Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 114467 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 572(@200wpm)___ 458(@250wpm)___ 382(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114467 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 572(@200wpm)___ 458(@250wpm)___ 382(@300wpm)
“It’s over,” he says, pushing Donnie away from Evan, and then everyone skates off the ice.
“Well, that was fun,” Evan says, walking into the room, and I put my stick there and slowly peel off my glove.
“I need ice!” I yell to someone, and the trainer comes over to look at my hand.
“What in the fuck?” he says, and then Matthew comes in to look at my hand.
“Stupid son of a bitch,” he says, then looks at me. “Can you move it?”
I make a fist a couple of times. “Yeah, I’m good.”
Then he looks at Evan. “Zara told me to tell you that you’re and I quote ‘you’re a punk ass bitch and a stupid fucking idiot.’” Evan laughs. “Okay, boys, let’s get home,” he says, and for the first time in a long time, I can’t wait to get home.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Zoe
“I’m so not talking to him when he gets home,” Zara says from the couch beside me as we sit up way past our bedtime. I’m trying to get my heart to beat normally. It’s the first time I’ve actually sat with her and watched the game. He’s back in LA. “He is such an idiot.”
We are watching the game, and I swear the number of times I almost threw up is over five. The minute he got hit in the back, I knew this game would not go well. I knew the tension was high, and he looked so much better than the last time I saw him. His eyes sparkled when he played, and when he scored, it took everything I had not to jump up and celebrate with him.
For the whole game, I heard Zara gasping and shrieking, and I pretended not to even care, but when Evan got into the fight, she rolled off the couch and dialed Matthew.
“Get him off the ice now!” she yelled into the phone and then put it on speakerphone so I could hear Matthew laughing.
“It doesn’t work like that, Zara,” he told her. “Just let him do his thing.”
“Let him do his thing?” she yelled. “I’m having his baby. He doesn’t get to do his thing while I’m doing this thing.”
“I have to go now,” Matthew said.
“Give him a message. Tell him he’s a punk ass little bitch and that he’s also a stupid fucking idiot.”
“I’ll see if I can remember all that.” Matthew laughed and disconnected.
“I’m not talking to him if he calls,” she says, sitting down, and we both know she’s lying. The announcer and the cameraman keep going back to Viktor every chance they get, and when they finally show footage from the last game he played for LA, and I sit here cringing for him. He literally fell into his own goalie after trying to get the puck right in front of him.
“Oh my God,” Zara says. “That’s hard to watch.” I agree with her, and then for the rest of the game, they comment on his every single move. “It’s like a brand-new player.”
“Yeah,” I whisper and put my head down on a pillow, and by the time the game ends, it’s almost two a.m.
“This baby is going to be a night owl. I know it,” Zara says. I get up to feel her belly, and sure enough, the kid is everywhere. “One more month to go and I can finally fucking see my toes when I stand.”
“One more month and I can finally have my sane sister back,” I joke with her, and her phone rings from beside her.
“I’m not talking to you,” she says and puts the phone on speaker. “Punk ass bitch.”
“Sweetheart,” Evan says. “I’m fine.”
“I don’t care if you’re fine, Evan,” she says. We all know she’s lying, and he just laughs. “I’m not even kidding.” Then she starts on him. “It’s not WrestleMania; it’s a hockey game.”
“It’s not even our fault. They are the ones who said they would make it rain,” he huffs.
“How’s Viktor?” she asks him, and I know she’s doing it for me. I look up at her.
“He’s been better. Fucker hurt his hand in the fight and didn’t tell anyone, so now it’s the size of King Kong’s.” I try to hide my feelings that I’m worried about him, but Zara just puts her hand on mine on her belly and the baby kicks. “Anyway, we should be home at eight. Go get some rest and rub the belly for me.”
“I love you,” she whispers, so I don’t hear her, and I just smile.
“Let’s get to bed,” I tell her, turning off the television. Holding my hand out, I help her up the stairs. “Not going to lie. I’ll be happy to sleep like a starfish tomorrow night.”
“Lies,” she tells me and slides in bed with me. When the front door opens, and I hear footsteps coming up the stairs, I open one eye.