Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 94300 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 472(@200wpm)___ 377(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94300 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 472(@200wpm)___ 377(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
But when I turn to pass the puck, Kessler and Martinez aren’t where they’re supposed to be. If Tommy was on the ice with me, it would’ve been a done deal. I have no choice but to take a shot on goal, and my heart deflates even more when it lands right into the goalie’s glove.
The period ends with a loud buzzer, and this shit is going into overtime.
I need a fucking drink. Or a blowjob.
Coach claps my back as we head down the chute into the locker room. “Good hustle.”
That’s all the words of inspiration we get. The rest of the break is filled with different renditions of “What the fuck happened out there?”
As bitter as I am and can’t stop thinking this wouldn’t have happened had I been playing for Boston, I need to stop thinking about my old team. This is my team now, and this is our fight.
“This isn’t the end,” I murmur more to myself than anyone else.
Kessler holds his glove out for a fist pump. “Let’s get out there and finish this thing.”
When we head back to the bench, my eyes catch on the giant screen. The camera’s focused on me, but I don’t recognize myself at first. All I see is a bloodthirsty hockey player.
It still surprises me sometimes that this is my life. Everything I’ve sacrificed, everything my family believes I’ve missed out on, comes down to this and the way this game gives me a high nothing else ever has.
With only five extra minutes to lock this down, both teams scramble to get one in the net. Kessler and I are eager for our turn, and as Coach calls for a line change, we both hit the ice and take charge.
Kessler, in an aggressive—but totally legal—move, strips Toronto of the puck and plows down any D-man who gets in his way as his skates propel him across the ice. I keep up, and for the first time since joining the team, I feel truly in sync with a teammate. Kessler’s footwork is mesmerizing, his puck handling skills are something to admire, and as we approach, Kessler dekes the goalie and sets up the perfect play for me to put one in the net.
It’s not lost on me that it’s usually the other way around. I’m used to being a playmaker, setting them up for my teammates to score, but tonight is my night, and this is my chance to prove myself to certain journalists that I have the talent to be here.
Kessler passes to me, I slap a wrist shot into the left back corner of the net, the puck sails past the goalie, the lamp lights up, and we take home the victory.
We just won the whole fucking game.
Chapter Six
LENNON
I spend most of the press conference ogling a triumphant and relaxed Ollie. I can only imagine the type of high he’s on right now after scoring the winning goal. His smile has the ability to break hearts and light up the goddamn room, and if I could, I’d write an entire article on how pretty he is when he’s not scowling.
Somehow, I don’t think Ollie or my editor would be okay with that.
I type out the game recap, send it off to my editor, and then make my way out of the stadium to meet Jet and head home. We’re almost the last ones to leave the building by the time I’ve finished.
“Everyone’s gone to a bar a few blocks away if you’re up for it,” he says.
“Like … with the team?”
“Yeah. They’re in the playoffs. Everyone is going.”
I adjust my laptop bag on my shoulder. “You go on. I’ll catch a cab home.”
“Nuh-uh. I might’ve pretended to give you a choice right now, but it was an empty gesture. We’re going.”
“Why?” I’m not a joiner. Never have been. Might have something to do with never being asked to join when I was a kid. I got used to being on my own.
“Because it’s a bar full of meatheads. You need to be my gay buffer in case they try to suck me in with their hetero-ness.”
I sigh. “One drink.”
“Three.”
“Two?”
“Four.”
I purse my lips. “I don’t think you realize how this negotiating thing goes.”
“Okay, fine. We’ll stay for five drinks.” Jet holds my hand and drags me down the street, and my lazy feet stumble after him.
When Noah told me Jet was Matt’s little brother, I expected a mini, younger, broody Matt. Turns out, he’s an adorable twink with attention deficit disorder.
The sports bar is crammed to the max and smells like fried food, beer, and bad decisions. The bar area has a line as long as the entire NHL roster, and there’s barely room to move, but Jet holds my hand again and pulls me farther into the club.
The setup is not like a normal nightclub but not an average sports bar either.