Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 79319 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79319 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Falling.
Falling.
Falling.
Of all the sappy bullshit things a guy could do, falling in love had to be the worst. I’d thought I was smarter than this, but no…I was in love with Jake fucking Milligan.
And I had a bad feeling it was a permanent condition.
26
JAKE
“Two-year extension, baby. It’ll be on the news within the hour.”
“Uh, that’s great.”
I studied a dust mote drifting in the morning light, zoning in and out of the conversation. It wasn’t that I wasn’t interested. I was. This was my future on the line, and though I’d been pretty confident that Boston wanted me in their lineup next season, it was good to have details ironed out. I had a home and a whole city counting on me to represent them.
Two years. Same as Trinsky got with Denver.
Nothing had changed.
And yet everything had. I wasn’t the same person I’d been two months ago. I had new knowledge and a new sense of self. I had someone who mattered to me. But no one would ever know.
That seemed so hopelessly sad.
“You there, Jake?” McD asked. “You went quiet on the line.”
“I’m here. I’m just thinking of everything I have to do.”
“End of summer fun. I’ll let you go. Quick reminder: the reporter from Hockey News will be at the rink to interview you and Trinsky after the scrimmage today.”
“Wait. What?”
“Relax. It’s a puff piece, and it’s already been cleared with Vinnie. You and Trinsky smile for the camera, answer a few easy questions, and plug the rink for your old coach. You’ll both be back on your teams soon, and you can forget Trinsky exists…till Boston plays Denver next month.”
He cackled as if that were somehow funny.
Maybe it was—in a perverse way. I’d played against Mason Trinsky for over a decade and had thought he was obnoxious and chronically ridiculous. Now…I wasn’t sure how I’d get through the next twenty-four hours.
I should have been thinking about Boston and training camp and how many houseplants I’d probably killed by accident in my townhouse this summer. I should have been worried about Charlotte and Ella crying when they realized I was leaving, Nathan tearing up, and Dad stoically acting as though he were okay with the distance now. But it was hard to think with my heart cracking at the seams.
Two years. And then what?
The last day of camp was all about fun. We played a series of scrimmages with mixed teams—coaches and juniors—and invited parents and the whole damn town to watch. We had the use of five rinks throughout the Four Forest area to accommodate the sheer number of kids who traveled to learn from the best hockey players in the world. However, the camp officially ended where it all began, at the Elmwood Rink.
Vinnie and Riley acted as head coaches for the final event, shuffling lines regularly to give everyone a chance to play. It was intentionally fast-paced and defense definitely wasn’t a priority anymore. Everyone wanted to show off their puck handling skills…and score.
Eli had a hat trick, the redheaded kid with freckles from Virginia had scored twice, and Denny and I each had one. Trinsky was on the other team…because of course he was. The fans expected us to bring a little entertainment and we’d delivered, battling each other at the boards, wearing goofy smiles that gave us away to anyone paying attention. We weren’t enemies and we didn’t care who knew it.
However, we did care about winning.
My team was up ten to eight with thirty seconds left in the third period, and the stands were electric with screaming and cheering.
“It’s not fucking over, Milligan,” Trinsky singsonged, poking the puck from me and tearing down the right lane.
I hauled ass after him, even though I should have left the job to one of the overeager juniors. I cut him off, stole the puck, and passed it to Eli. “I think we’re gonna win.”
Trinsky growled. “I think you cheated.”
“Oh, no, you sound like a poor sport. You sure you want to go with that look?”
“Fuck that. Has anyone ever told you that you’re a bad winner?”
I chuckled. “Is there such a thing?”
“Nah.” He snickered, his arms brushing mine. “You look hot, Jakey. I wish I could kiss you.”
“Me too. I—” The crowd went wild as the lamp lit again. Trinsky’s team scored. “Damn it, you did that on purpose.”
“Did I? I don’t know, but we’re closing in on that W, baby!” Trinsky raised his stick in the air, pumping up the crowd with his usual antics while I shook my head in amusement.
We won ten to nine.
It was less of a nail-biter than the announcer made it seem, but it was definitely entertaining. We finished with a brief award ceremony and encouraged the coaches to say a few words about the athletes and the program. It was a feel-good closeout to yet another successful summer.