Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 81635 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 408(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 272(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81635 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 408(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 272(@300wpm)
"I remember that," Bill says. "That was a great day. It still plays on some of the spotlights."
"It’s a little less of a story when we lost game seven in the next round," Wilson says.
"Your first game in the NHL," Bill starts. "What were your thoughts?"
"One," he says, laughing. "I got carried off the ice when I lost a blade on my skate." Even I laugh now. "Can you imagine my first game? I’m pumped that I’m actually playing, and then I fall flat on my face when my blade falls out. I’m sure someone was up in the press box saying who the fuck." His eyes go big now. "Sorry.”
"It’s fine. She’ll edit it out," Bill confirms.
"I’m sure someone was in the box wondering how I even got on the roster," he says.
"If you could change the way the media spins the bad-boy name," Bill says, and I watch Wilson remain guarded, "what would you want them to do?"
"Well, one, why does anyone have to be a bad boy?" he asks. "In one game, I scored a hat trick, and then the other team tries to rough me up. I drop the gloves and knock him out, and all of a sudden, I’m the bad boy."
"I mean, I think you broke his jaw," Bill counters.
"So, if he would have broken my jaw?" Wilson leans back. "That would have been better?"
"Touche," Bill says.
"Every single time I’ve hit, it’s been me hitting back," he says, and I just listen to him. "Okay, maybe not all, but most of them. They come on the ice trying to intimidate me, and then when I fight back, I’m the brute. I’m not defending myself. What I’m saying is that this bad-boy title was given to me by the media. They don’t look that I had forty-seven goals and twelve assists and that I had a plus eleven on the ice. No, what they harp on is that I got into three fights." He shakes his head. "It’s bullshit, really. Because then the press watches my every move. Every time I’m on the ice and shit goes down, they yell that I wasn’t punished enough."
"What does your family think of this?" Bill says, and I sit up when I see Wilson's face go tight. "Surely, your mother and father …" It’s then I see that his eyes are totally guarded. I can see his hands get tight and white. "They don’t like the title you were given."
He looks in the camera, a smirk on his face. "And this is going to be another reason I get the name bad boy." He stands up and unclips the microphone. "You had a list of topics to avoid, Bill." He shakes his head. "Have a great day."
Chapter 10
Wilson
"What does your family think of this?" Bill asks, and the minute he mentions my family for the second time, my whole body goes tight. I knew the minute I saw who was interviewing me that my off-limits were not going to be off-limits. He has a reputation for giving zero fucks about crossing any line. “Surely, your mother and father …" I rub my leg, squeezing so hard that my fingers are turning white. "They don’t like the title you were given."
I look straight into the camera that the guy said would be pointed directly to me. A smirk fills my face, my heart pounding so hard in my chest, and the anger radiates through me. "And this is going to be another reason I get the name bad boy." I stand, trying not to show that my hands are shaking from the anger I feel. Unclipping the microphone from my shirt and then grabbing the box that they put in my back pocket. I place both on the table between us "You had a list of topics to avoid, Bill.” I shake my head. “Have a great day.”
I step down, and I can hear her heels clicking on the floor. “Hold on a second.” She walks around the cameras, coming to stand in front of me. I look over and see that Bill hasn’t moved from his chair as he sits there with a cocky smile on his face. His foot rests on his knee and his hands are crossed together, letting me know that it’s Bill one, Wilson zero.
“Nope,” I say, looking around for Richard, who is nowhere to be found. I get even angrier when I can’t find him. He’s a sorry excuse for an agent who gets ten percent for doing fucking nothing. He can’t even be where he is supposed to be.
"Wilson." I hear her call my name, and I turn and look at her. "Why don’t we take a fifteen-minute break?" she says, looking around. "Fifteen-minute break!” she shouts to everyone, and slowly, everyone walks away, including Bill, who just tosses the blue card with his notes on them on the chair he was sitting on. "Can I speak to you in private?"