Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 90951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
I’ll really deal with it this time, no cutting corners or lying to myself about how much work I still have to do. If nothing else, this nightmare has taught me how dangerous the lies we tell ourselves can be.
By August, I’m only texting once a week, a brief message to tell Bea that I hope she and the baby are well, and that I’m still waiting.
Wishing.
Hoping for a chance to make this up to her…
In September, during training camp, when the rookies complain about the New Orleans’ end-of-summer heat, Nix shoots back that he’d rather have too much summer than not enough. He tells them his sister, Beatrice, has been in sweaters every time they video chat. She swears summer skipped the Scottish Isles entirely.
My pulse spikes.
Scotland. She was on that plane, the one I watched pull away from the gate.
I keep tying my skates, as if I’ve known where she is all along, secretly glad that I didn’t have a spot on the map sooner. If I’d had a destination that first adrenaline-fueled morning, I might have flown to Scotland to hunt her down and made things even worse.
She clearly needed some time away.
And as far as time away from me is concerned, that might extend…indefinitely.
That night, I make the mistake of having two beers with dinner and end up crying in the shower before heading to bed at barely eight p.m. Turns out, feeling your damned feelings is exhausting, but I’m determined to keep doing the work. Just in case.
In case she ever comes back.
Come October, people have started to notice a change in me. Grammercy texts privately to say that my new role as team captain seems to be agreeing with me. Nix does the same, and Parker demands to know if I did magic mushrooms during the summer break.
“They’re not like drug drugs,” he says, when I assure him that I’m not using anything these days, not so much as a beer after practice.
I don’t tell him the reason I’m avoiding beer is because it makes me boo-hoo about Bea in the shower.
I’m more open than I used to be, but not that open.
I simply assure him that I’ve been working to leave some old shit behind as I head into my mid-thirties.
“I feel that,” Dean agrees from farther down the beach. He’s the only member of the Voodoo older than I am, and unfortunately, went through his own summer of sadness after his divorce was finalized in June. “Staring down forty makes you realize you don’t have all the time in the world to get your shit together.”
“Your shit is totally together, man,” Parker assures him with a thump on the shoulder. “It’s not your fault Frederica cheated on your ass.” He winces. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that, should I? But you know that we all know, right?”
Dean exhales a tight laugh. “Oh, yeah. I know how you fuckers gossip.”
Parker nods seriously. “Like teenage girls at a slumber party.”
I laugh.
Parker flinches and shoots me a look.
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing.” He shakes his head. “Guess I’m still getting used to the Blue who laughs. And talks.” He lifts his hands, fingers spread. “But I like it. So, don’t go changing back or anything. Talking and laughing with your bros is good.”
It is good.
Better than the moping I sometimes give in to when I’m alone, anyway.
And then, just like that, it’s time for the season opener, and I’m back on the ice. An entire summer has passed, and I’m no closer to getting in touch with Bea, let alone getting a second chance.
Or closure.
Closure is probably as good as it’s going to get.
I’ve started to come to terms with that, but I’d be lying if I said there wasn’t a pall hanging over the season that’s never been there for me before, which is a shame. The Voodoo fans are really showing up for season three. Not just in numbers—eighteen thousand fans packed into the arena, all the way to the rafters—but in enthusiasm.
The pre-game songs and chants are loud enough to make the locker room walls vibrate, and when we take the ice, the cheers are flat-out deafening.
I skate a lap past the cameramen, feeling the familiar bite of cold air in my lungs, waiting for the “zing” to arrive.
My teammates call me the Zen master, but I’m not immune to the rush of competition. As much as I pride myself on keeping a level head on the ice, I enjoy outplaying the opposing team as much as anyone. But tonight, the fire isn’t there. In fact, the only thing that seems to put a blip in my steady blood pressure is the thought that Beatrice might be watching the game from wherever she is right now.
It’s being broadcast on one of the main sports channels, not even the ones you have to pay extra for.