Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 84114 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84114 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
For ninety minutes, I didn’t think about anything except hockey. I didn’t think of Grayce’s laugh or the taste of Maddie on my tongue last night. Certainly not the space she left in my bed when she slipped out.
Ran away, really.
Now those things leak in, forcing me to shut the valve as far as it’ll go. I’ve got other things to focus on right now.
The entire team is efficient as we use the short break to stretch as Coach suggested, changing into sweats and T-shirts. I’m on my second large bottle of water by the time I hit the team meeting room where our video coaches have multiple clips of the Detroit Cardinals that we’re going to study.
Coach West manages the playback, stopping when necessary to provide color commentary. “Watch Kreshnov right here—he lives off pulling the weak-side D into puck-watching. Don’t be that guy. Scan, shoulder check, communicate. If you lose him for a second, he’ll burn you.”
It’s a lot and we all jot on our notepads and when our brains are near bursting, we’re released. Memories of last night with Maddie threaten to creep in, but I banish them once again.
I’m still in work mode and the last thing on my agenda is to get my hip worked on, the lingering effects of an old injury. I don’t bother with the hot tub but head straight to the training room, which smells like antiseptic and the underlying funk of guys who basically sweat for a living.
I lie on my side while Stoltz, our head trainer, sets sticky stim pads along the outside of my hip and flips the unit on. The muscles twitch under the current, a controlled, crawling thrum. He digs his elbow into a knot and I grunt.
“Breathe, big man,” he says without sympathy.
“Was breathing,” I lie.
On the next table, Lucky sprawls on his back, one arm flopped off the side, a trainer scraping along his shoulder with a steel tool that makes a zipper noise against skin. His head rolls on the table and he grins. “Don’t you just love spa day?”
“Your spa sounds like a war crime,” I say. “You crying or sweating?”
“Both. It’s playoff chic.” He winces as the tool hits a spot and then wags his brows. “You looked mean out there.”
“Back at you.”
Stoltz taps my arm. “We’ll let this run for fifteen minutes. I’ll be back then, so just relax.”
“Got it,” I reply and stare at the ceiling.
Squares. Vents. The little water stain shaped like Pennsylvania. Somewhere, a dryer thunks—the equipment room turning today’s sweat into tomorrow’s clean clothes.
Lucky cranes his head toward me. “So. You going to tell me why you glowered at your phone for five minutes before practice, or am I going to have to hack your cloud?”
I glance over at him, note that he’s alone and now has a bag of ice on his shoulder. He’s sitting on the edge of his table, holding the ice in place. “You can barely download an app without texting the group for help. Which is ironic, seeing as how you live on TikTok. But no way you’re hacking me.”
“Facts,” he admits cheerfully. “But don’t dodge. What’s going on?”
I hadn’t realized I was putting off any particular vibes. In fact, I’d been patting myself on the back all day for concentrating solely on hockey.
But no sense in denying it. I’m not ashamed my head’s a bit fucked up and Lucky’s my closest mate. He’s the man who talked me through the biggest decision of my life with Grayce.
So, I give him the one word that I know will explain it all. “Maddie.”
Lucky’s eyebrows go up. “She okay?”
“She’s… good.” The word lands wrong because it’s both true and not enough. “We—” I scrub a hand over my face. I’m not coy by nature, but I glance around and see we’re pretty much alone right now. My eyes land on him without a flinch. “We’re sleeping together.”
Lucky’s eyes almost pop out of his head. “Wow.”
“Yeah, wow,” I mutter.
“How was—”
“Stop,” I cut in, half laughing despite myself. “I’m not giving you a scouting report.”
“You’re no fun. But congrats, man. I’m not surprised, given that you’re practically a ready-made family now.”
“It’s a little less relationship and a little more hookup,” I say.
Lucky goes still. “Her rules or yours?”
“Hers.” I find a cracked tile on the wall and count the fractures like hash marks. “She was clear. No relationship, no promises, no… staying.” The last word tastes stupid.
It’s stupid how much it matters.
“Oof.” Lucky’s humor thins into sympathy. “And you agreed?”
“I agreed because I wanted something.” I don’t try to hide it. “Because if I push for more, she’ll bolt. And because I thought I could handle it. Be patient and let it be what it is.”
“And now?”
“And now I’m furious at how much more I want.” The admission is both relief and humiliation. “Not just because of Grayce. That’s part of it, yeah. But even if there weren’t any diapers, any appointments, any guardianship folders… I’d still want Maddie.”