Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 112884 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 564(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112884 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 564(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
“My chest was hurting!” he yells back, defending himself.
“It’s all that fucking pasta and meat,” Jaxon declares. “Chicken, steak, fish. Broiled, no carbs.”
“You’re one to talk. You got here yesterday morning and you looked like you were six months pregnant,” Knox fights back.
“That’s Lexi’s fault; she made chicken parm. Don’t worry about the back of the house, worry about the front of the house.” The minute he says her name, my body feels like it’s being jolted. I hide my mouth with my gloves as I try and breathe normally. Did I sit in bed last night for a full two hours and pull up her name to text her? Why, yes, yes, I did. Did I write something and then delete it over a thousand times? Also, yes. Did I ever send anything? The answer is, fuck no.
I ended up reading and rereading our text thread, even though there was nothing personal there. The whole conversation was dry and just about the fundraiser, but I couldn’t help but recall all the conversations we had face-to-face, when I saw her slowly coming out of her shell. But then the only thing I could see in my head, replaying on repeat, was her face the night of the auction. The tears in her eyes as she held on to my arm, begging me to stop. I tossed my phone to the side, telling myself if she wanted to get in touch with me, she would have.
The whistle blowing has me grabbing my stick in both hands and then placing it on my upper thigh as the coach drops the puck and the battle at center ice begins. I watch Knox turn his body, blocking Lane from getting the puck, as he wins the face-off, passing the puck back to Jaxon, who receives it the middle of his blade. I start to skate up the ice with him, Knox, Patrick, and Mike, the rookie, and wait for him to skate into the zone to cross over the blue line. Jaxon looks straight ahead like he’s about to dump it in and lets them chase it, but with the flick of his wrist, he sends it across the ice to me. It shocks the other team, who doesn’t stop me at the blue line from skating in. Knox hustles to the front of the net and I raise my stick, about to slap shot it in, but instead I pass it over to Jaxon, who lifts his stick midair, and then with the perfect hand-eye coordination slaps it over the goalie’s shoulder and to the back of the net.
The whistle blows and Jaxon comes over to me, holding up his glove. “And that’s how it’s done.” He winks at Knox, who just stalks over to the bench huffing.
Taking off my gloves, I unsnap the chin strap and push the helmet back to sit on the top of my head as I walk down the tunnel and toward the locker room. I place my stick against the wall with all the other sticks before walking into the locker room. I toss one of my gloves into one of the big gray bins in the middle of the room.
I then sit down on the bench, grabbing a bottle of Gatorade before I untie my skates, taking one off and then tucking it under my bench, followed by the other one. I slip my feet in my plastic slides and, when I’m undressed, head to the shower. If it wasn’t a two-hour practice and I hadn’t been off ice before, I would probably attempt to go home and shower, but not wanting to kill anyone I come in contact with with my stench, I decide to shower at the rink.
I’m dressed in basketball shorts, a white T-shirt, and my baseball hat turned backward when I grab my phone and my keys. “See you tomorrow, boys,” I say before I walk out of the locker room and toward my SUV. Clive is there at the valet stand as he spots me and tosses me my keys. “I moved it.” He motions with his chin toward the front of the row. “You’re welcome.”
“I got your son’s opening-day tickets,” I tell him, seeing him smirk. “You’re welcome.”
I pull the Land Rover’s door open and get in before starting the engine. I hold up my hand toward Clive, who gives me a chin up before I pull up and the garage door opens. I pull out of the parking lot, looking at the radio. I see it’s just after two in the afternoon. Knowing Kylie is going to be at the office until about four, I decide to head over to the small coffee shop I like. I have to circle the shop twice before I can park five doors down.