Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 83190 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83190 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Craig nudges me forward forcing me to grab my stick and exit the home bench area to join whatever shitty idea he won’t part with.
“Stand the fuck over there,” he points to the area in front of the tender, “and help out Eeyore.” He snatches up the puck near his skate. “I know it’s hard but try to make me look less fucking amazing.”
“Not hard at all,” I counter just loud enough that Cap hears.
He chuckles under his breath, shakes his head, and takes a defensive stance opposite of mine.
“McVie,” Page calls out to his number one fan, “like we practiced. Aye?”
“You got it.”
His dropping the puck in one of the neutral face-off zones provides him whatever run up time he requires to complete the planned play. Knowing I have to watch the slippery black object as much as the person directing it pushes me to remain in my stance. Only glance at where McVie is headed and pay more attention to where Page is trying to get to. The harsh swipe from McVie sends the puck around the rink, along the wall, right behind the goal, an action that prompts Page to throw his shoulder into the nearby boards to stop its trajectory. In an impressive set of movements, he gets the puck back to the ice, back into play, and takes the shot without hesitation. Unfortunately for him, Eeyore’s frame is exactly where he promised it would be.
Blocking the shot.
But on a double fuck you to Page, that’s not the only thing he does.
He manages to get the puck in my vicinity and yells, “Fucking wheel, Bricks!”
It takes less than five seconds for me to go from warm body there to embarrass Page to skating like my ass is on fire. Keeping low to the ground, not bent from the waist, but maintaining my shoulders nice and level—words I’ve heard Blanc bark during speed drills—propels me out of the defensive zone, through the neutral, and allows for a perfect setup for a slapshot. While I’m aware of Page’s hostile pursuit, determination to regain the puck as much as dignity, it doesn’t matter.
I listen to my wife’s voice screaming in the back of my head to take the shot on the empty net.
Doesn’t matter this isn’t a real game.
That there’s no ranking at stake.
No agent watching for possible representation.
You play like there fucking is or don’t bother playing at all.
Pulling back, I channel my inner Pronger and smack the puck towards the goal.
Page hustles to dive in front of the shot, but once more, it’s irrelevant. He throws himself on the ice too late, missing the chance to stop the small object from soaring into the unprotected territory.
“Goaaaaallllll!” Craig shouts from where he’s watching, an announcement that has Page cursing at the top of his lungs.
Well, I’m pretty sure he’s swearing.
Sometimes that shits hard to tell when he taps into his native Newfoundland side.
“Nice fucking clapper, bro!” Eeyore enthusiastically proclaims as the other players whose “team” I was momentarily on rally to celly with me.
“Sexy gino, bud,” Snowman compliments with a playful punch to the shoulder.
“Lucky. Fucking. Shot!” Page complains during his march our direction.
“Come on, Page,” Eeyore arrogantly chortles, “you know the deal. They don’t ask…”
“They ask how many,” the rest of us finish, joining him in on a laugh.
“Fuck!” Page yells again at the same time he breaks his stick over his leg.
For cripes sake, I wish he’d learn to tantrum differently. I get tired of ordering those fucking things for him.
“Callin’ it,” Eeyore announces to the group in a nature that informs there’s no room for argument.
“Brewskies?” Snowman suggests to everyone participating in the unofficial practice. “First rounds on me.”
“Can’t,” Eeyore immediately denies like I’ve come to expect. “I gotta get-”
“Your kid,” Snowman brushes off on an eyeroll. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, we know.” He hits his captain with a playful grin. “Wasn’t talkin’ to you, but the other boys.” Everyone else agrees to join him and afterward, he turns his sights to me. “You comin’ or what, Bricks?”
Maybe I shouldn’t?
Maybe I should wrap up and get home?
I mean I haven’t seen my woman all day due to her fighting what might be a stomach bug. Fuck, it even kept her in the house versus in the office, which she didn’t even fight Margot about this morning—the real red flag something was up. The few texts I’ve received state that she’s mainly been sleeping and hydrating, both things she needs.
Maybe I should go?
Give her a little more time alone to sleep uninterrupted.
Hearing Harlow’s voice once more in the back of my mind demanding I do that is what convinces me to nod. “Yeah, fuck it. Why not? You’re buyin’.”
Snowman laughs the loudest, yet the rest of the group chuckles along with him.
Post a quick shower in Harlow’s office—perks of being married to the GM—I shoot her a text to let her know where I’m headed and drive over alone rather than ride with any of the players.