Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 86515 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86515 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
Juno Paxton has built her award-winning documentary career dismantling institutions people blindly worship. Her latest assignment is her most high-profile immerse herself in the league’s newest hockey expansion team—the Portland Wildfire—for an entire season and create a behind-the-scenes film the league can parade around as “authentic.”
Juno doesn’t buy it. Not the hype, not the hero worship, and definitely not the polished personas of pro athletes. She expects egos, theatrics, and plenty of manufactured grit.
What she doesn’t expect is Crosby Hale.
The Wildfire’s starting goalie is stoic, meticulously focused, and infuriatingly camera-shy. He wants nothing to do with her film, her questions, or her insistence that he “show some personality.” Unfortunately for him, the league wants Juno’s documentary to center on the enigmatic goaltender who refuses to cooperate.
But the more time Juno spends with Crosby, the more she glimpses the steady, thoughtful man beneath his guarded exterior. He isn’t the stereotype she’s built her name exposing—he’s better. The more she learns about him, the harder it becomes to keep her documentary, and her heart, objective. And for Crosby, letting Juno in feels less like a mistake and more like the beginning of something worth fighting for.
Warm, witty, and unexpectedly emotional, CROSBY launches the Portland Wildfire series with a slow-burn enemies-to-lovers romance between a skeptical filmmaker and the goalie determined to stay out of her spotlight… until she becomes the one thing he can’t turn away from
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
CHAPTER 1
Crosby
The practice facility is like nothing I’ve ever seen before. Touted as the most state-of-the-art and luxurious in the league, the esteemed owner of the new Portland Wildfire apparently spared no expense.
Then again, Patrick Rowe is a fucking billionaire a few times over, so why should he go on the cheap when outfitting his new hockey franchise?
The facade of the one-hundred-and-sixty-thousand-square-foot building is dominated by sweeping walls of glass and steel panels in muted slate and graphite tones. The main entrance is recessed beneath an overhang of glass and metal, the doors framed by towering windows that flood the lobby with natural light during the day. The team crest is etched directly into the stone, a massive twenty-foot-diameter circle of the Cascade Mountain Range, bordered by evergreen trees and wildfire flames.
The facility sits in Beaverton, Oregon, close enough to downtown Portland to be considered convenient, far enough to keep the noise out. It gives the team space to work without an audience, and I chose to purchase a home here rather than in the city. I’ll spend far more time here than I will at the actual arena for games.
Rowe definitely gets bragging rights over the sheer enormity of the place. It has two full ice rinks—one regulation size and a secondary development rink—housed in the center portion and flanked by two outward wings. The eastern side of the building houses the main locker room, the medical and rehab suite, the strength and conditioning gym, and a full-size sit-down restaurant called The Blue Line where, rumor has it, the chef will prepare meals for you to take home if you ask nicely.
The western wing houses the executive team—coaches’ offices, the general manager’s suite, as well as video review rooms and a sports science and analytics center. I heard there’s even a leadership office suite for whoever is elected captain and assistant captains of the team. There’s also a team meeting auditorium, assorted conference rooms and a media zone for interviews and press conferences.
I’ve been around this league long enough to know when a facility is meant to inspire and when it’s meant to impress. This one does both and I consider it a massive perk for coming to this team as a free agent.
The sun is barely up, and the September air has an early-morning bite. I glance to the southeast and while I can’t see it today, I’ve been told Mt. Hood is often visible.
Training camp starts in a few days, but the entire team meets for the first time today. Most came in the expansion draft held at the end of June whereas others like me were free agents. Because we’re an expansion team, we’re comprised largely of players the other teams didn’t want, which means we’re ragtag at best.
At worst, we might be a hot mess, but it’s way too soon to know that.
I check in at the security desk and step through a turnstile after I scan my badge, which had been hand-delivered to my house yesterday, along with a welcome gift package from Patrick Rowe. It was a matte black box with the Wildfire logo embossed on the top and a soft velvet lining. Inside was a Ferragamo travel bag, a Jaeger-LeCoultre watch, and a set of Bose QuietComfort noise-canceling headphones. I’ve always been great at math, and some quick calculations led me to believe our new owner probably dropped three hundred grand on these player gifts.
Not too shabby.
I move past the security checkpoint and head left to the west wing, following signs to the team auditorium. It’s not my first time here, as we all got tours upon our arrival last week, but it’s no less mind-boggling. It’s built like a private cinema with stadium-style, tiered rows that rise gradually from the front of the room to the back. Each chair is wide and padded, upholstered in mocha-brown leather with black piping, built-in armrests, and the Wildfire logo in the team colors of burnt orange and forest green embossed into the headrests.
At the front of the room spans an enormous wall-mounted video screen that stretches nearly wall to wall and floor to ceiling. It can operate as one massive uninterrupted display or split into three independent panels, allowing coaches to run multiple video feeds simultaneously.
At the front corner of the room sits a low coaching podium and integrated control station. From here, staff can control video playback, lighting, audio and screen configuration. Additional monitors are mounted discreetly around the room for presenters, ensuring coaches never have to turn their backs on the team.
I’m the first to arrive and I take a seat in the tenth row, direct center. Not because I need to be seen, but because it’s where I can see everyone else as they enter.
As a goalie, that’s habit.
It’s my job to read a play before it happens and you can’t do that if you don’t have the best line of sight as well as understand angles.