Total pages in book: 43
Estimated words: 40074 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 200(@200wpm)___ 160(@250wpm)___ 134(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 40074 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 200(@200wpm)___ 160(@250wpm)___ 134(@300wpm)
It's not helping that my mother was on my porch three days ago, demanding that I help her convince Hattie to forgive her. She actually said that I owe it to her for all the years she raised us.
I told her to get the hell off my property, but I doubt it's the last time I'll have to say it. Without me footing her bills, she's frantic. And that's the fucked-up part. She isn't apologetic. She isn't sorry. She doesn't actually give a damn about any of us. She just desperately needs access to the money I stopped sending her when I cut her off.
But she's the least of my problems right now.
Tia is the issue. Actually, it's the fact that Tia is out of reach that's the issue. I need an excuse to get her back to Chicago…and I've got nothing. Not a damn thing.
I glance at Ryan, contemplating. He's the last person I should be asking for advice, but fuck it.
"I met someone," I mutter.
He slow blinks at me, like I just announced that I'm quitting hockey to become an astronaut. "You met someone," he finally repeats. "What the fuck does that even mean?"
"It means I think I met my future wife," I say. I'm fully aware of how ridiculous it sounds when we haven't even spoken since Harlan's wedding. That should be a sign to leave her the hell alone, right? Wrong. The thought of us together won't dislodge from my brain.
She's the one. I feel it in my fucking bones.
"Not you, too," Ryan groans. "I swear to Christ, your family should be studied for science, man. You guys are dropping like flies."
"What's the problem?" Karsen asks, shooting Ryan a death glare before carefully removing his pads.
"She lives in Minneapolis," I mutter. "It's pissing me off that she isn't here."
"You could just invite her to visit like a normal person," Ryan says, stifling laughter.
"Gee, why didn't I think of that?" I ask sarcastically. "Oh, right. Because she'd rather get hit by a train than willingly deal with me."
"Glad I'm not the only one."
"If he beats you to death with his skate, that's a you problem," Cale Vaught mutters from across the room, shaking his head at Ryan.
I glance down at my skate and then at Ryan. "The skate is too important to waste bashing in brains that don't even exist."
Ryan blanches, earning a ripple of laughter from our teammates. "Man, fuck all of you. I'm a genius."
"Said no one ever," Madden Reyes mutters under his breath, earning a snort from Karsen. Ryan is a lot of things, like a goddamn terrorist in skates and an excellent friend, but genius absolutely isn't on the list. The man never takes anything seriously. He needs a handler.
"Who is she?" Trent Kirk asks, curiosity in his voice as he unlaces his skates.
I hesitate, not sure I want to tell them, not because she's a secret but because she's Kingston's sister. The hockey world isn't that fucking big. "Tia Monroe."
"Kingston Monroe's sister?" he asks, right on cue.
I jerk my chin in a nod, leaning back against my locker.
Trent whistles. "She does not like hockey players."
Fuck my life. How is this common knowledge to everyone except me? Did she put out a damn ad in the paper or something? How do they all know?
And why doesn't she like hockey players?
I've Googled her enough for the damn protection order to write itself at this point, but I've yet to find anything to explain why she doesn't like hockey players. She attends Kingston's games. There's nothing to explain her dislike—no sordid gossip, no info on an asshole ex who broke her heart, nothing.
And yet, I saw the panic on her face when I told her I was after more than a wedding hookup. That kind of reaction doesn't come from some minor dislike or irritation. It's forged into your bones like armor. Someone hurt her badly enough to leave trauma behind…and I'm fucking guessing whoever he was, he's the reason she doesn't date hockey players.
"So I've heard," I mutter, scowling at the emblem on the floor.
"Doesn't she work at some charity?" Ryan asks.
"Yeah."
"There's your answer."
I lift my gaze to him, my stare blank.
"Jesus Christ. Do I have to think of everything around here?"
"If you thought at all, it'd be a miracle," Colt Brisbane says, deadpan.
Ryan ignores him, even though half the team nods their agreement. "She works for a charity. You're an athlete. What do charities need? Money. What do athletes have? Money, and access to other people with money." He rolls his eyes, yanking his practice jersey off over his head. "Get her boss on the phone, tell them that you're interested in working with them, but you can only do it here, and you'll only work with Tia. Problem solved."
The entire locker room is dead silent, everyone staring at Ryan like he just grew a second head. That might be the smartest shit he's ever said.