Total pages in book: 54
Estimated words: 52355 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 262(@200wpm)___ 209(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52355 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 262(@200wpm)___ 209(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
And while I appreciate Ford’s concern, this is nothing that can be talked out in an equipment room two hours before a game. Mila has been laying low, working late on the days I’m home, and only showing up at my house to sleep in the guest room and shower. She told me she’s working on a way to get us out of the marriage, but it’s taking a lot longer than she expected.
So in the meantime, I travel, play in games, smile and kiss her in public. Inside, though, bitterness has taken me over. The only thing that truly makes me happy these days is watching my brother’s games. He’s playing consistent hockey and has worked his way up to the first offensive line.
That’s my reason. It’s why I play along in public instead of getting as far away from Mila as I can.
The worst part is that it’s not even her fault. She didn’t do anything wrong. I still think she’s the most beautiful, sexy woman I’ve ever seen, but she pushed me over a line that morning in bed and I can’t get myself back on the other side of it.
I was fine before that. Now I’m too fucking pissed to even speak to her. I know why my teammates are worried about me. I’ve always been easygoing, slow to anger. Now I hardly speak to anyone and I’m playing like a high school kid who just picked up a stick for the first time.
“Look, I’m okay, really,” I say. “I have to go stretch.”
Arms crossed over his chest, Ford shakes his head. “Whatever you’ve got going on, it’s safe with me.” He looks at the closed door and lowers his tone. “You’ve been miserable since you married Mila. Is she blackmailing you somehow?”
I almost smile at that. “No. I’ve just got something I need to get past and no one can help me with it.”
He puts a hand on my shoulder. “I’m always here, day or night. I don’t talk to Elle or anyone else about private conversations. This isn’t about hockey. I’m worried about my friend.”
I nod, looking down to cover my watery eyes. There haven’t been many conversations like this in my life, where someone basically lets me know how much they care. I have no idea how to handle it.
“Yeah, thanks.” I step away, my chest so tight I can’t stay another second.
I put on my headphones while I stretch on a mat in the weight room. Sal and Sergei are warming up, slowly walking on side-by-side treadmills across from me. Sal’s eyes flicker over me and I see a note of concern.
They’re all wondering what my fucking problem is, and I get why, but I know I shouldn’t talk to them about it. I wasn’t raised to air my dirty laundry.
When I finish my stretches, our team trainer, Chris, stretches my legs out on his table. My left hamstring has been sore and Chris suspects I’m trying to mask the pain so I can continue playing.
“How’s that?” he asks after pushing my left leg back.
“Yeah, it’s good.”
“Has it flared up at all since yesterday?”
“Nope.”
I can tell from the skeptical expression on his face that he doesn’t believe me. Hell, I wish an injury was to blame for my shitty play as of late. It’s just my fucked-up mind.
We’re playing Seattle at home tonight. I wish Heath could have made it, but when he’s not playing, he’s training. When I’m sitting alone on the locker room bench, working through the visualizing exercises I do before every game, I imagine Heath and I out on the ice together. He’s in an Anaheim uniform. We’re both skating hard, trying to get to the puck. It’s not about who will win the game between our teams but getting to experience being able to play a game together.
The crowd is energized, holding up signs and cheering for their favorite team. Being on the ice and feeling that energy is a privilege many people dream of but never achieve. Heath and I will get there, though. We’ll prove to ourselves that it’s possible to move past a tragic childhood. That we can leave all that in the past and focus entirely on now.
The sound of Coach Maddox’s voice makes me open my eyes and turn my focus to him.
“I don’t want to see any half-assed plays out there.” He looks around the room, meeting each player’s eyes. “If you don’t want to win more than you want anything else, get the fuck out of here. This isn’t a matter of knowing what to do—all of you know exactly what to do out there. It’s all execution. Get out there and execute.”
His gaze stops on me for a few seconds while he’s talking. He’s as frustrated as I am with my play lately. Ben Hogan will get my spot on the first line if I don’t turn things around. He’s a rising star and lately I’m a burned-out one.