Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 83908 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83908 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
“People are shitty,” Mads concurs. “They don’t consider the person on the other end of the story. Or hell, just the other person they’re hurting in any situation.”
“And this is why I avoid relationships.” Well, that, and the fact that it’s hard to find someone you trust when you play professional sports. Being used isn’t real high on my priority list, and it’s happened before. My bio dad sure didn’t want anything to do with me until he realized the son he walked away from became a professional hockey player. Then, of course, he was a changed man who has only ever wanted to be my father. Fuck that. I have a dad, and he’s the man who came into the picture when I was three years old and raised me like his own.
“Eh…I would be in a relationship, if I found the right person.”
“I know you would, Madsies.” See? Big fucking softy. “See you in a few.” We fist-bump, then jump in our vehicles.
Mads and I are both scheduled to do an event at a public rink in downtown LA. There’s a new youth hockey program for troubled and at-risk kids, and we agreed to spend some time with them today. I’m tired as hell, but no way I would skip something this important.
Mads and I arrive at the same time. It’s noisy when we walk in, a bunch of teenagers laughing and talking, but everyone goes silent when they see us. It blows my mind sometimes, that I get that kind of reaction from people. It’s fucking cool as shit, but also, like, what the fuck world am I living in where this is my life.
“I’m here, everyone’s favorite Rebels player!” I joke. I don’t have to look at Mads to know he rolls his eyes.
The kids all snicker, and it breaks the ice on whatever nervousness or maybe a starstruck feeling they had when we arrived.
One of the rink managers comes and shakes our hands. “Thanks for being here.”
“Thanks for having us,” Mads tells her.
“You guys can have at it. They’ve all been excited for you to arrive.” She steps aside so Mads and I can address the kids.
“Hey! We’re glad to be here. I’m Rylan Pierce, defenseman for the Rebels, and this guy is Kason Maddox. He’s our goalie, and I’m here to tell you that yes, the rumors are true and goalies are weird.”
“Have you met you?” Mads asks, making the kids laugh even harder than when I called him weird.
“No one listen to this guy. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about.” I use my thumb to point at my best friend, who playfully wrestles me to the cheers and clapping of the kids. “Hey, man. Save that for the ice.” I pull away and pretend to straighten my shirt. “Who’s ready to play some hockey? I need to show Mads here what’s up.”
“Yes!” the kids shout, and I can’t keep myself from grinning. I fucking love this. Love my life.
We spend the next two hours teaching and talking hockey with enthusiastic teenagers. This is one of my favorite parts of the job. I love seeing the excitement in young people about the game, remember how it made me feel when I was their age. My parents worked their asses off for me to be able to play, and it feels good to give back like this.
When our time is technically over, Mads and I still hang out for a little while, signing autographs for the kids and the staff. Afterward, we go our separate ways, and I head straight from El Segundo to Hermosa Beach, where I bought a house last year. I always wanted to live on a West Coast beach, and now I finally have the chance. All the guys live in the South Bay area, except Mads, who likes to be different, and has a place in another part of LA.
I step out of my shoes as soon as I get home, my black cat, Puck, nowhere to be seen. I go to the back deck that overlooks the beach. It’s fucking beautiful, ocean and sand as far as the eye can see.
I breathe in the ocean air. My life is fucking perfect. I don’t ever want it to change.
CHAPTER TWO
Hayes
There’s a soft knock on my partly open office door at work. Most of what I do is from the Rockwell regional corporate office in LA. We have three across the United States, with the global headquarters in New York, where my parents are.
I’ve spent plenty of time in here, and probably more nights than I can count. Sometimes it’s easier to curl up on the couch in my office than deal with LA traffic and drive home.
Even when I was with Malcolm, I spent a lot of time here. We rarely went out, and he was often busy. Back then I thought it was with work, but now I know he was fucking his other boyfriends. The few months since the public breakup, I’ve been spending even more time here. It’s strange being in my apartment because he always came there when we were together. Looking back, there were so many signs I chose to overlook.