Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 88895 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 444(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88895 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 444(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
And that’s not being a good teammate.
Which is what Becks needs more than ever.
Particularly because he doesn’t have an actual one to be there for the assist.
Getting to Arden’s house, her and Bear into her jeep, and us on the road basically happens in a blur.
Hell, it isn’t even until I feel an unexpected long, wet swipe of my ear that I break out of the melancholy fog I didn’t realize I was trapped in. “Bloody hell, Bear!”
“Atta boy,” my girlfriend praises while offering him an open palm for a high-five.
“Why are you training your Madagascar icon back there to attack me?”
“Why did you put us in my jeep to ignore us?”
“I’m not ignoring you.”
“We’ve been on this ‘Highway to Hell’ for almost two hours and you’ve said exactly that many words to me.” Arden pulls her light gray workout pants covered legs into her seat and rests her arms on top of them. “You didn’t even blink twice when I offered to let us listen to Dropkick Murphy’s post my top cheddar Shakira joke.”
It’s impossible to not toss her a mirthful glance. “You made another bad ‘Pucks Don’t Lie’ pun, aye?”
“Excuse you,” she sasses with an irresistible smirk. “I sang it.”
“And why is Shakira always on your speakers?”
“Why isn’t she on yours?” Arden promptly pokes back. “She’s like a five-foot nothing snipe with more moves than Jágr.”
“The ageless wonder.”
“That’s exactly what she is.”
“I meant him.”
“Only because you don’t understand the power of her.” A small adjustment to her aid is given. “I love Latin music and reggae and hip-hop and really any music with rhythm I can feel the vibrations of, aye, but there’s just something so mesmerizing about her. She has this unique and distinct voice. A banging bod. Stats that aren’t fucking talked about enough…”
“Should I be jealous?” Another teasing look is delivered. “Concerned you’d be sleeping in her number if she had one?”
“Absolutely.” The dropping of my jaw gets her giggling, dissipating any lingering dejection I didn’t realize was still following me. “However, she doesn’t have one – yet – so you’re fine for now.”
“Ever been to her concert?”
Arden quickly shakes her head as Bear rests his in the space between us. “Hockey season and concert season don’t exactly overlap forgivingly.”
“True.” Switching lanes to get around a minivan proceeds a follow up question. “Would you be comfortable going?” I give a casual gesture to her ear. “Could you go?”
“I’d wear plugs like I do for the game.” An innocent shrug bounces her fuzzy gray zip up covered shoulders. “It’s like a totally growing norm now.”
“Have you ever been to any concert?”
“Nopeskie.”
I warmly grunt at the new information.
How many different things has she missed out due to her condition?
Do people assume what she can and can’t do?
Wants and doesn’t want?
Perhaps it’s something else?
Most people tend to go to concerts with their mates, yet outside the boys it doesn’t appear as if she has one, although she is rather friendly with her neighbor.
Oh, and Bear’s college-age sitter for roadskie stretches.
Then again…their relationship most certainly has more of coach-player cordial vibe than anything else.
“Your turn, Onrait,” my Slayer pushes while reaching into the rubberduckless cup holder for the gum container. “I’ve completed your interview, you complete mine.” She pops the top similar to the way my mate did. “What’s got you moping like a duster instead of the stud you are?”
The nonchalant action has me quietly confessing, “I don’t wanna end up like Becks.”
“Okay?” Cluelessness accompanies the gum finding its way into her mouth. “Then don’t get addicted to oxy.”
“It’s not like he purposely got addicted to it, Arden.”
“And it’s not like he couldn’t purposely stay clean when he got out of the program, Tanner.”
“We both know that program is a bloody joke.”
“We all know that program is a fucking joke,” she echoes, pausing to toss a piece into my own open mouth, “but he chose to go back to his old fucking ways afterward instead of getting his head back into the game. He chose to chase bunnies instead of pucks. He chose to make headlines instead of headway. He chose to get wasted before tryouts instead of putting the work in. He chose to look for answers at the bottom of a bottle or bag of coke instead of in the fucking mirror because it’s so much easier to look out than it is in.”
My shoulders sag in agreement, yet my words maintain the fight, “I don’t want to end up with nothing when I have to hang ‘em up.”
“Then I suggest investing in furthering your employment options rather than your ecstasy collection.”
“He didn’t have an E collection when he played for us.”
“He didn’t not have one.”
Huh.
Really?
No.
I would’ve known.
Fuck.
I should’ve known.
How did I miss that?
How did she catch that?
“What would you be interested in doing post life in the barn?” Soft snores from Bear warrant her stare to lovingly fall to him. “Analyzing?”