueberry muffins that have been baking. A quick peek through the oven window confirms that they are perfectly golden brown and I pull them out replacing them with chocolate scones.
It’s quiet, the only sounds coming from the oven creaking. Exactly how I like it.
Once the scones are in the oven, I pour myself another cup of coffee. This needs to be my last cup since it’s already my second, or maybe third, and too much caffeine makes me jittery.
I should be used to waking up at three a.m. since I’ve been getting up early to do the morning baking at Sugar and Crumbs for months now, but I’m not. Even going to bed by eight I still need multiple cups of caffeine to make it through the day.
