Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 73094 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73094 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
“Don’t care,” I tossed back.
He doesn’t know, I reminded myself like a mantra. Robbie didn’t know about our history, and he really wasn’t meaning anything bad by his comment.
“Because Sanocki used to listen to me,” Elliot said.
“And I never will again.”
As I went back into position Elliot skated past just to toss another line my way. “Have fun in your room alone tonight,” he spat at me, “after you make us lose.”
I was pissed now.
I was tired of Elliot’s bullshit, tired of playing with him. He had no idea who I was.
And I was tired of holding myself back from things I really wanted to do. Elliot was my past, and nothing more. He didn’t get to take up any fucking space in my mind anymore.
For the rest of the game I went back to thinking of him as nothing but a hockey player—a means to an end, a way to get to my goal of winning every fucking game I played.
I was laser-focused again. I watched the puck like a hawk, taking control of every opportunity I got and ignoring the shit the Nashville players said in my ear. My legs were burning like hell in the last minute, and even though we were losing 1-2, we had a chance to score, and the game wasn’t over.
The puck is mine.
There was only a moment for me to intercept Nashville. I moved in, doubting that I was even close enough to connect with the puck. But I went for it, and when the blade touched, I knew I was locked in.
The sound from the crowd changed as I took control. The puck was mine now, and I was going all the way back, in deep.
I searched for an opening, trying and failing to find any few inches of leeway on the ice.
Fuck. Nowhere to go. Nowhere to go.
I tried like hell. I juked and dribbled as my eyes scanned the ice like a bloodhound. I spotted Robbie at the last moment and went his way, positioning like I was about to make a pass.
And then I went for the shot instead. It was a Hail Mary, all the way down into their net.
I watched the puck soar down the ice and…
Miss.
It was another millimeter-close graze, and in another timeline, it would have tied up the game easily.
Now it was lost. Bitter disappointment sank into my bones, knowing I hadn’t just lost the game, but that Mason had been watching it, too.
I didn’t want to talk to anybody afterward.
My blood was hot with frustration, and I went over a dozen different things I should have done differently out on the ice.
I went into the locker room, shoved off my gear, and showered quickly. I tossed on clothes and gave my teammates a few quick nods, heading out.
I wanted to be alone.
I wouldn’t have minded being alone for the rest of my life, honestly.
One-man island? Sign me the fuck up.
I sucked in a deep breath of air as I walked into the seats where the crowd was now rapidly dispersing. I expected Mason to be gone. But I took the long way out of the rink, passing around the area where he’d been sitting.
He was the only one still there in that section.
He was sitting there in the green flannel, and my heart did a little flip in my chest as he gave me a little wave.
You stayed.
Maybe that one-man island doesn’t sound that great, anyway.
Even after the bitter loss. Even after I’d fucked us on having a shot to tie up the game.
And even after I couldn’t even make good on the terms of the thing he’d dared me or begged me to do.
9
MASON
Before Jesse walked out and found me, I’d been lost in the chatter of the crowd.
“He is so fucking hot,” I heard a young girl saying from behind me, and her friend agreed.
“Went to a few games on campus last season just to watch him,” the other girl said. “I would have, like, ten of Jesse Sanocki’s babies.”
I know exactly how you feel, I thought as the crowd thinned out around me.
After most people around me had filtered out, I kept scanning the hall toward the locker room, waiting to see if Jesse would come out.
I saw the look of defeat on his face as he emerged, wearing a clean white T-shirt and shorts, hair still damp from a shower. His eyes finally landed on me and I felt like I really was getting to see some kind of athletic demigod coming toward me.
Win or loss, I’d just watched Jesse be in perfect control out on the ice. I had no idea how fast hockey really was—how the players had to make split-second decisions and manage micro-movements of that tiny-ass puck.
It hadn’t just been impressive.
It was almost unbelievable, watching him skate around fluidly like it was what he was born to do.