Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 88490 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 442(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88490 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 442(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
My mother beams at him, then gives him a hug and wishes him a good night.
When he walks away, I don’t look back. Later, I’ll insist on crashing at my parents’ house tonight, to make it that much easier to take Jamie and Wes to the airport tomorrow morning.
Blake will spend the night in my bed. But I won’t be there.
Chapter 8
Verbal Impulses
Blake
September
I trudge into the locker room after practice, all jazzed up. We killed it out there today. Everyone was gelling. Skating like champs. Just…clicking. Even Coach was smiling by the end, and that dude never smiles.
We’re winning the cup this season. Mark my words. Hell, we could’ve done it last year if we hadn’t been hampered by so many injuries during that first playoffs series. I’ve never won a cup before, and I wonder if the trophy is as heavy as it looks. Forsberg won one with Chicago a few seasons back. Said it weighs a ton, but I think he was just fucking with me.
By the locker next to mine, Wesley strips out of his sweaty jersey and pads and flops down on the bench wearing nothing but his hockey pants. His chest has a sheen of sweat, and his hair is a mess as he drags one hand through it. It’s his left hand, and I burst out laughing when I notice his ring finger.
“Dude, when’d you get that done?” I grab his hand and pinch just under the knuckle, where he now has a wedding ring tattooed on his skin.
“Ouch,” he gripes, shoving my hand away. “It’s still sore, motherfucker. Got it done last night.”
“Too cool to wear an actual ring?”
“No, I was tired of having to take it off for practice, and I can’t keep it on ’cause I don’t like the way it feels when I’m wearing my gloves.”
“Bad move, dude,” Eriksson calls from the other side of me. I turn to see the horrified look on his face. “You got a permanent wedding ring? Jesus! Have fun explaining that to whoever you date after the divorce.”
My jaw drops. “Bro,” I say in warning. I mean, that was really uncalled for. I get that Eriksson is going through a rough time, but Wesley and his man are still newlyweds. Did the fucker just hex their marriage?
Wes is unfazed. “That word doesn’t exist in my vocab,” he says cheerfully. “Canning and I are forever.” He strips out of his pants and disappears bare-assed into the shower area.
I scowl at Eriksson. “So not cool.”
“I know.” He has the decency to look repentant, rubbing one hand over his overgrown beard. Has he not shaved since the wedding? Sure looks like it. “Fuck. I’ll go apologize. It’s just…Kara filed for sole custody this morning.”
Shit.
“Shit,” I say aloud.
“I get it, all right? My schedule doesn’t really let me be a full-time dad, but sole custody? We could’ve had joint custody. The girls could’ve stayed with me when…” He stops to think, and I might be a wee bit slow, but I can see his thought process clear as day.
When would his twin girls stay with him? A couple nights a week when he doesn’t have games? Or when the team is playing at home? Maybe, but that’d mean leaving them with a sitter those evenings he’s at the arena. Offseason, then? A few weeks in the summer?
I hate to say it, but maybe his soon-to-be ex-wife has a point about the sole-custody thing.
“Whatever,” he says abruptly. “My lawyer will deal with it. I need to shower. I stink.”
He charges off before I can respond. Man, I feel bad for him. Can’t be easy dealing with a divorce at the start of the season. It’s still preseason though, so maybe he’ll get his head on straight before October.
“Really? Nobody has the balls to tag that? Well, I will,” a smug voice drawls from the other side of the room. “The girl is smokin’. Like, fuckable to a whole other level.”
“Quit it with that,” someone else mutters.
“Lemming hears you and you’ll have his fist in your jaw,” our captain Luko warns, referring to our other teammate who’s also going through a breakup right now. “Exes are off-limits, newbie.”
The newbie—Will O’Connor—just scoffs. “I’m not gonna keep my mouth shut just because of some archaic bro code. I fucked two of my teammates’ exes in Nashville, and look.” He pats his chiseled jaw. “Still in one piece.”
Yeah, then why aren’t you still in Nashville? I want to call out. But I keep my trap shut, because I’ve already had several run-ins with the fucker, and they all almost ended with my clocking him a good one. Me, a pacifist! I don’t hit peeps off the ice. I don’t even think about hitting them.
But this guy… This guy O’Connor is young, cocky, and a total pain in the ass. He says shit without thinking, and that’s gonna get him in big trouble one day. Hell, it already has. There’s a reason he keeps getting traded, and it’s not because his former teams are collecting draft picks.