Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 113130 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 566(@200wpm)___ 453(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113130 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 566(@200wpm)___ 453(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
“Have you ever been ten days late?” I ask her and she snorts.
“Yeah, once, and now we have a child.”
“Oh great,” I deadpan and then I hear bells on her end. “Is that three minutes?” I ask her and I look at the test, my hand shaking as I take it out and hold it over the sink.
“What does it say?” she asks in a whisper.
My eyes are on the two pink lines. “It has two pink lines,” I answer, putting one hand to my stomach. “I guess that means I’m having a baby.”
seven
Jaxon
The whistle blows and I skate over to the corner where Coach is there waiting for us. “We’re going to work on three-on-three.” He starts to talk as he explains the drill on the board hanging off the glass. “Three defense on one side”—he looks up at me, giving me a motion with his chin—“start off on the right side of Mars,” he mentions the goalie. “You get three forwards on the other side.” He moves his marker on the board to the left side. “We’re going to drop the puck and see who gets to it first. If the D’s get to it first, the forwards have to play defense and vice versa.”
“We all know the D’s can’t really play forward,” Owen says and I smirk at him.
“Stevie’s shot is harder than yours,” my defense partner, Kirby, says of me, he uses my nickname. Stevenson is my last name, so he shortened it when we first started playing with each other. “And we all know you can’t score unless you’re right in front of the goalie”—he winks at him—“or you get a rebound.”
“Okay, let’s go,” the coach says, blowing his whistle. We get into place: me, Kirby, and Knox standing next to each other and looking over at the other side seeing, Lane, Patrick, and Owen.
“Easy-peasy,” Kirby chides. “Let’s set it up with Stevie.” He holds up his stick to me. “And me at the line. Knox, go center.”
“You guys have all the fun,” Knox whines as we all get ready for Coach to blow the whistle. The puck is at the blue line, waiting to be claimed. He sets up the play on both ends of the ice, the idle players standing in the corner waiting for their own time.
“I really don’t want them to win,” I mumble as I look over at Patrick, who smirks at me.
“Losers buy dinner,” Patrick declares from the other side, “next time we’re out of town.”
“Deal!” the three of us yell, and because they are busy talking and not watching Coach, they start a second after the whistle blows instead of right as he blows it. Kirby gets there before everyone, skating the puck back a little to let us all get into place.
The forwards get into the defense positions. One at each side of the goalie in the middle. “Go!” Kirby yells and I move beside him as Knox skates into the center position, right in front of the goalie to block his view of the puck. Patrick, playing up front, tries to stick out his stick to intercept the puck Kirby passes to me.
Kirby and I have been defensemen partners since we started here together. We can read each other with just one look. It’s why we are both plus eight in the standings. I have twenty goals in twenty-four games and twenty-eight assists. I’m now at number one in the defenseman category, with Kirby sitting at number four. I see Kirby look back at me as I try to determine if I can get a shot on Mars and if Knox can pounce on the rebound, but both Lane and Owen are on either of his sides. I pass the puck back to Patrick, who looks like he’s going to give it a one-timer, making the goalie go over to the side. However, I can see his eyes flicker once, telling me he’s going to pass it right back to me. The puck bounces off of his blade and it comes right back to me. I wind my stick up and it hits my blade in the middle, as I hit it straight to the goalie. It flies right up his shoulder blade in the top corner. The top of his shoulder getting a piece of it but not enough to push it over the crossbar.
“I believe that means,” Kirby gloats, “defense one, forwards zero.”
“Lucky shot,” Patrick says and I just laugh.
“He got a piece of it,” I remind him as we skate to the bench to drink.
“You guys can go,” the assistant coach tells us as he leans on the boards watching the plays being done. We skate off the ice, walking down the tunnel to the locker room. We’re the first ones off the ice, so I place my stick in the hallway against the wall before walking into the locker room. I take off my gloves before unsnapping the chin strap, taking off my helmet and placing it on the shelf right on top of my nameplate. Guys start to trickle in as I get undressed and head for the shower.