Total pages in book: 53
Estimated words: 51827 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 259(@200wpm)___ 207(@250wpm)___ 173(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 51827 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 259(@200wpm)___ 207(@250wpm)___ 173(@300wpm)
“I feel that,” Lainey says. “And it’s why I’m so grateful to have all of you in my life. You’re the only ones who understand. I know it’s statistically unlikely that all our guys will retire from the Crush after long, fully healthy careers, but I hope we can stay friends even through the moves and changes.”
“I second that,” Suki says. “I’d choose every one of you as a friend even if we didn’t have the hockey connection.”
“Same here,” Talia says. “And Jules, I’d still choose you as my mom.”
Jules cringes and laughs. She’s much closer to Noel’s daughter’s age than she is to his, but they get along great. Jules will never try to be anything other than a supportive friend to Noel’s kids.
“I’m going to nap so hard,” Mara says when the SUV slows to a stop in front of our hotel.
When I get out of the vehicle, I take Jules’s arm and lay my head on her shoulder as we walk into the hotel. Other than each other and my boys, we bombed in the family department. But we’re making up for it with friends who are like family.
18
Magnus
* * *
Cole’s sitting alone in a corner of the weight room, his knees bent and a hoodie covering most of his face, his head down. Our on-ice practice is over, but we still have video sessions and special teams meetings.
Guilt pricks at my chest. Though our team has a four-game winning streak going, he’s been in a slump. And not only that, he’s taken some hard hits since I laid into him. Kid’s been in an ice bath beside mine after the past three games.
I was way too tough on him.
Walking over, I keep my back to the rest of the room and look down at him, my arms crossed.
“Hey, man,” I say.
He looks up, taking out an earbud.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “When I lashed out at you, that was about me, not you.”
“Don’t worry about it. We’re good.”
I could walk away. I apologized. But there’s something about being happy and content lately, for the first time in a long time, that makes me unable to.
“No one’s on every night,” I say. “This game is hard on our bodies, but it’s even harder on our minds. If you ever want to talk, I won’t be a dick like I was before.”
He shrugs half-heartedly. “Guess my cockiness caught up to me. I don’t know. I’m just waiting for the call-down.”
Being shifted back and forth from the minors is hard. I know that fear—one bad game could get you sent down and end your dream.
I squat down in front of him. “That’s not the right mindset. If you already think you’re going, you are.”
“I can’t do anything about it. I’m playing my hardest.”
“Are you, though? Are you really?”
He moves his hood back a little, looking aggravated. “Why the fuck do you care anyway? Me getting moved down will only be good for you.”
“We’re teammates. If everyone on this team saw each other as competition, we’d be in last place.”
“I’m getting my ass kicked out there every night. What else do you want from me?”
“I had dinner with my girlfriend and her kids last night and I wanted to stay and hang out with them for the evening, but instead I went back to my shitty hotel and went to bed early. I had to do that because I had a four thirty a.m. wake-up today for a session with my trainer and then I got here an hour before practice and did some shooting alone.”
“Nice job, Saint Magnus. You’re the most deserving fucker here, I guess.”
“No one said I’m the most deserving. But if I don’t get a solid contract, at least I’ll know I put in the work. I busted my ass to get back here after my injury. I’ve got a why, man. It’s my family. That’s what gets me out of bed on those early days.”
“Look, man. I know you’re trying to help, but it’s not helping.”
I shrug and stand up. “If avoiding hits works for you, go back to it. If wearing clothes that smell like rotting corpses helps your mindset, do it. If I fucked with your mojo, do what you’ve gotta do to get it back.”
“Don’t give yourself that much credit. You didn’t fuck with anything. My dad just started cancer treatment, so I’m not sleeping much. If I get sent to Hershey, at least I’ll be closer to home.”
I shake my head, feeling even worse about the outhouse thing. “I’m sorry.”
“They caught it early. His prognosis is good.”
“Good. Will he be glad if you end up back in Hershey?”
Cole scoffs, almost smiling. “Fuck no. My dad’s a youth hockey coach. He’s been at every game I’ve ever played until this cancer bullshit.”
“So fight, then. He’s fighting fucking cancer; you fight for your spot on this team.”