Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 82888 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82888 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Still not quite sure what possessed me to come to Pittsburgh to watch this game, but fuck if I could help myself.
It’s nothing but torture.
Self-flagellation.
Making myself watch what I’ve willingly given up.
And I have given it up, even though I’m here. The day Brienne and Callum notified me of the suspension, I told them I was done for good.
I was numb, sitting in Brienne’s office. The cool-as-a-cucumber heiress to the Norcross fortune, and now sole owner of the Titans after her brother’s death in the crash, regarded me not with ice in her eyes, but with a warmth and understanding I hadn’t earned.
Yeah, she was mad as hell I attacked the ref, which came on the heels of my arrest in New York for assault and drunk and disorderly. But without words, her gaze told me she understood.
I’m glad she did, because I sure as fuck didn’t.
I didn’t understand a goddamn thing in this world anymore.
“Coen.” My name on her lips was both gentle and unyielding at the same time. “You certainly have the right to appeal this suspension.”
“I won’t,” I’d replied. “I’m done.”
Brienne was unnerved and exchanged a look with our general manager, Callum Derringer, before bringing her attention back to me. I braced, waiting for her to pitch the same shit that Gage, Baden, and Stone had been throwing at me.
You’re too good to walk away from this.
This team needs you.
You can come back from this.
I braced and I waited, ready to deny Brienne’s pleas for me not to give up on this career.
But it never came.
Instead, she nodded. “I’m not going to beg you to stay. I’m not going to tell you that you’re throwing away a Hall of Fame-worthy career. I’m not even going to tell you this team will suffer with you gone, because I’ll find someone to replace you.”
I was so stunned by her words and the matter-of-fact way she laid them out, I know my jaw sagged slightly.
“I won’t try to influence you in any way,” she continued, her eyes locked onto mine with an intensity that punched deep. “But I won’t hear another word about you quitting or giving up until training camp starts in September. You want to leave this behind? Fine. But you are doing a disservice to yourself if you do it now. You need some time away from all this. From the horror of the crash, the guilt I know is consuming you, and the pressures of trying to perform on the ice with a team that isn’t the team you want, nor the team you can have, since they’re all dead.”
I glanced at Callum, who was listening intently but had his gaze averted out the window to the Pittsburgh skyline across the river.
And then she made it impossible for me to not do as she was asking.
“I don’t know you at all, Coen.” Her eyes seemed to mist over a bit, and she smiled sadly. “But my brother was a big fan of yours. He thought you were one of the greatest sports heroes this city had ever seen, and I know you had mutual respect for each other.”
That was just fucking low because I owed my start in this career to him. Had he not been on that plane, if he were the one here asking me to stay with this team, I would’ve been hard-pressed to walk away.
“I’m asking you to honor Adam and not leave this team until you’ve had the summer to think things over.”
Ultimately, I promised her that, but mentally, I was sort of crossing my fingers behind my back. I knew in my heart of hearts I couldn’t step foot on the ice because I didn’t deserve that precious spot. If Brienne didn’t want my answer until training camp, I could hold my tongue until then.
The crowd erupts in a roar that I swear to fuck shakes the building and jolts me out of my memories. Thousands upon thousands of Titans’ fans jump to their feet, screaming as we score.
I don’t even fucking comprehend what’s happened at first and have to look up at the scoreboard for the instant replay while the guys on the ice celebrate.
What do you know?
Boone Rivers scored.
The guy who replaced me.
It’s a sweet move, a floaty backhand off a feed from Gage that toppled right over the goalie’s right shoulder.
Good for him.
The guy next to me pushes at my shoulder, and I glance up at him. I’m the only one seated in this throng. The man is packing a huge beer belly and a walrus mustache that isn’t big enough to hide his joyful grin as he holds out his palm for me to high-five.
I smile—not because I feel like it, but because I don’t want to draw attention to myself for not doing what any sane fan should be doing—and I slap my hand to his.