Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 66074 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66074 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
“Coach is going to fucking kill you.”
“Tell me something I don’t know. I gotta go. We need to catch a helicopter.”
“How the hell are we supposed to do that?” Bristol shouted in the phone as she paced the length of the kitchen two hours later.
My team was practicing right now. Coach had already ripped me a new one. That was one conversation I never wanted to repeat. Ever. I didn’t even want to know how much I was going to get fined for missing practice today of all days.
I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the island, and watched Bristol argue with her brother.
“You tell him.” She hit the speaker button and slid the phone onto the counter between us. “Go ahead.”
“Hey Briggs,” Crossland said slowly.
“Can you get me out of here?” I cut through the bullshit.
“Not right now. The winds are too high.” He sighed.
“Shit.” My stomach heaved.
“Yeah. And you know I’d fly up there myself, but it’s not safe. We’re looking at forty-five-knot winds which means we can’t even get the engines started.”
My eyes squeezed shut. “Tell me there’s good news somewhere that I’m not going to miss the damned game.”
Another sigh filled the receiver. “Look, my pilot told me that if there’s a break in the wind, he’ll go for it. We just have to watch the wind speeds.”
“But it’s just supposed to get worse!” Bristol snapped.
“I can’t control the weather, Bristol,” Cross replied. “If there’s a break, we’ll get you out of there, but I’m sure as hell not going take a risk that gets you or your boyfriend killed. We’re watching the data. There might be a break in the next couple of hours. Just hold tight.”
I looked at the clock. “The game starts in eight hours. There has to be a break in there somewhere, right?”
“Right. Just hold tight.”
He hung up, and I walked away from Bristol, scared I’d say exactly what she didn’t need to hear right now.
I never should have stayed the night. Fuck, I never should have been up here in the first place. What the hell had I been thinking? You love her. Yeah, I loved her. And now I was stranded in the middle of fucking upstate New York with her and an entire photography crew from GQ, all because I’d wanted to please her.
I stood at the huge windows at the end of the living room, looking out over miles and miles of nothing but green as the rain came in waves, blurring the scenery time and time again, taking a little more of my hope with it with every drop.
Branches snapped and broke.
The lawn furniture gave up the battle against the railing and went flying into the woods.
Bristol kept her distance.
Hour by hour, the clock ticked by.
I couldn’t stomach the idea of lunch. Hell, I felt sicker by the second. I’d never missed a game in my entire career. Hell, I’d never even missed a practice. And this game? We were one damned game away from the Stanley Cup Finals. One. Fucking. Game.
And I was too busy being a model—a boyfriend to do my job.
The clock chimed four as Bristol walked over to me, her phone clutched in her hand, her reflection wavy in the window from the never-ending rain. This was it. We’d make it, or we wouldn’t.
“Cormac?” She said softly, reaching for my arm, but then pulling back before she made contact.
“The chopper’s on the way?” I asked, sarcasm thick in my voice.
She took one breath. Two. On the third, she opened her mouth, but nothing came out.
“Just tell me.” I couldn’t even look at her. Could barely stand my own reflection as it was.
“They closed the airports.”
16
Bristol
There was enough tension rolling off Cormac I could feel it like a weight on my chest. Each breath was harder to suck in than the next. Even Angela and the GQ staff had elected to keep to the other side of the cabin as if they could feel the explosion brewing in Cormac. I wrung my hands, sitting on the other end of the couch, watching Cormac watch the game.
The game he was supposed to be at.
The game that the storm that had come out of nowhere had kept him from getting to.
I swallowed hard, my heart sinking with each missed attempt at the goal.
The Reapers were losing, and Cormac? He’d maintained this kind of cold silence since taking up a position on the couch as far away from me as possible.
I tore my eyes off him, off the game, glancing out the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the deck. The rain continued to pour down, but not nearly as bad as it had been a couple of hours ago. It was slowing and according to my weather app, the winds would be at safe levels again within the hour.