Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 79319 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79319 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
I rubbed my hand over my scruffy jaw.
“Bonding with the enemy for publicity. This is like a bad episode of Survivor in the making.”
Denny quirked a brow. “If it’s a hard pass for you, I can make some calls and find a replacement.”
“Yeah, right.” I snorted derisively. “I get the impression I don’t have much of a choice.”
“You started this, dumbshit. You’re Mr. Hashtag Shiny Jacket,” he huffed, chuckling when I flipped him off. “C’mon, seventy-two hours in Elmwood isn’t so bad. You love Elmwood. And there are some good perks…Grams will make you pancakes, JC said he’d throw in complementary poutine whenever you want it, and I’ll hook you up with a private jet in and out of Burlington.”
“Grrr.”
Denny squeezed my shoulder and straightened. “I really had no clue this was a powder-keg situation. Sorry it blew up so fast. I can work on an alternate, but just…think about it and let me know soon. We’re running out of time.”
I sighed heavily. “I’ll talk to Marty.”
“Cool.”
“Hmph. If I magically end up in Elmwood this weekend, I’m gonna need stacks on stacks of pancakes and poutine out the wazoo.”
He chuckled. “That can be arranged. Thanks, Mase.”
Damn, Mellon only called me by my first name when he was at his most serious and sincere. My slight nod of acknowledgment might as well have been a loud “Okay, asshole, I’m in,” but I figured I deserved a few minutes to brood about camping with the enemy.
Talk about a head-spinner. An hour ago I’d been celebrating my Jake Milligan takedown and now…we were going to be camping buddies. Fuck. The only thing that made this wacky idea seem marginally palatable was knowing Jake would hate this a thousand times more.
Maybe a million times more.
I grinned. Good. I could work with that.
3
JAKE
Asummer breeze in Elmwood felt like a warm hug. It never got stiflingly hot or uncomfortable the way it did in bigger cities. And June was the best. There were no lines at Henderson’s Bakery or at Rise and Grind, and usually no waiting for a table at the diner. Bliss.
Of course, that would all change within a week when the hockey community descended en masse for Juniors Camp. But after six weeks of rest and relaxation, I was ready for it. In fact, I looked forward to trading the natural beauty of the Four Forest area for long days in a refrigerated rink, wrangling teenagers with big hockey dreams.
A guy could only take so much quiet, right?
I smiled at the little kids skipping around the fountain in front of Town Hall and called out a greeting to their dad, a big bald dude who was sprawled on a nearby bench, licking his ice cream cone with purpose.
“Yo, Gino! Chocolate chip?”
He raised his cone in a salute. “It’s the only way to go.”
“You know it.” I gave a thumbs-up and stopped to chat for a minute.
Gino Miller had sat one seat ahead of me in every classroom between first and eighth grade and in homeroom throughout high school, where the teachers had been determined to organize the students alphabetically. I’d liked Gino, but to be perfectly honest, I’d hated sitting next to him. You know that kid who always peeked at your test and wanted to know if he could copy your homework? Yeah…that was Gino.
We were friendly but never besties. I hadn’t been cool enough then, and I totally understood. Gino had been the funniest kid in class—charming, self-effacing, and quick with a comeback or a believable excuse for why he hadn’t turned in a math assignment. Comparatively speaking, I’d been…serious.
There was no way I’d have forgotten my homework. And not because my parents had been overly strict. If anything, I’d been hard on myself. I’d had lofty goals, and according to my dad, the only way to make anything happen was to work for it. Dad had also been a big fan of having a backup plan.
A, I’d wanted to play hockey in the NHL. B, play hockey in the AHL. And C—a very distant C—I’d wanted to invent a revolutionary sports drink or design robots. Or…maybe look into being an astronaut.
Plans A and B came through. I’d played professional hockey for twelve seasons, had traveled the world, and…I’d even won the Stanley Cup. Greatest job ever! I loved it and I’d never regretted the time, energy, or sacrifices I’d made along the way.
However, I’d really needed time off after this past season had ended. I’d been strung out, physically beat up, mentally drained, and totally exhausted. What a difference a few weeks made.
Seriously.
Six weeks ago, I would have tipped my ball cap in a wimpy greeting and hurried on, hoping to avoid unwanted conversation with former classmates I’d fallen out of touch with. Like Gino. He’d married the head cheerleader at Pinecrest High, had three children, and had never lived anywhere outside of the Four Forest area. We had less in common now than we had twenty years ago.