Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 95559 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 478(@200wpm)___ 382(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95559 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 478(@200wpm)___ 382(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
Jude skates onto the ice and nods at me. There’s been a strain on our relationship since everything went down. I know he blames me for his sister’s tears. I get it because her heart is broken, and I’m partly to blame for it, but so is mine. Does he blame her too, or am I the only one at fault? Jude doesn’t understand the situation. He doesn’t know what it is like to struggle, to have everything ripped away from you, or have a mother who can’t function like an average person. Jude and Thea come from a loving two-parent home, where they always had food on the table, a roof over their heads, and didn’t have to depend on anyone to survive. When I found out Thea trusted Adam, even for a second, it killed me and destroyed any amount of trust I had built with her. One moment and Thea allowed Adam to rip my family apart—a family I do everything I can to protect.
Jude does a couple of laps on the ice and then heads toward me. On the ice, we’re good. We’re strong teammates and have the same goal in common—to win. At home, I stay in my bedroom for the most part and avoid house dinners altogether. I know I don’t have to, but it’s easier than being near Thea. Jude pushes his helmet up and starts to say something when the sound of pucks hitting the ice gets our attention. I glance over my shoulder and see the rest of our teammates are coming out of the locker room. Our chat, or whatever we were about to have, will have to wait. We have a game to play.
The horn sounds, and the second period ends. I check the scoreboard and smile at our two-shot lead. After forty minutes of play, Jude hasn’t allowed a single goal, and that’s something to be celebrated. When we get to the locker room, we’re loud and boisterous. Everyone pumps each other up. We can taste the victory. Only twenty minutes left, and we’ll raise the NCAA National Championship Trophy.
In twenty minutes a lot can happen.
Coach tells us to sit, and he starts drawing on the whiteboard. He sketches the plays we know by heart, reminding us of where we need to be on the attack. He jabs the marker into the board for emphasis, each blue dot driving home the fact we’re so close to securing the title. Coach tries to hide his excitement, but it’s there, bubbling underneath the blazer he wears.
“Three minutes,” the locker room attendant says.
“Huddle up,” Coach says. We gather as best as we can around him, and each of us holds a hand high in the air. “All you got for twenty minutes.”
“Let’s do this!” I shout, and the guys follow up with, “NU!”
We head toward the ice and wait for the buzzer to sound. Then, with one minute left in the intermission, we take the ice. We skate around, breaking up the clean ice and warming up our legs. Jude scuffs the crease, ensuring it’s the way he likes it. He taps each side of the goal post with this stick when he's ready. I skate to him and slap his shin guards.
“This is ours,” he says.
“Yeah, it is.” That’s when I notice the sign behind Jude and the one to the right of it. I spin slowly and see there’s a sign in every other pane of glass, each with my name on them. I try to read the ones near me but can’t make out all the words because there’s a glare from the lights. The whistle sounds, and I skate to the center, looking left and right.
The referee stands at center ice, poised to drop the puck. I glance at the center for Augsburg State, and he smirks. “I’d probably cheat on you too,” he says just as the ref blows his whistle and tosses the puck down.
I forget about the puck and lower my shoulder to catch the center off guard. He groans when we make contact and goes down hard on the ice. I expect a whistle, but nothing follows. Brad March has the puck, and he’s skating toward the goalie. Mike Dowling throws a block to one of the defenders just as Jayson Woodell gets the puck from Brad. I barrel forward, pumping my legs as hard as I can. I pull my stick back, and Jayson passes the puck. The timing is perfect. The blade and the puck collide, and the black disc travels through the air. Everything comes to a standstill as we wait to see what the goalie will do. The red-light flashes, and instantly my teammates gather around me. It doesn’t seem real until the announcer screams into the microphone, “GOAL!”
I lead the team past our bench, slapping gloves with our teammates, and then down to Jude. “Nice goal,” he says.