Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 113072 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113072 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
“What?” my ex barks, moving to block me again. “Zoe—”
“Bro,” Chase says, sliding between the two of us. “I think you just got fired.”
Bruce makes a sputtering noise. But I know an opening when I see it. I scoot once more toward the turnstile and badge in.
DeLuca is right behind me, while Tremaine hangs back a moment with Chase.
“Zoe! Come back and—” Bruce calls.
“Dude,” Tremaine says. “The lady said no.”
Bruce is many deplorable things, but he is not stupid. A split second later he’s striding across the lobby toward the doors. And a second after that, he disappears onto the street outside.
I watch him go. My face is burning up, but I feel lighter already.
Chase and Tremaine badge in before I recover myself, and DeLuca gently nudges me toward the escalator. The other players follow after I step on.
“He seems nice,” Chase says dryly.
I gulp. “God, I should have fired him a long time ago.”
“Why didn’tcha?” DeLuca wants to know.
“Because…” God, it’s a good question. “Because I’m a has-been in skating, and everyone told me that nobody else would take me on.”
Everyone being Bruce and my mother.
“A bad agent is worse than no agent,” Tremaine says. “Isn’t that what Bess always says?”
“It’s true for husbands, too,” I point out.
“Wait…” Tremaine’s jaw unhinges. “You married that prick?”
“Weren’t you ever young and dumb?” I mumble. This isn’t helping my image.
“I was!” DeLuca says, raising his hand. “My rookie year I got so wasted after my first NHL shutout that I barfed all over the GM’s assistant.”
“You threw up on Darcy?” Tremaine yelps.
“No—the woman who had the job before her. But she was besties with the travel lady, and they still lose my luggage more often than yours.”
The small talk relaxes me by, oh, about 4 percent. So I’m still a basket case when I step off the escalator and jog toward the locker corridor. “On that rink in eight minutes, boys!” I call over my shoulder.
“Aye, aye, Coach!” DeLuca returns as they head for the players’ dressing room.
I drop my coat in my locker without even checking for nasty notes. And then I dash into the equipment room, where Bernie is working at the grinder. “Morning, Coach!” he says. “Yours are right there.” He nods in the direction of one of the dozens of wooden cubbies built into the wall. “Did ’em last night.”
“Thank you!” I flash him a smile, grab my hockey skates, and light out of there.
Just in case Bruce decided to lurk in the lobby, I take the back stairwell down to the main level and enter the rink through the rear door.
My damn hands are shaking, though, as I drop my skates onto the bench. I sit down and press my palms together. I don’t know if I’m shaky from anger, though, or from the shock of having made the decision to cut my last tie to the figure skating world. There’s no going back now.
I lace up my skates as quick as I can, then step onto the rink. The swish of steel against ice calms me down a little. There are already a dozen players in attendance. Several are warming up on the ice, while a few more lace up their skates. Aiden Sharp is here as well, checking the cameras we set up the other night.
Feeling galvanized, I wait at center ice.
By nine o’clock, there are seventeen hockey players in the rink, which means I’m missing six. But I decide not to wait. I pull the stupid whistle Sailor gave me out of my pocket and blow a quick blast on it. “Let’s go, guys! We’re going to make the most of the next hour and a half.”
The players dutifully skate toward me, arranging themselves in a semicircle and growing quiet. As I scan their faces, though, I see resistance. A handful of these guys are card-carrying members of the Zoe fan club, but many look back with skepticism. They’re probably thinking of all the other ways they could be using their morning.
You have to bring it, babe. “Greetings!” I say a little tightly. I can’t fake my usual cheer. “My role, as you know, is pretty simple.” I count off three goals on my fingers. “Faster skaters get more shots on goal. Nimble skaters win more pucks. And efficient motion prevents injury. Those are my three goals for you as a team.”
A couple more skaters step onto the ice as I talk, including Chase. Even Jean-Luc Moreau has shown his face, although he’s wearing a surly expression as he joins the back of the group.
“Today’s session is all about efficiency. We’re going to dig into the finer points of glide mechanics, with the goal of capturing more speed without using more energy. I believe this is possible for all of you.
“So let’s dive right in. Our warm-up drill is for maximizing glide and control. When you push off, instead of rushing into the next stride, we’re going to focus on a full extension and long glide. Work on keeping a low stance, with knees bent and core engaged, almost like you’re sitting into each glide.”