The Legend Next Door (Totally Pucked, #2)

by Jesse H. Reign

There’s nothing linear about grief. No pattern. No rhyme. Only an involuntary beginning without an ending.

The shitstorm of grief.

On the screen, the game stops for intermission. That’s when all the players go off the ice and head to the locker rooms to shower together and have a little towel-flicking fight or something like that. It’s a way of boosting morale and increasing team spirit.

“We were three people,” he cries. “We were three people, Daddy, and, and I’m still a three-person. I’m a three-person. I don’t want to be two people.” He sobs until his voice grows softer and watery. “I’m a three-person, Daddy. I’m a three-person.”

“I didn’t get to choose the lessons I’ve learned. None of us do. Life chooses them for us, but what I’ve learned is this: tomorrow isn’t promised. I’ve loved before, I have, and I loved well. I loved as hard as that version of me could possibly love, but that version thought he had a lifetime to love. He thought he had time. He thought tomorrow was given. The version of me that stands with you here and now is different. The lesson was hard, so fucking hard, but I learned it well. I’m not going to love you like I have time. I’m going to love you like every day is our last day. Our first day. Our only day.”