Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 99723 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 499(@200wpm)___ 399(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99723 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 499(@200wpm)___ 399(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
I nod, agreeing. “Good plan. In the meantime, we have a game tomorrow night and a whole damn season to play. It’d be cool if we could do it as an actual team that gives a shit about each other. What do you say?”
I hold my hand out. Kipson’s glare jumps from my eyes to my hand and back again. “Fuck you, Lee. I’m outta here.”
With that, he pushes back from the table and stomps to the door.
“That went well,” I say, deadpan.
“What the hell, man?” Pacholek gripes. “You trying to implode the whole damn team? Are you that pissed you got traded?”
Yes. But also, maybe no.
“Maybe it needs to implode,” I suggest. I lean his way, eyes hard. “So we can build it back better.”
He shakes his head, unconvinced. “I get that the Hawks won the Cup last year, but it’s not like we’re some bottom of the barrel team. We’re not just good, we’re great, and don’t need the Great Dominic Lee to fix us.”
“Except that’s literally why I was brought here, isn’t it?” I counter.
“No. Fix Kipson. Leave the rest of us out of it.” With that, he gets up, too, heading for the door.
“You two got something to say?” I ask Rodney and Tomville, staying composed.
“Nope,” Rodney replies.
“Can I have the carnitas?” Tomville asks. “Somebody told me I need to pack on a few pounds and that shit’s delicious.”
“Yeah,” I say with a small huff of laughter. “Have at it, man.”
Tomville grabs the bowl and eats the remaining pork in a few bites.
“I see it,” Rodney tells me. “What you’re talking about.” I realize I’ve been staring at the door like Kipson or Pacholek might walk back through it, but at Rodney’s statement, I look his way. “I moved my senior year of high school. Left a school with a great record, for another that only had a good one. You wanna know why?”
I raise my brows curiously.
“Vibes. If I’d stayed, I don’t think I would’ve made it through the year.” He drops his chin, “Not only playing hockey.”
And that’s it. This sport is our life. As athletes and as men. We give our time, blood, sweat, and tears to it. It becomes who we are at our core. And being surrounded by good people creates an environment where everyone thrives.
“Hit me up anytime, man. Any. Time. For anything. To shoot the shit or go eat or grab a beer. Whatever. I gotchu,” I vow.
He nods. “Thanks.”
“Me too,” Tomville tells Rodney.
That’s the start. The thread of connection starting to wind through players. I hope I can grow it to include the whole team, but even if I fail there, this tiny spark is enough for tonight.
“Alright, guys. You know the drill for tonight. Shit, relax, jack off, and then hit the bed.”
“Yes, sir,” they reply.
Chapter 14
Briar
I’ve been to hundreds of hockey games in my life, which basically qualifies me as an expert on them. An odd label perhaps for someone who doesn’t particularly care for the sport, but here I am. I’ve watched from every vantage point in the arena—right behind the bench, where you feel like a part of the team; in suites, with all-you-can-drink sodas and endless snacks; and from the cheap seats, though Mom vetoed that after I got a bit turned around on a solo bathroom trip once and got lost. Of course, Dad didn’t notice because he was enthralled in the game we were there to watch. Well, technically not the game, but a player.
At every one, the booming announcers, chilly air, and crowds hungry for violence are always the same.
Despite my usual dislike for hockey, the atmosphere in the arena tonight is filled with an infectious hum that’s working its way through me, leaving sizzling excitement in its wake. It definitely helps that Harley is bouncing in his seat, watching for Dominic to take the ice.
“Do you think he knows we’re here?”
“Yeah, honey,” I assure him. At least I know he’s going to sleep hard tonight—he’s buzzing like a bee and the postgame crash is going to be epic. “He arranged everything. He knows.”
I try to not be impressed by that, and maybe if it truly had only been tickets, I could blow it off as no-big-deal. But Dominic doesn’t do anything small. We have lower tier, center ice tickets, right on the glass, across from the benches so our view is totally unimpeded. Our parking pass was included. So was a gift card for the concession stand and two jerseys with the Blizzard’s newest defenseman’s name on the back—one in Harley’s size and one in mine.
Is wearing a guy’s number like putting on a cowboy’s hat? Does it mean you’re going home with him?
Surely not.
But would that be so bad? The idea makes me ridiculously overheated considering the cold ice is literally right there.