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)
“It’s feeling okay?” she asks.
“Yeah, it’s good.”
Isaac’s on the other side of the room with Talia, getting his quads massaged.
“You in your hat-trick zone?” he asks me.
“Hope so.”
“That was epic, Magnus,” Talia says. “Did you see the social media post from the woman who said she’d crawl naked over shards of ice for one night with you?”
“No.”
“How would he see it?” Isaac says. “Gramps has a flip phone and no social media.”
“I can’t imagine a life without doomscrolling,” Talia says.
Melina hums her agreement. “Social media makes me feel smarter than average every day. It’s like a bad relationship I keep going back to.”
“You ever think about getting a smartphone?” Isaac asks me.
“Not really.”
“So you’ve never gotten sexy photos from a woman?”
“No.”
“Not everyone has an external hard drive for their spank bank, Isaac,” Melina says. “And probably another one just for your own dick pics.”
“But does he spend more time looking at the women or at the dick pics?” Talia quips.
“And which one does he spend more time spanking to?” Melina says, laughing.
Melina moves on to the next part of our pregame warm-up for my shoulder. I sit on the edge of the table and she moves my arm through several range-of-motion exercises.
“Can we be done?” Isaac asks Talia. “I need to take a shit.”
“Yeah, that’s fine. Put your helmet on, though.”
Before I joined the team, Isaac’s teammates had a “crap cap” made for him because he’d passed out while sitting on the toilet several times and hit his head. He’s hit and miss on wearing it, but with the size of his contract, he should never walk into a bathroom without it.
“You okay?” Melina asks me once Isaac’s out of the room.
“Yeah, why?”
“The crease between your brows is deeper than usual.”
I smile and shrug. “I’m just feeling like a hamster on a wheel, I guess. Practices, games, and hotel rooms are my life.”
She nods, her expression sympathetic. “You’re on a prove-it and that has to be stressful. But you are, you know—proving it. I’m sure you’ll get an offer.”
“They could’ve offered, but they haven’t. Every game feels do-or-die. Like if I have even one bad one, I’ll blow my chances.”
“I get why it feels that way. But no one kills it in every game.”
“Yeah, but when you have a contract, there’s breathing room.”
“Maybe you should check in with Coach Turner.”
I shake my head, getting up from the table since she’s finished working on my shoulder. “I’m fine.”
“I’m always here to talk if you need it,” she says. “Your mental health means just as much as your physical health to me, okay?”
“I appreciate that.”
“Ready for resistance band warm-ups?”
“Yeah.”
It wasn’t my best game, but it wasn’t my worst, either. I got an assist in our 2–0 win over Vancouver.
Our team owner, Hudson McClain, watches our homes from his box and I felt his eyes on me tonight. There is a general manager, Lena Richardson, but McClain is heavily involved in all team decisions.
I reminded myself several times tonight that maybe I’m not meant to land in Cleveland permanently. The team has several very strong offensive players. Maybe my time here is just a stop on the way to a team that needs more of what I bring to the table.
“Let’s go out,” Isaac says to me when I’m drying off from my shower. “You need some fun in your life.”
He’s riding high since he got a shutout tonight. I don’t feel like going out to a bar, but sitting inside my hotel doesn’t sound great, either.
Winters in Sweden are long and dark, but walking into my apartment there made me feel lighter even on the grayest of days. Birch floors and lots of windows, with a fire in a simple fireplace—that’s a home to me. My Cleveland hotel room is dark, stuffy, and stifling.
“Tomorrow’s an early day,” I say.
“You want to be part of this team, don’t you?”
If only drinking a few beers with the guys would accomplish that. Isaac, one of the highest-paid players on the team, just doesn’t get it.
“I do. But I need—”
“You need to get laid, man.” He grins at me. “Nut the stress away. Works every time.”
“Not tonight.”
“Come on. At least be my wingman.”
My frustration boils over. Not just with Isaac—with everything. Living at hotels, the lack of a contract offer, and not seeing my family in more than a year. I’ve fucking had it.
“Go fuck yourself, Isaac. I’m not going out. I can’t make everything into a joke like you do. I’ve got too much on the line.”
He’s silent as I walk away. I was a dick, but some people won’t take a simple no for an answer.
My other teammates seem to sense my mood, avoiding me as I dress in my suit. Once I’m finished, I get my phone to check for messages, hoping there’s one from Art.