Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 75517 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75517 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
My heart clenches, and I know I need to get to him. “Cool. Thanks, bro. Your future wife is waiting for you.”
His eyes shine as he grins. “She told you?”
“Of course.”
His grin grows as he squeezes my bicep before moving around me. “See ya.”
I wait till he’s down the hall before I make my way through the arena to the tunnel that leads to the bench. I hear the slap of a stick, then a clunk, over and over. I step up behind the bench and find Riggs in a black tee and his gray dress slacks on skates, swinging his stick and shooting puck after puck into the goal. Sweat gathers along his temple, curls the back of his hair, and drips from his beard. Each swing of his stick showcases the muscle of his back and the power he has as the puck whizzes through the air to the back of the net. I lean on the boards, in awe of him.
He’s magnificent.
But I can see the tension and the frustration in every shift of his shoulders. I hate it. I don’t want him to feel like this. He’s mumbling something that almost sounds like he’s cussing in Gaelic, but I can’t be sure. All I know is I’ve got to do something. When a plan hits, I rush down the hall to Elliot’s office. I know she has a pair of skates in there, and I have every intention of getting on the ice with my stud of a man.
Elliot is right. I am in love with him. Fully and completely.
And my man needs me.
CHAPTER 25
Riggs
“Oh, how does it feel to drop a game that was clearly ours?” I spit out, and I slam my blade into the defenseless puck. The sound ricochets through the space, and the puck hits the back of the net. “If the game was clearly ours, wouldn’t we have fucking won, you fucking eejit?” Once more, I swing my stick, putting all my power into the swing, and the crack of blade to puck is music to my ears. “How do you feel about going to game seven, Coach?” I shoot again and somehow miss like the failure of a hockey player I am, so I shoot again. This one goes in. “Oh, I feel just so damn good. A jolly good time watching my boys slave away on the ice for nothing! When the fucking puck betrayed me and went in off my own man! I feel fucking dandy!”
I know it isn’t healthy for me to have conversations with myself. Some would even say it makes me a wee bit crazy, but in my defense, this is how I unwind when I feel too overwhelmed. Since I don’t like who I am right now—as a person, coach, or even a boyfriend to my baby girl—I decided taking my frustrations out on pucks would be better than a person or my pups. Thankfully, the crew of the arena knows to leave me be when I get like this. The lights are on, but I know how to shut them off, and I know the only door that is open is the side door that leads to the car park. I’m sure everyone has already gone home, but I can’t yet. Clara is home, and I don’t want her seeing me like this.
Before Clara, I was able to hide this part of myself, the part that beats up and belittles everything about me. My pups would just cuddle me through it, but Clara, she’ll want to distract me or talk to me. I’m too embarrassed. I don’t want her to be disgusted with me, not when I love how she looks at me like I hung the stars in her sky.
Fuck me, I don’t know why we had to lose.
The game was ours. It was. The boys were dominating, but the Griffins’ goalie was playing just as well as Alex. It was a battle of the goalies, and those are my favorite kinds of games. It was all a fluke. One of my boys, I can’t even tell you who, went to send the puck out of the zone, but it bounced off Jacquez’s skate. It was a pure accident, and it slipped by Alex’s pad. Even when he tried to trap it in his legs, it still got in.
Fucking piece-of-shit puck.
I hated the disappointment on Alex’s face. How he felt he let the team down, when, really, he’s the only reason we’re still in this fucking series. I let my head fall back, and I yell at the top of my lungs, “Fuck!”
My voice echoes through the arena, and it doesn’t make me feel better. I close my eyes, inhaling deeply through my nose before pushing my breath out in frustration. We have one more chance to keep this alive. I hope I was able to convince my boys that we can win this, but the defeat on their faces will haunt me tonight. When I hear a sound behind me, I pull in my brows before I look over my shoulder to the bench.