Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 97875 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 489(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97875 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 489(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
Not today.
Maybe not ever again.
Skylar would be cheering him on, too, wouldn’t she? Wasn’t she the one who encouraged him to stop suppressing his anger and discontent? To demand respect from his teammates? Punching someone probably wasn’t what she had in mind, but this was hockey. They had their own methods of getting a point across.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Sig gritted, wrestling with Robbie.
“Call me shit for brains again,” Robbie shouted over his shoulder. “You’ll be watching the playoffs from your hospital bed.”
“Hey.” Burgess skated between the struggling players, blocking Robbie’s view of the offender. “He’s your teammate. That’s enough.”
“Oh, really? Am I on the team, too?” Robbie growled, pushing Sig off and ceasing his attempts to get past him and land another punch. “That doesn’t seem to keep everyone from fucking with me.”
Sig rolled his eyes. “You fuck with everyone, Corrigan.”
“It’s good-natured! I don’t question anyone’s intellect. I don’t disregard anyone.” He took his helmet off and threw it against the glass. “Roll your eyes at me one more time, Sig, I swear to Christ, you’re next.”
Sig’s eyebrows disappeared into his own helmet.
You could have heard a pin drop.
God bless Mailer, though, he finally made it from the other side of the ice and now stood shoulder to shoulder with Robbie, throwing his stick and gloves down, ready to take on the whole team if his roommate asked. “I’ll fight anyone but Burgess,” Mailer said out of the corner of his mouth. “That’s the man.”
“Obviously,” Robbie spat.
Burgess sighed. “In the locker room, Corrigan. Now.”
“Great. Fine. Gods don’t need to practice anyway.”
“We’re talking about practice,” Mailer drawled, giving Robbie a subtle elbow in the ribs. “Listen, we’re about to lose this fight, but that’s fine. I’ve got, like, fifteen girls coming over tonight and the fridge is full of whipped cream cans.”
Nausea rolled in Robbie’s stomach.
Since when did a whipped cream party sound so fucking horrible?
Daydreaming about all the dents he was going to put in the lockers with his fists, Robbie skated off the ice while giving the teammate who’d punched him the middle finger and headed down the tunnel, leaving stunned silence in his wake. That was the one thing that sucked about hockey—skates preventing him from stomping.
As soon as he reached the team rooms, his skates came off and Robbie was in the middle of bashing his left one up against a cinder block wall when Sig and Burgess arrived, looking grim, but kind of . . . sympathetic, too—and sympathy was the last thing Robbie wanted from anyone tonight.
“Couldn’t you guys have let the fight go on a little longer?”
“And risk injuring two players, right before playoffs?” Burgess methodically removed his gloves. “I don’t think so.”
Sig straddled the bench and sat quietly for a handful of seconds, watching Robbie break the blade off his skate and throw the remaining boot down on the ground, kicking it into a locker. “This is about the pitcher, isn’t it? You didn’t listen to us.”
“I’m not required to listen to you,” Robbie bit off. “Jesus, I’m sick of being spoken down to because I’m a rookie. How about you people give me the respect I should have earned just by getting here? Getting here is hard enough.”
Burgess shrugged. “Fine.”
“You could have just asked for some respect sooner.”
Robbie stared. “I hate you both.”
“No, you don’t,” Sig countered patiently. “What happened? Did you tell this girl you’re down bad for her yet?”
“You told me not to!”
“You’re not required to listen to us,” Burgess pointed out. “You just said so yourself.”
Robbie picked up his other still intact skate and slammed it against the wall.
It was either the skate or his head.
The two veterans sat in silence while he got the frustration out of his system, waiting for an explanation, which didn’t come for another full minute, when Robbie exhausted himself, slumped against the wall, and slid down the cinder blocks onto his padded ass.
“She’s in love with someone else. I can’t compete with their . . . history. I can’t compete with him. He’s like you two. He’s someone people take seriously. I’m nothing but some immature player to her. She knew all the worst shit about me before we even met. She’d never go there. She shouldn’t. Even I want better for her . . . than me.”
Burgess looked kind of pissed. “Where is the man from five minutes ago who claimed he deserved respect for getting here because just getting here is hard?”
“He wore himself out. He wants a bath and a lasagna.”
“Okay, let’s start over.” Sig raked both hands through his hair. Man, that guy had such good hair. A normal color, too. So unfair. Life was so unfair. “You went there to pretend date the pitcher so she could catch this other guy’s eye. How is that going?”