#hotels in cherokee

[ourcherokeeinniowa]

Indulge in Tranquility: Enjoying a Relaxing Morning at a Cherokee Hotel with Hot Breakfast

In the tranquil heart of Cherokee, Iowa, lies a hidden gem waiting to be discovered by weary travelers seeking solace from the hustle and bustle of everyday life. Cherokee's bed and breakfast establishments offer a unique blend of charm, comfort, and hospitality, providing guests with a rejuvenating escape from the ordinary. Imagine waking up to the aroma of freshly brewed coffee, the gentle rustle of leaves outside your window, and the promise of a hot, homemade breakfast awaiting you. In this comprehensive guide, we'll explore the allure of Cherokee bed and breakfasts and how they create the perfect setting for a relaxing morning experience, complete with a hearty hot breakfast.

The Allure of Cherokee Bed and Breakfasts

Cherokee bed and breakfasts epitomize the epitome of hospitality, offering guests a warm welcome and personalized attention that sets them apart from traditional hotels. These charming establishments are often housed in historic homes or renovated farmhouses, exuding a sense of warmth and character that is unmatched by larger accommodations. Each bed and breakfast in Cherokee is unique, with its own distinct personality and ambiance, making it the perfect choice for travelers seeking a more intimate and memorable experience.

Comfort and Tranquility

One of the defining features of Cherokee bed and breakfasts is their emphasis on comfort and tranquility. From the moment you step through the door, you'll feel a sense of relaxation wash over you as you're enveloped in the cozy embrace of your surroundings. Whether you're sinking into a plush armchair in the parlor, unwinding in the comfort of your well-appointed guest room, or strolling through the manicured gardens outside, every corner of a Cherokee bed and breakfast is designed to soothe the soul and ease the mind.

Personalized Service

At a Cherokee bed and breakfast, personalized service is the hallmark of the guest experience. Unlike larger hotels where you may feel like just another face in the crowd, at a bed and breakfast, you're treated like a treasured guest from the moment you arrive. Innkeepers go above and beyond to ensure that your stay is nothing short of perfect, whether it's recommending local attractions, arranging dinner reservations, or simply engaging in friendly conversation over a cup of tea. This personalized approach to hospitality creates a warm and welcoming atmosphere that makes guests feel right at home.

A Relaxing Morning Ritual: Hot Breakfast

One of the highlights of staying at a Cherokee bed and breakfast is the opportunity to indulge in a leisurely hot breakfast each morning. Unlike the standard continental breakfast offered at many hotels, breakfast at a bed and breakfast is a culinary experience to be savored and enjoyed. Picture yourself seated at a beautifully set table, the morning sunlight streaming through the windows as you sip freshly squeezed orange juice and anticipate the delicious meal to come.

The Art of Breakfast: From Farm to Table

At Cherokee bed and breakfasts, breakfast is more than just a meal – it's a celebration of local flavors and seasonal ingredients. Innkeepers take pride in sourcing the freshest produce, meats, and dairy products from nearby farms and markets, ensuring that each dish is bursting with flavor and vitality. From fluffy buttermilk pancakes topped with sweet Iowa maple syrup to hearty omelets filled with locally grown vegetables and artisanal cheeses, every bite is a testament to the bounty of the region.

A Time for Connection

In addition to nourishing the body, breakfast at a Cherokee bed and breakfast provides an opportunity for connection and camaraderie. As guests gather around the table to enjoy their meal, conversations flow freely, friendships are forged, and memories are made. Whether you're swapping travel stories with fellow guests or chatting with the innkeeper about the history of the house, breakfast becomes a communal experience that fosters a sense of belonging and community.

Exploring Cherokee: Beyond the Breakfast Table

While breakfast is undoubtedly a highlight of the morning at a Cherokee bed and breakfast, the experience doesn't end there. After fueling up for the day ahead, guests are encouraged to explore all that Cherokee has to offer, from its historic landmarks and scenic parks to its charming downtown shops and eateries. Whether you're embarking on a leisurely stroll along the Little Sioux River, browsing the local boutiques for unique souvenirs, or immersing yourself in the town's rich cultural heritage at the Sanford Museum and Planetarium, there's no shortage of adventures to be had in Cherokee.

In Conclusion: A Retreat for the Soul

In conclusion, enjoying a relaxing morning at a Cherokee bed and breakfast with a hot breakfast is an experience that nourishes the body, mind, and soul. From the comfort of your accommodations to the warmth of the innkeeper's hospitality, every aspect of your stay is designed to provide a sense of peace and rejuvenation. So why not escape the stresses of everyday life and treat yourself to a getaway at a Cherokee bed and breakfast? Whether you're seeking solitude, romance, or simply a change of scenery, you'll find all that and more in the heart of Cherokee, Iowa.

[hotelbooking]

Days Inn by Wyndham Cherokee Near Casino The superior services and facilities offered at The hotel's ticket service and tours can even help you book tickets and reservations for entertainment and explorations. Wear your favorite outfits again and again thanks to the laundry service offered at Guests are guaranteed a comfortable stay while at You can stay fresh and clean with a hair dryer, toiletries and towels provided in some of the guest bathrooms. Wake up with no worries at Never let a day go wasted when you're at

[stevenrussell]

[lackadaisycats]

So, don't know if this has been asked yet but, do we know where the Lackadaisy and Marigold are located?

No particular reason, nope not at all...

I've never put precise street addresses on them, and that's intentional, but the general ambiance around the Little Daisy Cafe is intended to resemble the Laclede's Landing area of St. Louis, near to the Mississippi riverbank and Eads Bridge. The cave system below more resembles what's actually underneath Cherokee Street, a bit further south of there.

The Maribel Hotel (where the Marigold Room is) is sort of vaguely based on the original Chase Hotel (predecessor of the Chase Park Plaza Hotel), and so you might consider it more of an inland feature of the Central West End or thereabouts.

[hwadam-stories]

₊ ˚ ⊹ #HWADAMSTORIES 𓂃 ࣪ ˖ .ᐟ

a writing blog for anything and everything related to the elixir of the sun manhwa, originally written by Soldam and illustrated by Song Yi, a historical romance story about fate, destiny and an eternal love. 3/7/24.

sign the petition to get this manwha animated!

🌺 INTRODUCTION

first and foremost, this blog is a sideblog to my roleplay blogs IMPERIALSIYO and JEUNGHWA you'll receive a follow back from those blogs upon following this one.

my name is moe (she / her) twenty-four. black and cherokee-indian, thank you for coming by and checking out my blog. I highly encouraged coming into my inbox and interacting with me (messages, requests, etc) because I genuinely love that stuff with my whole heart.

due to the nature of my blog and the manhwa itself, minors and ageless blogs are prohibited from interacting with me and will receive an immediate block. this blog and it's contents caters only to an adult audience. Please refer to this post to know more

🌺 REQUESTS / GUIDELINES

I do not consent to my work being translated, plagiarized or reposted anywhere else.

Sharing is caring! Likes do nothing for my fics other than serving a bookmark for you, so please consider reblogging my fics to share with others so more people can read and enjoy them!

While my inbox is open to requests (both anonymously and non) I do reserve the right to decline any submissions that either breaks my rules or makes me uncomfortable.

That being said, I love crossover content of any kind and absolutely encourage more than just reader x character fics! I'm in many fandoms like Wandavision, Castlevania, Inuyasha, Disney, Jujutsu Kaisen, American Dad, Archer, Hazbin Hotel etc.

POINTS OF VIEW: male, female, deaf, blind, black (African-American), etc.

WHAT I WON'T WRITE: non-con, pedophilia, beastiality, gross / weird kinks, illegal age gaps, etc.

WHAT I WILL WRITE: fluff, smut, familial dynamics, romance, violence, blood, death, alternate universes, alternate scenes, legal age gaps, Headcanons, oneshots, yandere, etc.

🌺 CHARACTER LIST (see images here)

[ganak village]: Rangbi, Jahan, Saran, Yul

[hwadam kingdom]: Emperor Dhan, Bayan, Chief Secretary Juhyul, Chief General Ga-Yerang, Suyeon

[concubines]: Sama Hyeon, Han Bia, Ye Tae Im, Karan

characters from other fandoms

🌺 ABOUT THE MANHWA (read it here)

Bayan is an outcast amongst the Siyo, a people who have healing powers. Considered worthless because she doesn’t have the ability to heal others, Bayan is sent to the court of Dhan, the Great Sun Emperor, who is cursed with unrelenting bloodlust and slaughters his concubines mercilessly. It seems that Bayan’s fate is sealed the moment she reaches the emperor’s palace and Dhan is fated to suffer from madness forever... But together, Bayan and Dhan just might be able to change each other’s destiny.

Elixir Of The Sun is a historical romance about our main characters Dhan and Bayan overcoming fate and finding love in one another through trials and tribulations. The Manwha is adapted from the light novel "Lord Of The Sun" written by Soldam and does contain dark, sensitive and explicitly adult scenes where as the manhwa is careful to tone it down for a mature audience.

🌺 TRIGGER WARNINGS!

Should you choose to read Elixir Of The Sun, please keep in mind that:

- sexual violence is part of its story in terms of information (no scene is ever depicted but there is a close call regarding the main character in chapters 9 & 10)

- depictions of self inflicted injuries (the main character has healing blood and has to stab herself multiple times throughout the story)

- a failed un-aliving attempt in chapters 41 & 42. The main character was sleepwalking.

- In Chapters 110 - 115 there is a extreme depiction of excessive blood and violence but no gore is present.

Thankfully, the story doesn't force its plot to have these things as the main point, it merely uses these plot devices to reinforce and focus on the romance and subtle fantasy plot surrounding the bond of Bayan and Dhan.

[imnotpayingforurtherapy]

I don't think i've ever done an introduction before so here's a messy one (I'll fix/add to it later)

Hey, I'm Snilk (It's a nickname my friend gave me that's short for snail milk)

I draw and write occasionally (My ao3 is the same as my username and is at the bottom of this post under the cut)

I'm only fluent in english but i also know some Spanish, French, Russian, Portuguese, Japanese, Korean, Arabic, Turkish, Slovenian, Gaelic (in order of how much I know the language) Also working on learning Kumeyaay, Cherokee and Chiwere (The native languages of the places I've lived and love visiting)

This is mainly a bsd account because ✨autism & hyperfixations✨ but all the fandoms i'm in/shows/book/manga i've seen or read is under cut (feel free to recommend things to my read/watch list through asks or dms)

General personality info also under cut

Socials under cut

Fandom list

Fandoms (General)

- Bungo stray dogs

- Hazbin Hotel/Helluva boss

- The Amazing Digital Circus

- Ramshackle

- No.6

- My little pony friendship is magic (gen 4)

~ Jkk

- Junji ito

[Past Fandoms: Miraculous ladybug, Bnha, Danganronpa, harry potter, demon slayer, hunter x hunter, bloom into you, whisper me a love song, ways of the household husband, tokyo ghoul, Tbhk, spy family, chainsaw man, yuri on ice, sk8, idk if these are considered fandoms but i was also obsessed with yt animators for a while; jaidenanimations, odd1sout, let me explain studios, jelly jess, SO MANY MORE]

Manga/Light Novels

- Bungou stray dogs light novels (1-8; Kafka Asagiri... still haven't read tdipud)

- BSD Gaiden/Another Story (Kafka Asagiri, LOVED THE ART OF THIS ONE)

- No.6 (Atsuko Asano, UGH LOVE THIS ONE)

- Bloom into you (Nio Nakatani, THE AROACE REP 🔛🔝)

Books

Recent/Fav reads

- Fahrenheit 451 (Ray Bradbury)

- Flower of Buffoonery (Dazai Osamu)

- No longer Human (Dazai Osamu)

- Setting Sun (Dazai Osamu)

- School Girl (Dazai Osamu)

- Time Machine (HG Wells)

(There's more i'm just lazy)

Currently reading/read list

- Crime and Punishment (Fyodor Dostoevsty)

- 1984 (George Orwell)

so much more (again i'm lazy)

Music

I pretty much listen to anything and everything (Except super popular artists who only got popular because they're celebrities and not because they make actually good music, I can't stand them)

Artists

- Ado

- AJJ

- The Alan Parsons Project

- Alex G

- Alexander Vertinsky

- Alpay

- Conan Gray

- Chappell Roan

- Sufjan Stevens

- Mustafa Ozkent

- Psychedelic Porn Crumpets

(I'll finish this later, i'm eepy and this is too hard to pick my fav artists)

Songs

Personality

ENTP/INTP (It changes between those two every time I take the stupid test)

I'm technically Aroace and bisexual (Romantic relationships feel suffocating and cause me to have constant panic attacks and I'm fine with sex but I have to be on top and in control and refuse to take off any of my clothes so pretty much me giving cunnilingus or blowjobs👍 anything else👎 The reason being I have horrid sa trauma from when I was 8... lemme know if y'all want the story)

I've been told by everyone I know I am Dazai, no elaboration, I just simply am him

Masochist yet scared of pain, constantly paranoid and anxiety ridden lil creature (I have horrid insomnia that causes me to hallucinate), I love driving, I have horrid misophonia and will often skip meals cause i can't stand the sound if my own chewing, automatic flight response when alone, fight response with someone weaker than me, i'm an extreme people pleaser and over thinker so as much as i wanna make jokes about something i wont because im scared of it going wrong and then will proceed to overthink my screw ups for the rest of my days :D, would deal with panic attacks through self-harm/self-sabotage and would purposely embarrass myself (Haven't done that in a while tho so it's all good) uhhhh this is too long so that's it lmao

Ao3 writer curse (I've never broken a bone but pretty much every week it's something new from giving myself a concussion and missing school for days without my knowledge cause i was in a coma that my family thought was just me being lazy to a random excruciating pain in a place i didn't even know could hurt)

WHERE MY CRONIC PAIN BESTIES AT?!? YALL GET IT 🗣️🗣️‼️‼️🥰🥰

I make jokes when i'm in pain cause i hate having people worry about me or feeling bad because of me, I am entertainment for you, i'm not real so just laugh at me like a sad movie

I go to an art school (unfortunately) and have class from 8:30am-5pm on a normal day; I'm in production & design conservatory which is basically just running everything behind the scenes of live theater, everything you see and hear in a show that's not the actors themselves I work to control and make as good as possible, my fav positions are A2 (putting mics on people and setting up speakers) Wardrobe (designing costumes and performing/helping with quick changes) and Deck/props (Make stuff and put it on stage)

Outside if that my favorite subjects are Science and History (I love memorizing things that make sense and work together, i love understanding facts about the world and using it to express and understand things through literature)

I used to love math as i was a child prodigy but lost my spark as instead of my teachers noticing my skill and helping me, they poured water on my flame and now i can barely solve 13 time 3 without a calculator (its 39)

When I was in kindergarten, I was bored with my lessons and my sister (who was in 3rd grade at the time) loved playing school with me so by the time I started first grade I had memorized multiplication tables, could solve any equation in my head within minutes (like 2 digit multiplied by 2 digit equations) and had a concept of negative numbers, my first grade teacher loved this about me and would give me harder equations separate from the rest of the class, then in second grade my teacher would lie to me any time i said something above second grade math, like one time i brought up an equation like 2-5 and she was like "oh you can't do that" and I tried to explain it and she just kept denying it until I finally got so fed up with her bs I shouted "YES YOU CAN ITS NEGATIVE 3 JUST LIKE YOUR IQ FOR NOT UNDERSTANDING THAT!" ... I got sent to the office. Third grade was the worst because instead of just letting me be my teacher made me write down everything on paper... I don't think in numbers when i do mental math, I think in concepts, so by the time i convert the concepts to numbers and but it on paper i've lost the entire equation and have to start over again and get super confused because i forget how i got that number and why that numbers there so i end up just breaking down and getting the question wrong. AND INSTEAD IF SEEING WHAT THE ISSUE WAS SHE JUST BRUSHED IT OFF AS OH YAY IM DOING THE WORK so i became stupid as a result (I also was in math olympians for a few years and would always get pissed off cause it was a group competition and i would look at the problem, solve it instantly and tell them the answer, they wouldn't believe me, take forever to solve it and low and behold i was right and because it was a timed competition i never got higher than second place...)

OH GOD THAT WAS A HORRID RANT- MY BAD GUESS YALL GOT SOME SNILK LORE🗣️🗣️‼️‼️

Socials

(I'm not really active on Twitter/X)

[heavyhitterheaux]

Still not over this 😭

My new nickname I've given to myself is barricade baddie lmao

On my actual birthday which was the day after the show, I just spent the day in Louisville.

It was a step out of my comfort zone because I am extremely shy and introverted and a homebody lol

But I was like even if I'm by myself I'm going to make the best of it while @a-moment-captured checked in with me from time to time to make sure I was okay 🥺

So, I went to Churchill Downs

And they also have a museum on site that I went to and they had pics of my faves

Next, I went to Morris Deli!

And obviously got a turkey on ciabatta lol

I also passed by Bardstown, Cherokee Park, River Road, and Eastern Parkway 🥰

I ended the day with me making my own blend of bourbon not too far from the hotel that I was at because that's one of the things Louisville is known for

You can mix it and they can give you an entire bottle which you also get to name!

And it was only right that I did this lol 😆

Saying all that to say, I had an amazing time and hope to do it again next year. I'll do another post about the concert with pics, videos, and my outfit.

Bottom line: I love Jack bad and I'm so thankful for the people that have come into my life because of him

[f0point5]

McLaren hotel anon here:

Lance is very nice and thoughtful and that’s the most common thing people say. Both drivers and reporters. He’s one of the biggest donors to the Montreal children’s hospital, and donates off all his old race suits, helmets, etc to charity. From Montreal but most locals didn’t know the family was here or billionaires until F1 bc they kinda flew under the radar as much as possible. Now he kinda hides out in small towns whenever he’s not racing. Spotted driving a Jeep Grand Cherokee on more than one occasion.

He also kept a list (mental or maybe physical idk) of all the reporters who came at him aggressively about being a pay driver when he first started and not refuses to talk to them. Which is the level of petty I support tbh. He does specifically speak with Will Buxton some (and that’s who reported the list thing) because they did Florida Winter Series together (so did Max).

He tried to quit after FP1 at Montreal his rookie season and begged his dad to put the reserve driver in the car bc the pressure and hate got to him so badly. He’s definitely not a fan of the fame aspect of the sport and doesn’t (or at least didn’t used to) handle the criticism well.

I could go into his whole backstory with Prema F3 drama and his dad and Lando/the Norris’ rumors but idk how much people care

I’ve got a list of names and yours is in red underlined - Lance stroll, 2018

Fr though that’s so Stroll I feel like daddy stroll would do the same thing. Lance was raised by a Bond villain he knows the meaning of a grudge and I support that

Omg no he wanted to quit that badly? After one practice? Poor thing. He really came into the sport at the wrong time because I swear back in the day pay drivers were so common. I have always wondered how much of the driving is about Lance and how much of it is about his dad because he really doesn’t seem like he enjoys the environment at all and I wonder if he feels like it’s worth it. He could do anything, drive any car, race any series, race just for fun…is F1 really worth your mental health?

Also is it true that at some point George got dropped from an F2/F3 team because Daddy Stroll bought the spot and that’s why George ended up shopping himself around at one point? Did I make that up?

No spill the tea on the Lando rumours because I KNOW that Lando saying he didn’t want his dad to buy him a seat was a Dig at Lance I just know it

[anexperimentallife]

Strange. Although my grandmother, before she died, hinted that my great-grandfather--who left before she was born--was Lakota, he turns up in an Apache tribal census? Was he Apache? Was he Lakota, but living on an Apache reservation?

For context, my grandmother's mother died in a hotel fire when my grandmother was a baby (although it has often been suggested that she simply ran off, since her body was never recovered), and my grandmother was raised by my Great Aunt Bess, who I knew, and who was... not a nice person, and my Great Uncle Dan, who I never met, but who by all accounts was a saint.

This was the early 1900s, my grandmother was an orphan linked to a scandal, and there would have been Consequences if people had known my grandmother's father was Native American in addition to all that, so I understand why they kept it all under wraps, but I still feel robbed of a significant part of my heritage.

(My grandmother's exact words were: "A lot of what we called French was really Sioux Injun, but we wasn't supposed to tell nobody." Which tracks especially when you know that in the early 1900s, many Native Americans and their offspring with white settlers claimed to be French when questioned.)

So okay, maybe records show that my great-grandfather was Native American, but I can't in good conscience call myself a quarter Native American, because blood quantum is bullshit. I cannot in good conscience ever claim Native heritage, because I wasn't raised in or around any native culture. I am, for all practical intents and purposes, a white man who just happens to have some Native ancestry, but who has not lived that experience because my ancestors decided to go stealth.

I want to point out that this is another example of genocide, though. Me being cut off from the culture of my Native ancestors, whether Lakota, Apache, or (as other family whispers hint at on my father's side) Cherokee, is a direct result of the US effort to stamp out the Native American population, and my ancestors being afraid of the consequences of it being known that we had Natives in our family.

[mysterymanjoseph]

Monsoon Season: mysterymanjoseph and sexyxmilfxhime

The business meetings had been going well the past couple of days, but, there was tension because of severe weather coming in from the sea, and it hit while Joseph was trying to drive back to his hotel to ride it out. While not in his beloved Grand Cherokee, the Land Rover that he had been able to lease is handling the heavy rains and winds like a trooper, still, it is not like it is a tank. As he creeps the vehicle along, wipers going at full speed to keep the windshield as clear as possible, Joseph thinks, "If I had know it would have gotten this bad before I got to my hotel, I might have asked to stay at the office complex, could have slept in this Land Rover in the parking garage easily enough." He sees a shape ahead, just off the side of the road, and slows further, mumbling, "Is that someone actually walking in this mess?"

@sexyxmilfxhime

[carolmunson]

bad blood (part one) (stella's version)

(A CROSS OVER FOR THE AGES FEATURING @ROLLERGIRLWORLD ’S BOXER!STEVE AND LIBRARIAN!READER) (18+) (ROCKSTAR!EDDIE X ACTRESS!READER)

TENSIONS ARE HIGH WHEN YOU FINALLY RUN INTO STEVE AGAIN AFTER HE MADE YOU CRY IN HIS KITCHEN IN MALIBU – CALLING OUT YOU AND EDDIE’S BAD BEHAVIOR. THE TRAINING FOR YOUR NEW OSCAR BAIT MOVIE IS ON THE LINE, BUT WILL THINGS GO TO BLOWS BEFORE YOU EVEN LEARN HOW TO THROW A JAB? WHY IS EVERYONE SO ON EDGE?

Do they know something you don’t? READ FROM LIBRARIAN!READER’S PERSPECTIVE HERE.

warnings and such: smut implications/almost smut, fingering/teasing, name calling, drug mention, swearing, blood mention, intense toxic behavior from a one steve harrington, angst, crying, some kissing, not really ‘ignoring’ per se – but feeling ignored by partner (also: photo above does not imply that that’s my HC for stella – i don’t use descriptors outside of clothing, just was a cool lady boxer pic) lastly, i don’t use 'Y/N’ in fics, filler name is stella rink, argue with the wall. and super lastly, if you’re under 18, don’t read my content.

“Oh no, I think they took a different exit,” you said with a frown, looking out of the back window of Eddie’s black Jeep Cherokee. Your assistant and manager had been following you from the hotel to the gym, but neither of them knew Toronto very well – to be fair, neither did Eddie. He had one eye on the road and the other on a map propped up on his knee, jaw tight and his grip on the wheel with his ringed hand even tighter. His tongue stuck out on the corner of his lip while he tried to concentrate.

“Baby, I’m not saying this in a mean way, but please stop talking,” he pleaded, “Let me just figure this out.”

The heavy churn of Judas Priest’s Painkiller album was screaming through the sound system, making your anxiety even higher. Ed told you it would be good ‘pump up’ music before you went in for your first training session, but it couldn’t have made you more overwhelmed. You sat back down in the passenger’s seat, watching the road and the piles of snow building up on the meridians of the highway. You’d never boxed before, you barely did your own stunts – and hey, neither would anyone else whose legs were insured for forty million dollars. The training was for a movie – your first big drama, absolute Oscar bait – where an about-to-be pro, female boxer is down on their luck and stuck in a man’s world. If you had just erased the boxer part, you might as well have been playing yourself. Quick witted, snarky, tough, self reliant and self sufficient, all listed in the character description – Eddie laughed when he read it, “All it’s missing is your loud mouth and then it’s just you on a Monday morning.” Since you had just wrapped a few episodes of a new mini-series in Canada, and the movie would be filming here, it made sense to get you right into training here, too. You’d been so preoccupied with filming that you just okayed everything your manager said about getting this set-up through your assistant. “It’ll be the best boxer working in Toronto, you’re gonna be in great hands! Well…gloves? I guess?” she said over the phone. You nodded to your assistant while your manager’s voice droned on through the speaker, trying to focus on getting your hair and makeup done, learning your lines, and a PA coming in to check on you every five seconds. Before you knew it, you and Eddie were on a private jet from Montreal to Toronto with only two days to spare before you got to the gym.

It hit you the night before that you had to do something you weren’t one hundred percent confident you’d know how to do. Sure you were coordinated: you could dance, you could swim, you could figure skate, you could play baseball – could you box? Sure you were tough, you were quick, you were angry – but – could you box? You tossed and turned in bed for an hour before Eddie sat up and turned the side table light on. “Okay, lay it on me,” he said, the sheets shifting down to show off his chest while he pushed up to lean against the pillows, “What’s wrong, sweet thing?” You huffed and turned towards him, pouting, “What if I’m bad and the studio decides it’s not worth it and they recast me?” 

It hit you the night before that you had to do something you weren’t one hundred percent confident you’d know how to do. Sure you were coordinated: you could dance, you could swim, you could figure skate, you could play baseball – could you box? Sure you were tough, you were quick, you were angry – but – could you box? You tossed and turned in bed for an hour before Eddie sat up and turned the side table light on. “Okay, lay it on me,” he said, the sheets shifting down to show off his chest while he pushed up to lean against the pillows, “What’s wrong, sweet thing?” You huffed and turned towards him, pouting, “What if I’m bad and the studio decides it’s not worth it and they recast me?” 

He laughed, “That’s the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever said.They’d never recast you, you’re a perfect fit.”

“Can you just listen?” you whined, “Indulge in my bad mood with me.” 

“Sweet thing, I’m never gonna indulge in your bad mood with you,” he said, taking his hand closer to you and plopping it on your head, “Especially when your bad mood is telling my baby all that bullshit. Why do you think you’re not gonna be good?” 

“I don’t know, I’m not like – I’m not a boxer. I’m not a fighter like that,” you shrugged. 

“That’s what you’re being trained for. So you can look like a boxer and act like a boxer,” he explained, “If you already knew, the studio wouldn’t spend the money on a coach for you. They know you don’t know. That’s the whole point.” 

“I don’t like not knowing,” you sulked, “What if I look stupid?” 

“You never look stupid,” his brows knitted, you were rarely this down on yourself, “What’s gettin’ into you tonight? You’re so pouty.” 

“Just nervous,” you whispered. 

“You know what helps me when I’m nervous?” he asks with a little grin, using the hand he plopped on your head to put your hair out of your eyes. 

“Yeah, you smoke weed,” you replied matter of factly. 

“The other thing,” he said, catching your eyes. 

“Oh. Fucking?” you guessed, you knew that look. 

“C’mon,” he said, tugging his pants off under the sheets and kicking them down to the edge of the mattress, “Come get on top of me angel, show me how tough you are.” You groaned and turned to the other side, hearing him sink into the covers through the crinkle of the sheets. Ed’s body is suddenly warm against your back, his fingers trailing your thigh to catch the silk of your little powder blue nightie and shoving it up to your waist. You giggled when his lips found your ear, nipping at the lobe. Your back involuntarily arches, pushing your ass against him when his hot breath fans against your neck. 

“Don’t wanna show me how tough you are? You want it to be a surprise?” he asked, his fingers snaking over the swell of your hip. He tucked a knee between yours to keep your legs propped open, the same hand on your hip making its way between your thighs. Your body gets hot at his touch, the way he talks in your ear, the confidence he has to know when and how you want it without having to tell him. 

“Want me to tucker you out, instead?” he asked, two fingers slowly circling over your clit. You could feel the spongy, swollen tip of his cock already trying to probe you from behind. 

“Please, daddy,” you whine, your hand reaching for his wrist while pleasure builds between your legs. 

“Lemme get you relaxed first, baby,” his voice got deep and gravely, your hips slowly grinding in time with his fingers. Eddie grinned at your silent consent, your little breaths picking up while he touched you. He fucked you hard that night, slamming you into the mattress with your legs in the air, getting you to scream out all of your anxieties into the pent house suite walls. You slept better than you had in weeks, but the wake up wrapped up in each other’s arms was sweeter than the kisses he gave you the night before. 

“Looks like we’re here, princess,” Eddie said, pulling the Jeep into the parking lot. A couple of cars were already there and you silently cursed yourself for not getting there earlier. The sound of a sports car pulling in behind you was a happy reminder that your assistant and your manager made it unscathed. 

You popped open the door, hopping down from the seat in your silvery white moon boots. A knee length white (FAUX – don’t throw any red paint) fur coat protected you from the bitter cold of Canada. You tugged on some matching mittens, closing the door behind you and meeting Eddie at the trunk while he pulled out your bags, slinging them over his shoulder. You both couldn’t look more different. You in your winter wonderland best, ear muffs and accessories all in the same bright white – you matched the bitter snow filled sky. Then there was Eddie, swallowed up by a heavy duty leather jacket covered in studs, black shredded sweater underneath. His tight black jeans tucked into black socks, tucked into steel toe combat boots. No gloves, no scarf, nothing to cover his ears – his teeth chattered but he didn’t complain. 

With the bags on his back, he looked you over, cooing at the sight of you, “My little snow angel, look at you.”

You blushed, “Stooppp! I’m supposed to go in there and kick ass. I can’t be a little snow angel.”

“Shouldnt’a dressed so cute then,” he shrugged, leaving a kiss on your cheek and putting your mittened hand in his. Your assistant, Tiffany, and your manager, Simone crunched towards you in the snow. 

“How ya feelin’, Stell?” Simone asked, “You look nervous.” 

“I’m a little nervous,” you confessed, your lip quirking. 

“Nothing to be nervous about, we go in, we train, we schedule the next training, we leave – done!” she assured you, her coffee colored nails shining while she talked with her hands, “You’re gonna crush it, you always do.”

Simone’s words were always comforting and straight to the point, it’s why she’s been your manager for as long as she has. Normally, she’d never come to something like this, she has other clients, but she knew it would be something you’d want extra support for. It didn’t exactly mean this wasn’t a working trip for her though, because as soon as she finished her sentence, one of her cell phones rang in her oversized purse. 

“Simone Mueller speaking,” her voice was cavalier, but her work ethic was anything but. If there was anything you wanted in Hollywood, you wanted Simone Mueller on your team for it.  You, Eddie, and Tiffany followed behind her into the gym, the heat of the building soothing your nerves almost instantly. You felt Eddie give your hand a squeeze, kissing it over the mittens. 

“You got this, baby. Gonna be so great,” his award winning smile, dimples and all, made you want to take him to the locker room like you did with the boys in high school. When you stopped at the doorway you looked to the far end to see someone familiar. Little feet that could use some Vivienne Westwood platforms attached to a little woman looking at the banners on the ceiling, oh - OH!

“Libby!” you call out, waving at her. The sight of her calms you more than the heat of the gym, a friend, someone safe. Someone who knew you outside of being a movie star. But the comfort faded as her boyfriend came into view next to her – if Libby was here, it meant your coach was Steve. 

You never forgot that look he gave you from behind his glasses, the last words he said to you back in September of last year. He had been right the whole time, Eddie would get caught using again five months later and ruin everything. Your jaw clenched when you thought about how satisfied he was when Eddie called him up to get back in the ring when you separated in February. Your heart sank to know that he was right again, you took him back. You fulfilled his stupid fucking kitchen counter prophecy. 

Your smile falters when she doesn’t respond, getting tugged away by Steve to have a hushed and heated conversation with his manager. You guessed he was as surprised as you were, because when Simone said ‘best boxer working in Toronto,’ you thought it meant someone from Canada. Not a boxer that just so happened to be working in Toronto the same time as you. 

“Let’s go change, they’re almost done setting up,” Simone said, beckoning you over with her hand, “You gotta talk to Tim, too.” 

“Let me just get my bearings, Simone, I’ll be right over to the locker room. I promise!” you say, but she picked up a call halfway through your sentence. 

“Want me to talk to Simone about getting you out of here? You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. Not with that fucking asshole,” Eddie assured, his hand rubbing your back while guiding you to the other side of the gym. Unbeknownst to you, Eddie’s heart was pounding at the sight of both of them, a cold sweat pooling on the back of his neck. 

“No baby, it’s – it’s okay,” you assured, shrugging your coat off. Tiffany ran up unannounced, her blonde ponytail bouncing behind her to take your things and hang them up in the locker room. 

“Thanks Tiff,” you beamed, “Can you get me a tea? If they have that here? Coffee’s fine if not.” 

“You want a coffee, Ed?” Tiff asked over her shoulder. Eddie shook his head no, knowing he wouldn’t be able to keep anything down if he tried. He didn’t dislike Tiffany, but something about how willing she was to do things for you made him feel like he was a little useless. Sure, he was there for general spousal support’ but he was perfectly good at getting you coffee or tea or putting your coat away.

“Surprised they even got back together,” Eddie muttered, watching you pull your hair back and out of your face. You made a face, brows contorting. 

“They broke up?” you asked, “Where’d you hear that?” 

Eddie stuttered for a second, his cheeks turning pink, “Uh, oh, in like, some magazine. It was a while ago.” 

Eddie didn’t read magazines that reported break ups, especially ones that might report on a guy he hates. He only read Heavy Metal, Kerrang!, and Metal Hammer – every now and then Rolling Stone. Though, you wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d been trying to find stories about you in Teen Beat and Seventeen when you were separated. 

His hand found your waist, stealing a kiss from you, “You wanna go? I can still show you how to box.” 

“You weren’t my favorite coach for that, baby,” you laughed, returning his kiss with one of your own, “But thank you so much for the offer.” 

When you knew you were getting the role, Eddie brought you right down to the home gym to show you the ropes. He was good at so many things, but teaching you how to box just absolutely wasn’t one of them. Eddie was always getting frustrated that you were getting frustrated, giving vague instructions like:

‘Okay move your arm like this!’ 

‘Like what?’ 

‘Just like, punch, baby. Just throw a punch – no, no not like that.’ 

‘Okay like how?’ 

‘We’re doing hooks baby, not jabs. You have to put your weight into it, turn your body a little – not all the way, honey. Jesus Christ, we’re gonna be here all night.’ 

Needless to say, the session ended with you grinding on top of him in the sauna and you both figured that would be a better workout program than whatever you were doing before. You make your way over to meet with Mikey and Big by the ring – Eddie trailing behind you protectively, a straightness in his posture you weren’t used to seeing. 

“Hi, I’m Stella! We all met briefly back in September of last year, and I think I’ve seen you all at a couple parties at our place. It’s nice to see you again and, you know, officially meet you,” you put your hand out, getting hand shakes all around, “This is so exciting! I really appreciate you all taking the time to be a part of this project – I know Steve’s got a busy schedule.” It was like Steve never sent you home crying. You’d been acting for a long time. What’s another performance for the audience?  The men shared their niceties, Mikey’s stare lingering a little too long for Eddie’s liking. 

“Haven’t seen ya since the beginning of March, kid. Where’ve you been?” Big asked, big smile on his face, giving Ed a little shove on the shoulder, “You’re gettin’ fuckin’ ripped dude. You wanna come fight for Mikey? We can put you on the roster.” 

Eddie blushed, he always liked Big from when he used to work out with Steve at the Malibu gym, “Nah, nah, it’s just for the ladies, y’know? Well, for this lady.” 

“Picked you a winner there, huh?” Big smirked at your eye roll. 

“I always do,” Eddie joked back. You let the boys talk more, seeing Steve approaching the group with a face only concrete could love. He sneaks the mitts out of Big’s arms, not making eye contact with Eddie at all. There’s a rigidness to his face, he’s mad, he’s fuming – this wasn’t surprising. “Bet he’s pumped to the fuckin’ brim with roids,” Eddie huffed one night when he got angry again over the whole ordeal, “Probably why he’s such an asshole to his girl, all the fuckin’ roid rage.”

“Hey, Harrington,” you smiled, taking a few steps over to him. You see his jaw tense and eyes darken, you know he hates the informality – so you really lay it on thick. You clapped him on the shoulder, slinking your arms across your chest after, “Long time, no see Steve.” 

“Can’t say that bothered me,” his tone was low, his stare sparking with that same glint in his eye from when he used his words like knives to your throat. You havin’ fun, angel? You havin’ fun, angel? You havin’ fun, angel? You havin’ fun, angel? You havin’ fun, angel? 

“And still so charming,” you say flatly, a sparkling smile still plastered on your face, a media training laugh pouring out of your mouth. You knew the gym owner had to be here somewhere and you’d be damned if the The Sun got a report that you were a bitch to Steve fucking Harrington and his little woman. You peer over his shoulder and see the woman in question, a nervous looking Libby sitting over by the side of the ring. 

“Where’s Lib —oh! Libby!” you call out, hurrying over to her, almost skittering on your moon boots. Just a moment to feel okay, just a little girl chat was all you needed to get through the next few hours. 

“Oh, h-hi, St-Stella.” She looks terrified and you can feel Steve’s harsh glare on your back. Something felt wrong, but you shook it off. Maybe they got in a fight after you left last year, maybe things got worse for her. That’s what you feared the most, that before she knew it, Libby would have lost all of herself in Steve. "I was trying to come and say hi, but they were trying to corral me off to change. It’s been so long, we have to catch up!” you urge, but Libby doesn’t respond. She takes a step back and knocks over one of the chairs, a commotion causing the guys to look up and for you to protectively reach your hand out to help. 

“Y-yeah, it’s um —wow, yeah —uh…I forgot my book,” she mumbles, getting up. She could barely look at you. Your heart starts to race. Did Steve tell her that you both couldn’t hang out anymore? Just because you said he might lose her? 

“Oh, okay–” you start meekly, realizing you might’ve gotten Libby in trouble. Your smile falls a little, suddenly self conscious. 

“—yeah, I’ll be right back!” she says before running all the way to the gym’s office and shutting the door behind her. 

“Stella! Gym clothes, let’s go!” Simone calls out, walking over to you, her waist length micro box braids swinging behind her. Her knee high black leather boots clicking loud on the concrete floor, her long floor length Calvin Klein trench floating behind her. Simone never asks for something more than twice, so you hurry your way towards the locker room matching her stride. 

“I sent Tiffany to get coffee for everyone,” she muttered, “We’re not using a coffee pot from 1982 that’s never been washed in a gym’s back room.” 

You nodded, slinking off to the locker room and seeing Eddie making himself comfortable on the other side of the ring. He looked a little jittery, his knee bouncing anxiously, fiddling with the guitar pick on his chain. 

Eddie’s demeanor perked up when he saw you emerge from the locker room in your Everlast shorts, sparkling white. Shorter than men’s boxer shorts, but flowy enough to move around in – you of course still had a reputation to uphold. Your sports bra, obviously a sensible top, clung to your body; suddenly feeling too hot and tight at the sight of Steve menacingly standing in the corner of the ring, his eye following you and flitting to Eddie. You swallowed hard, climbing into the ring, Big hopping in to tape up your hands and give you a little pep talk. Steve crossed his arms, leaning against the posts with the mitts on each hand. When the gloves were on, a little heavy and awkward, Big hopped out to collect his coffee from a chatty Tiffany who came back with the goods. 

“I don’t like to wait,” Steve said, approaching you with slow steps in the center of the ring.

“That’s too bad. I don’t like to be rushed,” you hissed back, “I’m the star, here, so.” 

He clicked his tongue, “How’d I know you’d bring that little attitude with you.” 

“Oh wow, brighter than he looks, folks,” you say, your smile still stuck on your face. 

“Comin’ in the ring dressed like boxer barbie and I’m not bright?” he retorts, “You come here to work or t’show off?” 

“Well if I knew you’d be here, I probably wouldn’t have come at all,” you glare back.

“Alright, alright, enough – you wanna know how to box? Let me show you how to box. You know how to stand?” 

“I’m standing right now,” you said, gloves on your hips. He laughs, an evil snicker, and he wants you to know he’s laughing at you. 

“Oh you’re real hopeless, huh?” he said, a smirk curling onto his face, “That’s not a boxing stance, princess. You do any research at all? You watch a match? Or did they send you in here with nothin’ in that barbie doll head?”

Your cheeks burned, this is exactly what you were afraid of – being made to feel stupid. He takes the mitts off and tosses them to his feet, his rough taped hands finding contact with your shoulders. 

“You left handed or right handed?” he asked, “D’you know the difference?” 

“Left handed,” you responded, shaking off his comment. 

“Okay, left shoulder always leading towards me, right at my chest,” he explains, “Feet diagonal apart, back heel up.” 

You do as he says, his rough hands adjusting your shoulders position, reaching at your forearms.

“Gloves up, shoulders up, chin down,” he said, “Gotta be blocking your face. You know, the shit fuckin’ Munson doesn’t know how to do? Wouldn’t be surprised if you couldn’t catch on either.” His head flicks a little toward Eddie and you grit your teeth. You get into position, the gloves feel awkward and heavy, but you don’t want to show it – he already knows you’re out of your element. 

“You’re punching straight out, just straight ahead,” Steve instructed, bending down to pick up the mitts and slipping them back on. 

You lunge your arm forward in a sharp line but it barely makes a ‘smack’ against the mitt on Steve’s left hand. He laughs, shoving them off and leaving them by his feet again. 

“Awful,” he says with a smile, coming over to the side of you, “Real fuckin’ awful.” 

“Well you know all about being awful, Harrington, so, you’d know,” you huff. He stops, you can feel his eyes on you, he swallows while he grabs your left forearm. Steve sends your arm forward to mimic your previous movement. 

“Where’s the power coming from when you throw a punch like this?” he asked, moving your arm back and forth. 

“My…fist?”

“Oh my God, Stell. You’re serious?” Steve’s voice is teetering on exasperated and pure rage, dropping your arm back by your side. He runs a hand over his face and then through his hair – but you know, your ignorance could be fun for him. Steve gets behind you, his chest close to your back, the uncomfortable scratch of his wrapped hands reaching around either side of you to cage you in. He’s got your arms up, like he’s using you as a boxing puppet – you can smell the mix of his sweat and cologne and it immediately sends you back to their kitchen in Malibu. His harsh glare, his smile when you started to cry. 

“So when you put the glove forward,” he says, slowly maneuvering your arm forward with his hand from behind you, “You’re using your whole upper body behind it, twisting at the waist. Puttin’ all the weight on that front foot. Feel how you twist when I do it for you?” 

“Oh, yeah,” you reply, “That makes sense.” It’s the first time you can really gauge how strong he actually is – his soft touches feel heavy. He could kill you if he really wanted. Behind you, Steve catches Eddie’s eye whose arms are crossed in a chair at the side of the ring. His dark brown eyes shining and angry, his cheeks tinged pink, a vein in his neck pulsing while he watches Steve get closer to you. He instinctively goes to chew on the skin of his thumb, a nervous habit he’d had since he was a kid. 

Steve’s eyes stay trained on Eddie while he guides you again, jumping when his hand falls to your hip, his voice booming in your ear – loud enough for the spectator to hear it,  “That feels better, doesn’t it?” 

“Yeah, I can tell where the weight’s supposed to come from now,” you respond, but Steve isn’t listening. He’s just relishing in whatever emotional turmoil he might’ve put your fiance in. Steve’s hands skitter off you and he picks up the mitts again, slipping them on and getting in front of you. 

“One, two me,” he said. You throw a jab with your left hand and quickly another with your right. 

“Again,” he said, “Keep your arms up, you can’t drop ‘em.” 

You go again, but it’s still not enough. 

“You keep droppin’ your shoulders, pick your fuckin’ shoulders up,” he hisses. 

You tighten your upper body, tucking your chin, a tight one two smacking into the mitts. 

“Start over, it’s not clean enough,” he says from behind the mitts, “You need it cleaner.” 

You catch Libby taking her seat back by the ring, hoping that with her back around, Steve will be a little nicer. 

“I literally just started boxing today, what do you mean I need it cleaner?” 

“Start over. If you wanna whine about it, I’ll send you home,” he shrugs. 

You keep pulling ‘one, twos’ and he’s moving around the ring while you try to keep up. There’s not one kind word that leaves his mouth, no words of encouragement, nothing. Just his dead eyes and every critique he can think of. 

“Stop, stop,” he says, ripping the mitts off. 

“This,” he says, performing a punch, “Is a fucking jab. What the fuck are you doing?” 

“What you just showed me, if I’m doing it wrong it’s because you showed it to me the wrong way,” you heaved, gloved hands on your hips. You were glistening with sweat, trying to catch your breath. 

“No, I showed you the right way. Don’t get smart with me,” he said, hands on his hips to match your posture, “You wanna play a professional boxer, right? So what’cha gettin’ lax for? A pro would never look that sloppy, no matter how tired they are. Fuckin’ commit, Rink.” 

“I’m not getting lax, Steve,” your voice toddled on the line of whiny. 

“You know what I think?” he asked, his arms crossing over his chest. 

“I’m surprised to hear you do,” you snapped, “Could’ve fooled me.” 

He shook his head, running his hand through his hair, his step toward you made him close enough that you’d have to look up at him when he spoke. 

“I think,” he said, his eyes scanning yours, his wolfish smile curling up into his cheeks, “You need to learn a thing or two about gettin’ some discipline.” 

Steve scared you, the way your cousin did when he was living with your family to go to military school. He was ‘going through a tough time’ when you were a teen. Unhinged and unpredictable – the same flash of devilish confidence bursting behind their eyes. You can hear the clinking of Eddie’s leather jacket and the stomp of his boots walking around the ring, but you’re too frozen in fear and the desperate need to keep your cool to toss your gaze over to him. But god damn do you wish he’d give you a little cheer from the sidelines.  

“Looks like you still got Libby pretty educated in it, Harrington,” you muttered darkly, getting back into your stance. His jaw is tight, his eyes flitting to Eddie sitting down next to his girlfriend, but he doesn’t falter in his malice for you. 

He snickers, “Anyone ever teach you to shut that mouth, Rink? You know what happens to boxers who talk too much?” 

“What?” you ask, tossing a hard one-two into his mitts. He peers over the top of them to make direct eye contact with you. 

“They fuckin’ lose.” 

“Pfft, okay,” you bristle at his words, your cheeks getting splotchy from feeling overwhelmed and inadequate. You didn’t have the energy to fight with him anymore. Your next to punches are weak, they barely make contact with the mitts. He doesn’t let you forget it. 

“What is it?” he mocks, his face matching his hatred, “You not havin’ fun, angel?” 

You let a breath push hard out of your nose, tears pricking in your eyes – you were so over this. Over Steve’s shitty attitude, over the gloves being too heavy, over the fluorescent lights. You already felt weird over Libby not talking to you and now Eddie wasn’t coming to your rescue either – just indulging in his stupid fucking crush. You’re so preoccupied with your annoyance at this whole ordeal that you don’t catch Eddie and Steve’s quiet stare down. You don’t catch Steve’s satisfied smirk while Eddie makes it back to his seat. All you feel is lonely in the center of the ring. 

“Alright, everyone, great work! We’re gonna break for forty, you can put your lunch orders in with Tiffany.” Tim’s voice booms through the gym and shakes you back to yourself. You hear the mitts smack hard against the floor of the ring as Steve makes his way over to Libby. You flinch at the way he grabs Libby from her chair and drags her into the office, it feels like watching an after school special on abusive relationships and you’re the bystander who doesn’t know how to ask for help. Big helps you take your gloves off, tying the laces together and throwing them around his shoulders and he puts two big hands on your own. 

“You’re givin’ ‘im hell, kid,” he smiled, “You’re doin’ great.” 

Your smile weakly back at him, following him out of the ring toward the locker room. Eddie meets your stride and can immediately tell something’s wrong, reaching for your hand and lacing fingers with you while you walk past the office door. 

The stale, humid air hits you but it’s not as stifling as it was to be out in that ring with King Steve. You sit on the bench, leaning up against the wall shared with the office, Eddie squatting down between your knees. He lets his hands spread over each of your thighs, hot to the touch from your quads keeping you in your boxer stance, his thumbs rubbing comfortingly over your skin. He sees your face scrunch and your lower lip start to tremble, a tear twinkling in the white light as it falls to your shorts. 

“Oh, honey, no, it’s okay,” he says, “Don’t cry, it’s okay.” 

“He’s just – he’s such an asshole,” you shake your head, wiping the streak of tears away as they come, “He’s so fucking mean.” 

“It’s the roids, babe, I’m telling you,” he jokes, “His balls gotta be raisins by now.” 

You snort at the joke and a real smile floods your face for the first time since you woke up this morning. You wipe your eyes again, hearing Eddie shift to get close to you. You feel his hand snake under your jaw before your eyes meet his, his kiss is gentle and sweet.

“There’s my pretty girl,” he coos. The door opens and Simone peaks her head in, wincing at the stagnant air. 

“Stella, your lunch is here if you – Oh, sorry,” she says, seeing your tear stained face, “Everything okay?” 

“We’re okay,” Eddie answers for you, “We’re probably gonna eat in the Jeep, Simone. She needs a little break.” 

“That’s fine, that’s fine,” she says, “It’s on the edge of the ring, when you’re ready to pick it up. Tiff put your names on it.” She disappears as soon as she arrives, her cell phone ring echoing in the hallway, her clipped steps fading away. 

“Just take a deep breath ba–” Eddie starts, but is soon interrupted. 

A soft grunt sneaks its way from behind the cinderblock wall, the sound of skin slapping together, and you lean forward to turn your face toward it. Eddie looks up too, sitting next to you on the bench.

“No,” you blush, looking over at Eddie, “They can’t be. With everyone here?” 

Eddie shifts his weight on the bench, his cheeks tingeing pink again while he becomes entranced with the bitten hangnail on his thumb. His voice is soft and low while he speaks, still looking down, “He’s a fuckin’ animal, so…” 

Eddie watches you stand up and go to the locker with your name on it, scrawled on a white board. You unhinge it, swinging it open to find all of your effects neatly inside. The scent of your perfume sneaking out from where it lingered on your coat. You pull it out and give it a shake. 

“I don’t even wanna change,” you sigh, “If I change, I’ll just wanna leave. I suck at this.” 

Eddie frowns at the defeat in your voice, you sound so small and hurt. His chest heaves with guilt, it’s clear only three of the four of you know why today has actually been so shitty. Why Steve has been taking his anger out on you. Why Libby is avoiding you like the plague. He wished you demanded to leave, he wished you use your America’s Sweetheart powers for evil just one time. That way you could both get out of this. 

He lets out a sigh, “Baby, you don’t suck. Don’t say that.” 

“How would you even know? You haven’t been paying attention,” you don’t mean for your voice to be snippy, but the fire in your chest reblooms as you remember him going to sit with Libby. Walking around the gym while Steve degraded you and made you feel stupid.

“Too busy entertaining your school yard crush to even cheer for me,” you say while tossing your coat on the bench. You know it’s childish, but you’re desperate to feel an ounce of power, a shred of the upper hand for just three seconds. 

Before he can respond, you’re interrupted again. 

“Say it or I stop,” Steve’s voice is ragged and demanding from behind the cinderblock wall, it’s much clearer than the grunting from before. It’s like they’re right up against the other side. You take a moment to really listen – heavy breathing, the sound of slick skin against skin. 

”—speak up,“ Steve’s voice rings again, rough and mocking like he was in the ring. You shiver at the sound of it, disappointment flooding your chest when you realize Libby was in too deep if he let her talk to her like that. 

"Thank you, daddy!” Libby’s high pitched moan leaked through the wall. Oh. They definitely weren’t fighting. 

“You win, I guess,” you say. Eddie blanched at the sound of Libby’s squealing through the wall, sputtering at your words. 

“What d’ya mean, I win?” he asks, swallowing hard. 

“Didn’t you say a long time ago that she probably calls him daddy in bed?” you laughed a little, “Looks like that’s confirmed.” 

Eddie doesn’t laugh, he looks upset and uncomfortable which is unlike him – especially after a sex joke. You go back into your locker and grab your purse, rummaging through it to find your travel size Chloe Narcisse to reapply. The scent is dominated by daffodils with a bite of tropical citrus, violet and sandalwood, something to brighten whatever awful mood you were settling into. The scent hits Eddie and his mouth waters, having felt lucky to have bought it for you that spring. He knew that something about it would wear deliciously on you, but then again, he thought everything about you was delicious. He gets up to meet you, putting your purse back in your locker and shutting it. 

“You like that one?” he asks, taking the small bottle delicately out of your hands and putting it in his jacket pocket, “I’ll buy you another before we leave.” 

“You don’t have to buy it for me,” you smile, a little ‘oh!’ leaving you as you feel his lips against your neck. The small scratch of his five o’clock shadow against your skin sends a jolt through your body. 

“Why not?” he asks in your ear, “I like to spoil you.” His hands are shaky as he keeps kissing your neck and jaw, grabbing at your waist. At this point, Eddie was desperate for a distraction from anything happening in that office. 

“Ed stop,” you whine as he hands go to the band of your shorts, “Not here. You’re not like him.” 

“Sorry,” he said, lifting his head up from your neck to lean his forehead against yours, “Just wanted to cheer you up a little.” 

You hear Tiffany’s voice chirp outside the door, probably to Libby and Steve coming out of the office. You sigh, wanting to run out and pull her into the locker room and lock the door. Leave the boys to their own devices while you yell some sense into her and tell her how much you missed her. It was nice having a friend like her – why did Steve have to ruin it for everyone? 

“You know what would cheer me up?” you ask, reaching for your coat. Eddie takes it out of your hands and holds it open behind you, helping you shrug it on. 

“What?” he said, getting to the front of you to adjust the collar. 

“Judas Priest, as loud as it can go in the Jeep,” you sniffled, the tears from before leaving a crunch of salty cast on your face. 

“I love that,” he laughs. He takes your hand while you walk out of the locker room to the gym. It’s quiet when you see everyone and you’re sure they know you were crying so you keep your eyes down to your shoes, squeaking on the concrete floor. You hear Eddie pick up the salads meant for you both from the edge of the ring and you catch the bottom half of Libby sitting on top of Steve’s lap. Your teeth grind in annoyance that she can’t even have her own place to sit, like she’s a fucking trophy he has to parade around – but you don’t say anything. Before you know it, the biting cold is back to whipping your face and the beep of Eddie unlocking the Jeep sends you back to the present with him. His face is colder than the weather outside. 

  You both hop into the truck at the same time, Eddie shoving the keys into the ignition to crank the heat in the now freezing car. He passes you a plastic bowl of salad, takes it back, and passes you a different one with his name scrawled on it - medium rare skirt steak sitting on top of leaves of spinach. 

“They got you breaded chicken instead of grilled, so just have mine,” he said flatly. You know he didn’t mean it like that, but it sounded like he was bored of making things work for you.  

“Thanks, honey,” you say. You watch him open the salad bowl and pour a packet of dressing on it, his face flush. He just nods, but doesn’t look at you – suddenly the car feels too hot and you shrug off your coat – your salad sitting abandoned on the dash while you toss the coat in the back seat. 

Eddie turns the music up while you open up the utensils packet, Metal Meltdown screaming through the sound system and he can’t help but air guitar the opening riffs to himself. You giggle and he finally tosses a glance at you, warm and cozy like the brown of his eyes. 

“Are you okay?” you ask, you can see some hurt behind his gaze, like he wanted to tell you something. He’s quiet for a moment, still looking at you. Eddie’s lips part to speak but he second guesses himself, looking down at the now dressing drenched salad on his lap. He takes a breath in through his nose and out again. Eddie holds his hand out, always an indicator that he wants yours, and you oblige – he pulls your fingertips to his lips to kiss them before starting to speak again. 

“I don’t want you training with him,” he says, “I’m gonna talk to Simone about finding you someone else.”

“I’m perfectly fine to talk to Simone, Ed,” you assure, “You don’t have to do that for me. I can negotiate my own stuff.”

“I don’t like him, Stell,” he continued, his words clipped and bordering angry, “I – fuck – like, all I can see when I look at him is you crying in that kitchen. I don’t like how he makes you feel – the way he talks to you. I don’t fuckin’ like him.” 

“You’ve established that,” you say, stabbing at the skirt steak with a fork in your free hand.

“I just want you to have a good experience going into this. This movie’s gonna be a big deal,” he says, “You’re a big deal. You should have the best of the best.” 

“Unfortunately for us,” you say, ripping a piece of steak off a bigger piece with your teeth, “Steve is the best of the best.” Butter and steak juice run down your chin, but Eddie catches it with a napkin before it drips to your white sports bra. 

“Cut it, baby, don’t eat it like that, you’re wearing white,” he said, shaking his head. You show him the plastic knife in the utensil pouch and he rolls his eyes. He takes his pocket knife out from his jacket, not to be confused with his switchblade, and pulls the salad bowl out of your lap to get the steak into bite size pieces, stealing a few for himself. 

“Hey! That’s mine,” you tease. 

“Technically it’s mine,” he says, stealing a final piece before handing the salad back to you. He watches you eat, the same gnawing look he had before lingering behind his eyes. He studied you, the way you breath, the way your head bobs to the music that was vibrating the seats. 

“I’m gonna get this taken care of for you,” he said, “You’re not working with him after today. You’re not even gonna see him after today.” 

You laugh, “You’re funny.” 

“You think I can’t make sure of that?” he challenged, crossing his arms.

“We have two of the same endorsement deals, we’re going to have to be around each other again at some point,” you explain, “He’d obviously be invited to the premiere – it’s a boxing movie. He’s America’s favorite boxer right now.” 

“You haven’t run into him in a year and some change,” he retorted, “I think I’ll be able to keep that a theme in your life.” 

“You sound like him when you talk like that,” you say to your food, “Plus, you never wanna see Libby again? I like her, I wanna see her again.” 

I never want to see her again in my life, he thinks to himself. His mind falls back to the last time he saw her, like it had been all day. Hips rolling against his while propped up on the sink, the way his fingertips sunk into her thighs, how she tasted like liquor and bad decisions. He was barely lucid when he called her up there, but he knew, and that’s what made it worse. Stealing glances all day put a stake in his heart, and the way she shook when he approached her – he was about ready to put Steve in jail. 

“Hm,” is all he replies, reaching over to your almost finished salad and stealing another piece of steak before you shut the bowl over his hand. 

“Enough,” you laugh while he slides his hand out and you close the bowl. You pass him the plastic and he collects all the leftovers in a bag to bring back into the gym to toss out. 

“You wanna go back inside, or do you wanna get out of here?” he asks, hand on the keys keeping the car on. 

“We have to go back inside, the studio is paying for this. Tim would be pissed if we just dipped out,” you explain, sulking. Eddie lets out a sigh that turns into an exasperated ‘urgh!’, and snatches your coat from the backseat for you to put on. He hops out and jogs to the other side of the car to get your door, helping you step down into the snow. 

The warmth of the gym envelopes you again but it doesn’t melt away your nerves like last time. You see everyone still gathered in their chairs by the ring, Steve and Libby sharing a kiss that she looks despondent for. You weakly raise a hand to wave but she ignores you, your face burns for what feels like the fiftieth time, in embarrassment. 

“Okay, round two!” Simone cheers, while Tiffany comes to collect your coat and Eddie’s leftovers. You sulk a little until you remember where you are and stick on your bright fake smile again. Eddie gives you a not so subtle pat on the ass before heading back to his seat on the side of the ring. He slumps into it moodily, putting one foot up on the corner post, playing with his box of cigarettes before popping one in his mouth. 

“Baby, not in here,” you call out while Big helps put your gloves back on. Eddie rolls his eyes and puts the cigarette back in the box, still playing with it in his fingers. He drops the box onto his lap, slipping his jacket off and putting it on the seat next to him, and nestles the box in the leather and studs. 

“You got this, kid,” Big says, pulling the ropes up so you can crawl onto the ring, “You’re doin’ amazing. Can’t believe this is your first day in the ring!” 

“Oh, stop,” you blush, “I’m okay. I’m trying my best!” 

“That was your best?” Steve asks, back in the ring with the mitts under his arms. 

“Hey,” Big warns, “Be nice, why don’t ya? Give it a try.” He walks back over to Mikey shaking his head while Mikey takes another call. Simone is chattering away on the opposite end of the ring into her own phone, Tiffany taking notes next to her. No one is really paying attention to the ring aside from Eddie and Libby, opposite ends – coaching you both in their own ways. 

“Have a good lunch?” he asks, he speaks like he’s confident that you cried in the locker room after the first round.

“I know you had a good lunch,” your voice is unenthusiastic.

“Mmm,” he smirks while he remembers it, it’s a lewd smirk and it’s unnerving. 

“You know, it helps to get your rage out when you gotta deal with two fuckin’ idiots all morning,” he says, putting the mitts up, “One, two me. Get warmed up.” 

“Shouldn’t be taking your rage out on her,” you hiss, slamming your gloved fists into the mitts. Steve almost smiles at the impact. You’d take your rage out on her if you knew what she did. 

“Whoo! Looks like you left boxer barbie in the car,” he says, taking one of the mitts off and shaking his hand, “Done cryin’ to your boyfriend about how mean I am? Ready to put in the real work?”

He slipped the mitt back on, back at the ready for you to lay into him. You shoved the gloves back into the mitts, one-two with vigor, but it wasn’t holding up the speed and cleanliness Steve was expecting. 

      “Arms up, you’d lose your teeth if you were in the ring for real,” he said, “Clean it up, Rink.” 

       Eddie stands up with his arms crossed, black sweater tight against his body, bulging at the seams when he crosses his arms across his chest. He’s watching Steve with a hard look, rage filling his eyes with every word that comes out of his mouth to you. He knows you can take it, but he doesn’t want you to have to. 

You straighten up, hits coming at a steady pace, triceps burning while you keep the jabs as clean as possible. He nods while he moves with you, maybe he was done shitting on you for the day. 

When you got to hooks, Big took your gloves off. It would be easier to just learn those basics with your bare fists with nothing extra weighing you down. Steve took his mitts off again, laying them on the top of the post by Eddie. His eyes flitted toward him and then over at Libby, who had turned to walk towards the chairs nearby on the opposite side. 

“Hey! Where you goin’, angel?” he asked, his words coming in a little hot. 

“I’m just going to sit down, Steve,” she replies, you frown at the sound of her voice. 

“Jesus, Steve, what next – you gonna put a leash on her? You don’t need to know where she’s going, she’s obviously staying at the gym,” you glower while he approaches you. He considers your question while he cracks his neck to the left and the right. 

“You here to do business?” he asked, standing up in front of you like he had before lunch. 

“Yeah,” you said, feeling more confident without the gloves on. 

“Why don’t you start by mindin’ your own, hm?” he stared at you down the slope of his nose, you gulp inadvertently. 

“Hooks,” he starts, stepping back from you, “Aren’t in the flex of the arm, it’s all about the body. You’re not moving your arm at all.” He shows her the form, but it’s too quick for you to really understand what he means. 

“Show me,” he says after demonstrating it again. Even without the gloves, your body moves awkwardly, your arm jutting out at an awkward angle, your elbow nearly hitting him in the face. 

“So I tell you that you’re not movin’ your arm at all, so you just move your arm anyway?” he asks, “Were you only half listenin’?” 

“Harrington, I don’t have time for this,” you huff, “I’m not your girlfriend, you can’t just keep pushing me around. You’re getting paid to be here.” 

His eyes darken when one of his rough, taped, hands finds your forearm again. He gets behind you like before, keeping your right hand up by your face, holding the other one slightly curved out, “Put your shoulders up, and your chin down.” 

His voice chills you, “Turn your thumb toward your face or you’re gonna break your wrist.” He lets go of you, and stalks slowly back to your front. 

“You’re living on that ball of your back foot, that’s where you’re pulling the weight from,” he explains, “Show me.” 

You try again, but it still feels awkward and tight. He runs a hand exasperatedly through his hair – maybe he didn’t really have the temperament to coach. Maybe it wasn’t worth the $400,000 dollar deal for three months of training – especially not with someone this out of whack. 

He gets behind you again, but instead of Steve reaching for your arms, which are still in place, he goes to your waist. You jolt when you feel it, stifling a squeal – you’re always so used to Eddie’s calloused fingers and soft grabbing – not the roughness of his wraps and harsh grip. His chest is closer to your back than it was before, you can feel his breath fanning out against the top of your shoulder.

“The power of your hook has nothing to do with your arms,” he says, palms scratching downward, his fingertips at the waistband of your shorts, “And everything to do with the rotation of your hips.” 

You nod, your eyes dropping to Eddie who looked so angry he could jump in that ring himself. Not like he really had a leg to stand on, but he knew that at this point Steve was doing this on purpose. He was doing it to remind him that not only was Libby his, but if he wanted – he doesn’t – but if he wanted, he could have you, too. 

“You’re gonna twist that front foot like you’re stomping out a cigarette,” he says, his foot tapping your front foot, “So the power is coming from your feet, to your legs, to your hips, then your core.” 

“Show me again,” he says, closing the gap between you. His chest is sticky with sweat against your back and your head tilts away from him. You squirm in his grasp and Eddie can tell you’re uncomfortable, his hand reaching for one of the ropes. Eddie clears his throat and you feel Steve’s head raise from behind you – a low, gravely snicker vibrates from his chest. 

“Not a lot of fight in him, huh?” he asks. 

“Violence isn’t required in my relationship, unlike some other people I know,” you mutter, throwing a practice punch. It isn’t perfect, but it’s much better than your first couple of tries. 

“There it is,” Steve says, his hands dropping while he goes to retrieve the mitts at the post by Eddie. He shoots him a satisfied smirk while he puts them on, but with his back to you, you don’t notice. The mitts are lower this time, imitating body shots. 

“We’re not even gonna attempt doing different levels of these today, so let’s just pretend you’re hitting your opponents sides,” he says, “Go.” 

You try, and they’re shaky at first – it’s different throwing a punch without the gloves. Your hands feel small and weak, you almost feel more stupid without them. Nervous sweat starts dripping down your chest as you follow the mitts, Steve waltzing around the ring quicker than when you were with jabs. 

“C’mon, really show me you mean it,” he taunts, “Get angry.” 

“I’m not an angry person,” you say, tossing another punch to the right.

“I’d be fuckin’ insane if I had to deal with Munson all the time,” he lets out a dark laugh, “Come on, Rink. Show me – show me how mad you were when you tried to kick ‘im out.” 

Bile rises in your throat when he says it and tears prick your eyes. Blood rushes in your ears for a moment, drowning out Eddie’s warning ‘Hey!’ from the sidelines – he’s suddenly so ready to protect you after Steve staked his claim over Libby. You guess you matter to him now. Your cheeks get a little hot while you throw two more hard hooks, the sound ringing through the gym when they make contact with the mitts. 

“There we go,” he sneers, “Guess you didn’t forget what I said last September, huh? Hey, hey, keep your shoulders up!” 

“It doesn’t matter,” you growl, your knuckles getting red by how hard your punching, even with the wraps, “We’re better now.” 

“You sure?” he asks, light on his feet as he gets to the other side of you and you pivot to meet the mitts. 

“We’re doing great,” you say, making eye contact with him, “Can’t say the same about you and yours.” 

“Of course you’re doing great – shoulders Rink, Christ,” he groans, side stepping and you miss the shot, “You’re doing great, cause you don’t know the truth.” 

Your posture stiffens and you stand tall in the ring, staring him down. The words sling out of you like venom, “What the fuck are you talking about? Why are you so interested in my relationship anyway? You and Libby wanna join? We got enough fuckin’ beds in our house. She’d probably be so much fucking happier to be away from you anyway.” 

A pin could drop while he heaves breaths out of his nose, that same bull like anger rearing his head. He looks at you through furrowed brows, his lip snarling. 

“Yeah, well, Libby already fuckin’ did.”

You hear Libby gasp and watch as her hand claps over her mouth. Eddie’s hand goes to his face, sliding down to his jaw. He mumbles a quiet, ‘Jesus fuckin’ Christ, man,’ to himself, his big eyes already wet with tears. 

“Wh-what?” you ask, your voice is weak and broken while reality sets in. You can hear the roar of your heartbeat in your throat. It becomes too clear that since you got to the gym, there have been three people here who have known something that you don’t. 

[ourcherokeeinniowa]

Characteristics of an Excellent Cherokee, IA Hotel

When planning a trip to Cherokee, Iowa, travelers often seek accommodations that provide comfort, convenience, and a memorable experience. Cherokee, located in the heart of the Midwest, offers a variety of hotels and motels that cater to different preferences and budgets. This article explores the key characteristics of an excellent hotel in Cherokee, IA, and highlights what makes these accommodations stand out in the competitive hospitality market.

1. Location and Accessibility

One of the most critical factors when choosing a hotel is its location. An excellent hotel in Cherokee, IA, should be conveniently situated near local attractions, dining options, and essential services.

Proximity to Attractions: Visitors often want to explore the local culture, parks, and recreational areas. Hotels that are within walking distance or a short drive from popular spots like the Cherokee Depot, the Cherokee County Historical Museum, and the beautiful parks surrounding the Little Sioux River are highly desirable.

Accessibility: Easy access to major highways and public transportation options can enhance the travel experience. Hotels that provide ample parking space and are located near key routes make it easier for guests to explore the surrounding areas.

2. Comfortable and Well-Equipped Rooms

The quality of the rooms is paramount in determining the overall guest experience. An excellent hotel in Cherokee, IA, should offer:

Spacious Accommodations: Rooms should be spacious enough to allow guests to relax comfortably. This includes adequate space for luggage and personal belongings.

Modern Amenities: Essential amenities such as free Wi-Fi, flat-screen TVs, air conditioning, and coffee makers are expected. Additionally, hotels should provide comfortable bedding, quality linens, and soundproofing to ensure a restful night’s sleep.

Cleanliness: A clean and well-maintained room is non-negotiable. Excellent hotels prioritize cleanliness and hygiene, ensuring that all areas, including bathrooms and common spaces, are spotless.

3. Exceptional Customer Service

Customer service can make or break a hotel experience. The best hotels in Cherokee, IA, focus on providing outstanding service by:

Friendly and Knowledgeable Staff: Staff members should be approachable, friendly, and well-trained to assist guests with inquiries, provide recommendations, and resolve issues promptly.

Personalized Experience: Hotels that go the extra mile to personalize the guest experience—such as remembering repeat visitors' names or preferences—create a welcoming atmosphere that encourages guests to return.

24/7 Support: Availability of staff around the clock ensures that guests can receive assistance whenever needed, enhancing the overall comfort and convenience of their stay.

4. Amenities and Facilities

In addition to comfortable rooms, an excellent hotel should offer a range of amenities and facilities that enhance the guest experience. Some key amenities to look for include:

Fitness Center: A well-equipped fitness center allows guests to maintain their workout routines while traveling. This is an essential feature for health-conscious travelers.

Business Facilities: For business travelers, access to meeting rooms, high-speed internet, and business centers can be crucial. Excellent hotels often provide these facilities to accommodate corporate guests.

Dining Options: On-site dining options, whether it’s a full-service restaurant or a complimentary breakfast, add value to the stay. Hotels that offer local cuisine or unique dining experiences can enhance the overall experience.

Recreational Facilities: Features such as swimming pools, hot tubs, or outdoor areas for relaxation can significantly improve a guest's stay, especially for families or those looking to unwind after a day of exploring.

5. Value for Money

While luxury is appealing, value for money is a significant consideration for most travelers. An excellent hotel in Cherokee, IA, should provide:

Competitive Pricing: Prices should reflect the quality of service and amenities offered. Guests appreciate transparency in pricing, with no hidden fees.

Special Offers and Packages: Hotels that provide special deals, discounts for extended stays, or packages that include meals or local attractions can attract more guests.

Loyalty Programs: For frequent travelers, loyalty programs that offer rewards, discounts, or perks can enhance the value of staying at a particular hotel chain.

6. Safety and Security

Safety is a top priority for travelers. An excellent hotel should ensure that guests feel secure during their stay by:

Secure Access: Hotels should have secure access points, such as key card systems for room entry and monitored entrances.

Safety Protocols: Visible safety measures, including fire alarms, emergency exits, and well-trained staff in emergency procedures, contribute to a sense of security.

Clean and Safe Environment: Regular cleaning and maintenance of the premises, along with adherence to health regulations, are essential for guest safety.

7. Positive Reviews and Reputation

The reputation of a hotel can significantly influence a traveler’s choice. An excellent hotel in Cherokee, IA, should have:

Positive Online Reviews: Potential guests often check online reviews on platforms like TripAdvisor, Google, and Yelp. Hotels with consistently positive feedback regarding service, cleanliness, and amenities are more likely to attract new visitors.

Word of Mouth: Recommendations from friends, family, or travel bloggers can also play a crucial role in a hotel’s reputation. Hotels that build a strong community presence and engage with past guests often benefit from positive word-of-mouth marketing.

8. Unique Local Experience

Finally, an excellent hotel should offer guests a taste of the local culture and community. This can include:

Local Decor and Themes: Hotels that incorporate local art, history, or themes into their decor can provide guests with a unique sense of place.

Cultural Experiences: Offering guests information about local events, festivals, or attractions can enhance their stay and encourage them to explore the area.

Partnerships with Local Businesses: Collaborations with local restaurants, tour operators, or attractions can provide guests with exclusive offers and enhance their overall experience.

Conclusion

Choosing the right hotel in Cherokee, IA, can significantly enhance your travel experience. By focusing on key characteristics such as location, comfort, customer service, amenities, value for money, safety, reputation, and local engagement, travelers can find accommodations that meet their needs and expectations. Whether you are looking for hotels and motels in Cherokee IA or aiming for the best motel in Iowa, understanding these characteristics will help you make an informed decision and ensure a pleasant stay in this charming Midwestern town.

[mrbopst]

Alto saxophonist Earl Bostic was a technical master of his instrument, yet remained somewhat underappreciated by jazz fans due to the string of simple, popular R&B/jump blues hits he recorded during his heyday in the '50s.

Born Eugene Earl Bostic in Tulsa, OK, on April 25, 1913, Bostic played around the Midwest during the early '30s, studied at Xavier University, and toured with several bands before moving to New York in 1938. There he played for Don Redman, Edgar Hayes, and Lionel Hampton, making his record debut with the latter in 1939. In the early '40s, he worked as an arranger and session musician, and began leading his own regular large group in 1945. Cutting back to a septet the next year, Bostic began recording regularly, scoring his first big hit with 1948's "Temptation." He soon signed with the King label, the home of most of his biggest jukebox hits, which usually featured a driving, heavy, R&B-ish beat and an alto sound that could be smooth and romantic or aggressive and bluesy.

In 1951, Bostic landed a number one R&B hit with "Flamingo," plus another Top Ten in "Sleep." Subsequent hits included "You Go to My Head" and "Cherokee." Bostic's bands became important training grounds for up-and-coming jazzmen like John Coltrane, Blue Mitchell, Stanley Turrentine, Benny Golson, Jaki Byard, and others. Unfortunately, Bostic suffered a heart attack in the late '50s, which kept him away from music for two years. He returned to performing in 1959, but didn't record quite as extensively; when he did record in the '60s, his sessions were more soul-jazz than the proto-R&B of old. On October 28, 1965, Bostic suffered a fatal heart attack while playing a hotel in Rochester, NY.

[slackville-records]

1969....Rita Coolidge and Stephen Stills.

Whether you know her as the singer of “All Time High” from Octopussy or the woman at the heart of songs like “Delta Lady” by Leon Russell and “Cherokee” by Stephen Stills, you’ve heard of Rita Coolidge. She may not be as famous as the men who were obsessed with her throughout the 1960s and ‘70s, but she’s had a fascinating life filled with good tunes and good friends. Coolidge was a musical muse for artists like Kris Kristofferson, Crosby, Stills, and Nash, and a slew of singer-songwriters, but she was a talent all on her own. With two Grammy Awards and a memoir under her belt, she’s just as accomplished as famous artists she came up with.

Born on May 1, 1945 in Lafayette, Tennessee, Coolidge bounced around Kentucky and Tennessee as the daughter of a Cherokee Baptist minister. She says that she was singing before she could talk and knew that she would be doing it for the rest of her life. After moving to Memphis in 1967 she found herself in the city’s music scene rubbing elbows with Booker T. & the M.G.’s as well as singers Delaney and Bonnie Bramlett. Along the way she met singer-songwriter Leon Russell who convinced her to move to Los Angeles with him and further her career. It wasn’t hard to persuade her and soon enough they hit the road.

In 1969 Rita Coolidge was one of the most in demand women in the industry. Seemingly at the center of multiple song writing sessions, both “Delta Lady” and “A Song For You” by Leon Russell and Joe Cocker are written about her, but the her relationship with the two singer-songwriters soured when she decided to get out of Russell and Cocker’s party heavy scene. In 2019 she said that she’s not entirely sure if “Delta Lady” is about her in spite of rumors to the contrary.

When Rita Coolidge met the members of Crosby, Stills, and Nash she had such an effect on Stephen Stills and Graham Nash that she’s still blamed by some as one of the major reasons behind the group’s break up. She met the group at a recording session and despite hitting it off with Graham Nash, Stills finagled his way into a date with her. His obsession with Coolidge built even after she ditched him to rekindle things with Nash.

Coolidge and Nash dated for more than a year, and in that time Stephen Stills tried to commit suicide after writing the name “Rita” on a hotel mirror in lipstick and he fought Nash over her in a drive way. She never had a romantic link with David Crosby, but he had his own obsession with her.

[knario47]

hola! acabo de enterarme de la existencia de indígenas canarios, puedo preguntar un par de cosas? ru blog es interesante

para empezar, has visto alguna similitud con lo que pasó y pasa con los canarios amazigh con lo que pasa con otras comunidades nativas? por ejemplo los nativos mohawks o cherokee

segundo, he visto a algunas personas hablar de canariofobia, existe? puedes darme algunos ejemplos? gracias de antemano

Hacer una comparación de los dos hechos sería algo odiosa, aún así hay una clara similitud, el desplazamiento de los oriundos a otras tierras, los Charokee fueron claramente forzados a una emigración muy lejanas mientras aquí fueron esclavizados o desplazados a otras islas para ocupar tierras de repartición siempre y cuando fueran en otras islas, previamente fueron bautizados y castellanizados les adjudicaron algunas tierras donde ya se sabía que los colonizadores no las iban a ocupar ya que aquí no hay metales ni piedras preciosas y al estar en África y muy cerca del desierto del Sáhara no les atraía ocupar islas, el nuevo mundo y sus riquezas está en mente de ellos.

Con relación a la Canariofobia, te comenté que desde los inicios de la ocupación hace más de 500 años concretamente con el fin del genocidio en 1496 lo estamos padeciendo por parte de la metrópolis colonial, de sus tropas de ocupación o de su rama politica y de los descendientes de los colonizadores españoles que aquí se les llaman Canarigodos, el gobierno colonial canario con su presidente a la cabeza ha dicho recientemente que la culpa de que Canarias no este a la cabeza en la creacion de empleo es porque los canarios exige salarios dignos en igualdad con el resto de los trabajadores de la metrópolis española, en estos últimos meses este mismo gobierno no hace frente a la independencia alimentaria de las islas y los precios sean triplicados o incluso más, alimentos básicos como las papas han estado o alcanzados los 5€ el kilo algo exagerado, otras situaciones son la creación de más hoteles en terrenos arqueológico o de riesgo biológicos por estar ocupados por especies únicas, estás promociones son echas por empresas coloniales de dudosa identidad.

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Todas éstas empresas vienen de fuera a demoler lo poco que nos queda con el consentimiento de la metrópolis colonial, la Canariofobia a existido desde los primeros tiempos colonias y de su religión Abraanica, no voy a entrar en si los españoles de a pie nos aceptan o no, principalmente nuestro acento es único y forma una clara variante linguistica bién diferenciada al resto de la metrópolis, curiosamente la Real Academia Española RAE reconoce nuestra variante linguistica pero los gobiernos de la metrópolis colonial españolas y principalmente de sus vasallos coloniales en las islas no hacen absolutamente nada, solo han creado la Academia Canaria de la lengua, pero estos miembros han traicionado su principal objetivo cuidar nuestros, léxico, semántica y de nuestro acento con la introducción de palabras como Vosotros, Sois, Estáis, Vayáis, Autobús, etc,

https://portal.academiacanarialengua.org/

Se está haciendo eternamente difícil seguir hablando de esto, espero haberte servido, si quieres algo más me lo puedes pedir, ahul.

[brainrattlers]

Play It Cool - Tyson Jost (39/n)

Pairing: Tyson Jost x OFC (AJ)

Word Count 4272

Need to start from the beginning? Here's where it all began! https://at.tumblr.com/brainrattlers/play-it-cool-tyson-jost-1n/p7no8u1hzuza

Want to catch up on last chapter? Check it out here https://at.tumblr.com/brainrattlers/play-it-cool-tyson-jost-38n/0i8kcvjvk4vq

Warnings: Language, Tyson being cute (you know, same ol' same ol'.) Author's notes: Hey all, sorry about the lack of update last week. Apparently when the Sabres have a bye week, I took it off too. (Real talk, stupid stuff like work and some personal crap came up and I'm still dealing with that. I had half the chapter written for last week and then battled some burnout for a bit. Took a breather to find some motivation.) Tyson's still on the road after AJ's roadie, but she's back in Buffalo, getting the apartment unpacked.

Waking up in Winnipeg, Tyson was conflicted. He had a little extra pep in his step at practice (or strides, as the case may be on the ice) as AJ was his last two games, but he couldn’t help but still wish she was going to be at the game the next night. He was glad she was safe on the ground in Buffalo though, probably up to some sort of shenanigans. It was one of the things he loved most about her.

AJ was dragging. She made it back to Buffalo in one piece after leaving a blizzard in St. Louis, and making her connecting flight just in time to head back. Her ride from the airport actually dropped her off at the hotel one last time, where she piled the few remaining items in their tiny space into Tyson’s Grand Cherokee, did one last sweep of the room, and checked out at the front desk.

The hotel was officially no longer home.

Parking the Jeep next to her own car in the building’s garage in their parking spots, AJ inhaled deeply. Contemplating a nap in Tyson’s vehicle crossed her mind, as her body was exhausted from the stress of the flights earlier. Finally though, AJ got the motivation to get out and start unloading the vehicle, and getting it all upstairs. After four trips up and down and up again, the vehicle was empty, and everything Tyson and AJ had was in the apartment. In boxes strewn everywhere, but in the apartment.

Grabbing her suitcase, she headed for the bedroom pulling out her ziploc bag of toiletries from the flights, and found the box that had the towels in it. Peeling out of her clothes, the hot water of the shower melted away the grime she always felt after a travel day, leaving her feeling loose and, well, still exhausted. Throwing on a pair of joggers and a hoodie, current time AJ was so happy that past AJ put sheets on the bed before she left for the roadie. Pulling back the sheets, she climbed into bed, melting into the feeling that was Tyson’s bed from Minneapolis, from Denver. It felt familiar, it felt right, other than it was missing Tyson.

With a quick snap of a selfie snuggled into the pillows and blankets, AJ sent it to Tyson.

AJ: Home, can’t wait for you to get here. <1 attachment>

Tyson: I will be dreaming of that tonight, and every night until I’m back.

The smile didn’t fade from AJ’s face as she fell asleep, hugging Tyson’s pillow close to her.

After snagging dinner with a few of the guys, Tyson headed back to his own hotel room, coming up with a few ideas of his own in regards to the new place. Just like the last place in Minneapolis, Tyson was letting AJ come up with how to arrange things - she had more of an eye for it than he did. But there were a few things that he wanted to make happen if he could. Trying to recall how AJ had her space set up as far as her computer gear goes previously, the gears started turning in his head as he pulled up the floorplan AJ had originally sent him when she first toured the building. Eyelids getting heavy, he opened a new note on his phone, jotting a few ideas down before giving up for the night.

Fluffing up the extra pillows on the bed next to him, Tyson curled up with them in the hopes it would feel like AJ back home.

“Just a few more nights…” Tyson whispered to himself as he drifted off, dreaming of coming home to AJ after this roadie.

Sunlight streamed in the windows on the east side of the apartment as AJ hadn’t yet hung curtains yet, and it woke her up. Looking at the clock on her phone that was sitting on a box next to the bed, she figured out she literally just slept thirteen hours. Considering her day previously started with an hour and a half of sleep and a ride to the airport at 3:15AM, she didn’t feel bad about it. Rubbing her eyes, there were a lot of boxes to go through in front of her. AJ detoured to get a quick breakfast at the E Cafe around the corner, and was now fueled to take on the morning.

First on the docket was setting up some tech so that the internet worked throughout the rooms. Plus, AJ was tired of listening to music on the tiny speaker of her phone. Within a few minutes, she had set up the modem and router, plugging everything in with a chuckle.

“LET THERE BE WIFI!” AJ boomed, seeing her phone pick up the signal.

Next up was getting a few speakers throughout so music could be heard in all rooms as she traveled around unpacking. With tunes playing, AJ stared at the living room trying to decide which wall the television should be. As she moved the TV stand, the bookcases followed to flank it. Struggling slightly getting the television onto the stand, the cables were hidden, and she turned it on to make sure everything was still working.

In doing so, a lightbulb clicked on in AJ’s head.

Heading to the guest room, AJ pulled a large object from the bed, and placed it on the papasan chair. From behind it in the kitchen, a photo was snapped. Looking at her watch, Tyson should have been awake and probably heading to the arena.

AJ: Well SOMEONE made himself at home. <1 attachment>

Tyson was grabbing a coffee at the hotel before hopping on the bus when his phone buzzed in his suit pocket. Opening up the message, he found Maple the Bear sitting in the chair, clearly not helping unpack boxes.

Removing Maple from the chair, AJ brought him back to the guest room, setting him down next to the giant panda bear that AJ had won for Tyson at the Minnesota State Fair. This gave her an idea for later, but for now, she had to unpack more.

Tackling closets and bathrooms, and finding homes for all of the kitchen gadgets the two amassed took up most of the day. A few texts were shared back and forth, giving Tyson updates on what all AJ was accomplishing, and asking for input. More ideas were coming into his mind, but again, would have to wait until he was back in town. One thing though, he could pull off that night.

AJ’s phone buzzed with a message that wasn’t from Tyson, and it wasn’t from Jess or Nate.

Hi, this is Kevin with Instacart, I have a delivery downstairs for you from Tyson.

Shaking her head, AJ threw her hair back in a messy ponytail and put on some shoes to get downstairs. Kevin was in the lobby, holding a couple bags awkwardly. She dug her wallet out to give the poor soul a tip for having to carry it all inside. Balancing all the bags in her hands, AJ took the elevator back upstairs and down the hall. Once inside, the bags were set on the counter.

Produce, vegetables, meats, boxes of pasta, milk, frozen meals, eggs, cheese… and beer. A six-pack of Blue Moon, to be exact. That made AJ smile, because she could definitely use one this evening with all the unpacking she’d been working on. As food made its way into their new homes on shelves in the pantry, or in the fridge and freezer, she contemplated what she was going to make for dinner, but honestly, really didn’t want to despite the sweet gesture of Tyson sending groceries to her. In fact, she hadn’t quite unpacked all the pots and pans yet, but was getting ready to as it was going to be nice not having to use the same kettle and pan over and over again like they did for months at the hotel.

Just as she was finally coming to terms with it needing to be done, the sound of AJ’s phone vibrating against the kitchen counter snapped her back into reality.

This is Tina with DoorDash, I’m in the lobby with something from Tyson for you.

“What did he do this time?” AJ stared at her phone, smirking as she headed for the door again.

The elevator whooshed down to the main floor, doors opening to let AJ see Tina standing near the desk with a large pizza box. Trading the box for a couple dollar tip, she saw that Tyson had Gino & Joe’s delivered. It smelled delicious as she made her way back up to the twelfth floor again. Opening the box lid, she gasped and giggled.

The pepperoni were in the shape of a heart, filled in with mushrooms. Upon further inspection, a note was scribbled inside the lid.

Hi Eggo, no need to cook tonight, you’ve been working hard. Love you, see you soon. <;3, Tyson

It was nearly 7:00PM, the day went by so fast. Tyson would be getting ready for the game against Winnipeg.

AJ: Tyson Jost, what am I going to do with you? I mean other than love you forever. Thanks for sending everything, especially dinner.

Tyson: I can think of a few things you can do when I get home (winking emoji) Love you

AJ: Kick some ass tonight, I’ll be cheering you on from the sofa with Maple!

Tyson was envisioning AJ sprawled out on the overstuffed gray sofa, box of pizza and a Blue Moon on the coffee table. All the snapshots she’d sent through the day put together a pretty good idea of how things were situated. During his warmup doing a little jogging before getting his gear on, he daydreamed of the next steps in his plan.

Back in Buffalo, AJ settled in with the pizza that she put in the oven to keep warm. Pre-game coverage played on the television. She’d forgotten how comfortable it was to have space, to sprawl out, and to have the big screen TV again - they’d become accustomed to the significantly smaller TV and sofa. Remembering the lamps were set up with wifi plugs, she asked Alexa to turn them off. The glow of the screen illuminated the pretty much set up living room, leaving her to enjoy the pizza and game.

In Winnipeg, Tyson was trying to find the back of the net with six shots on the night, but nothing made it in. Was a solid game for him though, and another W for the team as the points are starting to get important, being on the edge of a wildcard spot for the playoffs.

Between the physical exhaustion from unpacking all day, as well as having a couple beers, AJ’s eyes weren’t staying open. Putting the remaining pizza in the fridge, AJ found her way to her sink in the bathroom (she claimed it anyway, Tyson would just have to deal with using the other one.). After washing her face and taking out her contacts, she grimaced as her stomach wasn’t feeling quite right, although it was a similar feeling that she’d been having the last few weeks, chalking it up to stress and all the crud going around. Popping a few antacids in her mouth, she curled up in bed trying to get comfortable.

A game of Sudoku was interrupted with a notification on her phone from Tyson.

Tyson: One more stop, and I’ll be home. Miss you so much, can’t wait to see what the apartment looks like!

Seeing the words made AJ relax a little bit, her stomach unknotting some.

AJ: Can’t wait to have you back here, it’s lonely in this big space all by myself. Thank you again for dinner, and all the groceries. You’re way too good to me. (heart emoji) Sweet dreams babe, and safe travels in the morning in case I’m not awake yet (sleeping emoji)

Finishing up her game of Sudoku, AJ put her phone down on the box next to the bed, and slept off and on all night, eventually getting up around 6am. Digging her headphones out of her backpack still packed from her flight, AJ headed to the gym downstairs. Her stomach still didn’t feel right, but she powered through a few miles on the elliptical.

Water and crackers seemed to be what was on the menu for breakfast after she got back upstairs and took a shower. Food just didn’t sound good. Sitting at the breakfast bar, AJ scrolled through a few things on her phone - Twitter, Instagram, Reddit. It was too early to text Jess to ask about her thoughts with her stomach, so instead she looked up a few doctor offices in the area. It was time to be an adult and get whatever this is checked out. Once 8AM hit, she started calling a few offices to see if she could find a doc accepting new patients. Somehow she lucked into getting an appointment later that morning as someone canceled at a decently rated doctor in the neighborhood.

In the meantime, AJ looked around at the boxes in the kitchen still, so she started putting in new shelf paper in the cabinets and putting dishes and cooking utensils away. The empty bins started stacking up in the corner, and more floor space was found. And the alarm on her phone let her know when she needed to head off to the doctor’s office.

Halfway across the country, Tyson was landing in Minnesota, and the team made its way to the Xcel Energy Center to have a practice. It was a weird feeling for him being back after the way things ended. No awkward interactions happened though as the Wild were practicing at TRIA Rink that day. A few players asked Tyson for recommendations on places to eat, which he provided, but he wasn’t joining for the night. He had plans with a couple of his former teammates before things would get heated the next day.

It was nice to get caught up on what all had happened in the last couple months, swapping stories. Some of them may not have been Tyson’s teammates very long, but they were still friends all the same. Before he knew it, it was already 9PM, and he had wanted to check in with AJ before she went to bed. He had checked his phone, already seeing a note from her.

AJ: Hey babe, I’m exhausted and going to bed. Hope you’re having a good night, say hey to the guys for me!

Doing the math, she had gone to bed way earlier than the normal late hours he was accustomed to her keeping. Not wanting to wake her up though, he just let it go even though he really had wanted to talk before bed. But figuring unpacking was taking its toll, he pushed down any concern that may have been growing. He sulked a little bit still as he fell asleep in the hotel room bed in a city they used to live in months before.

AJ grumbled at the light shining in the bedroom as the sun crept up in the sky. Still laying in bed, she grabbed her phone, pulling up Target’s website looking at the selection of curtains. Her few plants would love the light from the east side windows, but she needed to be able to sleep a little later in the mornings than the sun was allowing her. As she scrolled through room-darkening curtains, she was interrupted by Tyson wanting to facetime. Before she answered, she scrambled to get her hair down and in relative place and a lopsided smile graced her face.

“Hey babe, how's St. Paul?” AJ was trying to sound chipper despite feeling off still.

Tyson squinted before smiling again, taking in a very tired looking face, “It’s good, hoping to have some good luck tonight. Are you okay? You went to bed early for you last night. I wanted to tell you to have good dreams of me.” He pouted, then smiled trying to keep the feeling light.

“Yeah, I think the last week and change is just catching up with me, I…” AJ didn’t want to worry Tyson, and decided to keep her doctor’s appointment to herself, “I think I just need to get caught up on sleep. But to do that I think I’m going to have to venture out to Target soon and get some curtains. This place has so many windows! So bright in the bedroom…”

An idea hit Tyson’s mind, but he kept up with the conversation. AJ got out of bed and showed some of the spaces she’d unpacked items in, giving an idea of how things were going. He was looking more and more forward to getting home, the place that she was working so hard to create for them to feel comfortable in.

“You know I’ll help when we get back tomorrow, leave some work for me!” Tyson was trying to delegate some of the unpacking duties to himself to allow AJ some rest.

While she tried to hide her bedhead, AJ forgot that the dark circles were still under her eyes. They were a little worrisome to Tyson. But knowing he was going to have to leave soon for a short practice, he encouraged AJ to go back to bed and hide under the covers. He was more than happy to come home and take care of whatever boxes were left in the next few days. Tyson had to make a compromise that he’d allow her to supervise at least.

With a sleepy smile and a kiss blown at the screen, AJ agreed, and closed out the call, finding her way to the kitchen to take some meds and then found solace in the sheets and blankets of their bed. Within minutes, she was sound asleep - it was the best sleep she’d had in days.

The bright light of day was definitely dimmed by the time AJ woke up, unsure of what time it actually was. Frantically searching for her phone that got buried under the blankets that cocooned her, she found it was late afternoon. Her nap lasted almost a full night’s worth of sleep. The bedroom was still out of sorts, so her task for the remainder of the afternoon was at least to get nightstands set up and unpack some clothes into their closet and her dresser. The thought of putting Tyson’s clothes away crossed her mind, but she figured she’d let him put things where he wanted. With most of the bedroom under control, it occurred to her that she had yet to set up her computer rig, which bothered her a bit. Normally this would have been one of the first things she’d set up, but she just wasn’t feeling it. She wasn’t feeling a lot of the things she was normally interested in lately.

Instead of ignoring it longer though, AJ pulled her desk around in the office, and started setting up monitor arms to mount the multiple displays for her computer. Her cameras and mic were set up. Finally, all of the cables were in place, and her computer was plugged in. Sitting down in her chair, something clicked and things felt right in those moments. Firing up some Fortnite, she lost a few hours, and didn’t realize it until Tyson was texting after the game.

Thankfully, she didn’t miss much. And honestly, not watching the game may have done more good for her mentally than she realized. Had she watched the game, she probably would have just gotten angry at the coaching staff again - the whole idea of “getting better, not bitter” was something she was still working on. Tyson wasn’t even upset at her lack of watching, it was a quiet night, and a loss in a shutout. No one was particularly thrilled with how the game played out. The only thing on Tyson’s mind though was getting home the next morning. A fresh start was something he was craving, and those grand ideas he had for the apartment and AJ just kept getting bigger.

It had been a long, emotional day for Tyson, playing back in St. Paul and all, and honestly he was ready for bed. And despite sleeping most of the day, AJ was yawning as well. Both called it a night, excited that with just one more sleep, Tyson would be on his way back to Buffalo.

While he was up early, AJ slept in again, as it was a bit of a dreary day along Lake Erie. Pulling herself out of bed, she made her way to the kitchen to take her meds again, and started picking up a few things around the place. Boxes were shifted around so that there was more of a walkway between rooms. Her Snow Queen pothos was a little dry, so she watered it a bit. Fidgeting, AJ took a shower and put on some clothes, realizing she’d been in pajamas for almost two days. The text she’d been waiting for finally came in.

Tyson: I’m at the airport, come pick me up?

Hopping in her black Soul, AJ floored it heading to the airport. It’d only been a couple days since she saw Tyson in St. Louis, but it’d been a week since they literally were sharing the same space. Navigating the maze of the airport pickup area, Tyson stood with a tired smile, backpack and Normtec bag in hand. Popping the trunk, he tossed his things in before climbing into the front passenger seat.

With a quick kiss, the two were off, heading back downtown. Making up for all the longing and lack of touch, Tyson’s hand never left the top of AJ’s as she held onto the gearshift. He noticed she didn’t look as tired as she had, a good sign. Pulling back into her spot in the garage of their building, AJ carried Tyson’s backpack, while he carried the few remaining items he had with him as they headed back up to the twelfth floor. Key in the slot, the door unlocked.

“Welcome home, Tyson.”

That glint of mischief in Tyson’s eyes was bright as can be as he set his bag down in the hall and picked AJ up, carrying her into their new space. She squealed, pleading with him to put her down. After finally doing so, he grabbed his bags and put them near the door, taking in everything that AJ had set up. Sort of keeping her promise, there were still a few boxes in the living room as well as the bedroom that needed to be put away.

After giving a mini tour, AJ flopped onto the sofa, watching Tyson still exploring the rooms. Her eyes closed briefly, until the sound of Tyson’s voice, laced with concern, brought her back.

“Hey Eggo? What is this?”

Taking a look at what Tyson was talking about, AJ saw him standing next to the breakfast bar in the kitchen, holding a bottle of prescription pills. The look on his face was definitely one of concern.

So much for trying to keep a secret.

Instead of covering it up further, AJ decided to just put it all out on the table.

“First, this isn’t your doing, this is me. Do not blame yourself when I tell you this,” AJ was worried about what Tyson was going to say, so she was stalling as much as she could. “But a few years back, I had some issues. Nothing BAD, but… you know how this past summer was hard on you? I had a period like that too in college. But where you handled it healthily, I… did not. My roommate found me on the floor of our dorm room crying, room completely flipped upside down. I couldn’t find stamps to mail something, and… yeah. I’m not proud of it. But my roommate and some friends convinced me to see a doc, and I got on anti-depressants. I was on them for a while and was doing pretty well, so I was able to get off of them. But the past few weeks, and again, this isn’t anything you did, but some similar feelings were creeping in, so I decided to go to the doctor about it, before it got to that point again.”

Unsure of what to say, Tyson just listened to AJ talk. When she was finished, he thought for a moment before opening his mouth.

“I didn’t even know you were depressed,” Tyson felt crappy. He couldn't even tell his fiancee was not feeling right. “Is there anything I can do? Or anything I should know?”

As she was owning up to things, AJ continued.

“As far as the depression goes, not too much. The meds will hopefully help get me out of this funk I’ve been in. It takes a couple weeks for them to kick in though. Mainly, just sometimes I want a hug, or maybe need to vent and someone to listen. Pretty much the same ol’ things I normally ask for. But I do have to tell you that there are a few other things going on too. Since I’ve been so tired, and not just from this ridiculous roadie I went on with y’all, but like exhausted tired - I’m having some labwork done to see if anything else is going on that needs to be checked into.”

Tyson nodded, realizing that he wasn’t imagining that AJ had seemed to be more tired lately. And to be honest, he was relieved she was being an adult and getting it checked out. The two talked some more about what she’d been feeling, and what the doctor said in advance of the blood work she had done. It was just going to be a waiting game until Monday when her labs would be completed and maybe would have some answers.

Apologizing for darkening the mood with all the mental and physical health talk, AJ tried to change the subject a little with some talk about some things she wanted to do eventually for the apartment. The smirk came across Tyson’s face as she showed him some ideas she’d found online. He made mental notes of what he was being shown. Those gears in his head kept turning.

Interrupting everyone's thoughts though was the sound of AJ’s stomach growling. She hadn’t eaten much and clearly it was trying to make that fact well known. Excited to do so, the couple finished putting away Tyson’s travel items, and headed to the kitchen to whip up a late lunch together. AJ had to show him where some of the pots and pans were, but he was picking up fast. Tyson made some chicken and vegetables as AJ made a simple sauce to go with it all poured over some brown rice. The two had ample space to move about the kitchen. AJ even had Alexa turn on some music so the two could have their first dance in their new home while the food heated up.

With Tyson holding onto AJ’s hips, and her hands resting behind his neck, the two just swayed and smiled, locking eyes until AJ rested her head into the crook of Tyson’s neck and shoulder. The feeling of his fuzzy cheek against her forehead made everything negative on her mind disappear as they lost themselves for a few minutes and a couple of songs. The sound of Alexa’s timer burst the bubble, but AJ was okay with it as the food smelled amazing as she grabbed the plates from a cabinet, and dished up some for both of them.

Lunch wasn’t eaten in silence, as the conversation led to them talking about the next few weeks. One more game at home, and then it would be the All-Star Game break. A lot of teams had their bye week before the weekend of the game. Instead, the Sabres’ bye week was after. A few of Tyson’s teammates were heading to the Bahamas. He’d been invited, but with all the commotion of moving, he decided against it. AJ thought he’d probably head back to Edmonton to see the family. Instead, he surprised even AJ.

“I was thinking, what about a staycation?”

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