Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 64493 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 258(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64493 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 258(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
Nineteen years later, his magnetic aura burned brighter than ever. I wanted to claim immunity, but my heart was racing. In fact, it hadn’t stopped racing since he’d come by the diner the other day.
I’d analyzed that kiss over and over, touching my lips as I dissected the second his mouth met mine.
Ugh. I was such an idiot.
It had always been this way with Vinnie and me. There was always something to get over or get through, so we could act normal around everyone else. Today…I just had to get through this practice and hope like hell my expression was a tad more neutral than this gaggle of teens. Their collective unabashed amazement was kind of funny.
I hadn’t warned them about a possible hockey superstar sighting, ’cause I wasn’t sure he’d show up. And if Vinnie was seriously considering coaching this summer, I wanted that news to come from him. Not me.
Of course, when he got bored or got a better offer elsewhere, I’d be the one left doling out explanations.
At the moment, that didn’t seem like such a big deal. Elmwood’s Great One was in the building.
The kids surrounded him like eager puppies, accepting fist bumps and high fives, reverently whispering his pro nickname, “Kimbo” before one brave teen blurted,
“What are you doing here?”
“I’m your new coach,” Vinnie pronounced. He skated away from the chorus of “Whoa! For real? No way!” and came to a stop at my side, shaving ice as he flung his arm over my shoulder. “I’m helping Coach Nolan out this summer. We’re gonna whip you into shape and get you ready to play the best hockey of your lives. Who’s in?”
Ten enthusiastic hands shot into the air. Vinnie nodded his approval while the teens gathered their courage and started firing questions at him.
“What’s it feel like to hold the Stanley Cup? Is it heavy?”
“Was it better winning the first time or the second time?”
“That play you made in the semi-finals against Toronto, third period…the one where you dinked the puck into the net from that weird angle? Can you teach us how to do that?”
“Did you really break Weber’s jaw?”
Vinnie answered them as they came. “The cup is heavy as fuck, and both wins were equally sweet. I was hoping for a hat trick, but two is cool. I think I remember that move, so yeah…let’s do it. As for Weber…I broke his nose and I felt bad about it. Not at that moment, ’cause I wanted to win and his face must have been in my way.” He shushed the uproarious laughter with a subtle wave. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding. It was an accident. We’re buddies.”
I let a few more questions in, then blew my whistle. “Let’s get to work. We aren’t here to chat, are we?”
“Fuck no,” Vinnie replied, punching his fist in the air. “Let’s do this.”
“One touch pass drill. Get warmed up again. Go.” I shooed them off but motioned for Vin to hang back with me.
His eyes darted excitedly around the rink as he hooked his thumb behind him. “I’ll grab my stick and meet you in a sec. What do we want to do first? I’ve got a few ideas to—”
“Great. Just cool it with the F-bombs, Kiminski.”
“Huh?” His thick brows met over the bridge of his nose.
“You heard me. They’re kids, not hardened old-timers.”
“They’re teenagers,” he corrected. “Teenagers swear all the time.”
“Not here they don’t,” I countered matter-of-factly. “We weren’t allowed to swear when we were their age.”
He smiled. “True. Your dad would have strung us from the rafters.”
“That hasn’t changed. I mean, not the rafters part, but…we run a respectable program with—”
“Got it. My bad. No lecture needed. I’ll watch my fuckin’ mouth,” he griped without heat.
“See that you fucking do.”
Vinnie grinned. “There’s my grumpy Nolan. Missed you, man. I’ve gone a whole day and a half with no one riding my ass. Kind of fuckin’ boring.”
“Very funny.” I glanced over at the kids showing off their speed and stick-handling prowess for Vinnie’s benefit. “Hey, they’re excited to have you here, but I doubt they’re going to be able to concentrate for long. You can go over any drills you want and show off your tricks. We can get back to business on Tuesday.”
“Okay. So, I gotta ask…what’s the deal here? Why don’t you practice more often? And you need more players. How do you scrimmage with ten?” He rubbed his scruffy jaw as he studied the teenagers across the rink.
“They’re just having fun, Vin. We don’t have the manpower to organize a camp for the older kids…just the pee wees. But we are part of the Forest League, so we—”
“What the fuck is the Forest League?” He snorted incredulously. “It sounds like a bunch of Smokey Bear park rangers, not hockey players. What genius came up with that idea?”