Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 86515 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86515 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
“Want me to stay on Hale?”
“Yeah,” I tell Evan quietly.
He adjusts the frame, lens following Crosby as another puck snaps toward the net and disappears into his glove. Crosby straightens, resets, calm as ever, as if nothing beyond the crease exists.
From where I sit, with the whole rink laid bare beneath me, I already know better.
The whistle sounds again, long and shrill, signaling the end of the drill.
“All right,” Monahan calls out. “Well done. You have a two-hour break, then we’ll pick up at three p.m.”
Players peel away from their positions, coasting toward the gate as the ice empties in stages. Coaches confer at the boards and equipment managers move with practiced efficiency.
I rise from my seat. “I’ll be back,” I say to Evan.
“I’ll be here,” he quips.
I take the stairs two at a time, stepping onto the rubber matting as Crosby Hale glides toward the tunnel, mask already lifted and sweat darkening the collar of his practice jersey. Up close, he’s more imposing than he looks through a lens.
“Crosby,” I call out, keeping my tone light, professional.
He doesn’t slow, but he does angle his head slightly, acknowledging that he’s heard me.
“You looked great out there,” I say as I fall into step beside him. “Your lateral movement through the crease was clean and efficient.”
That earns me a glance, surprise on his face that I can talk the talk, but then it shutters. He’s not impressed.
“I’d like to set up our first one-on-one interview,” I continue. “Nothing heavy… merely a baseline conversation.”
He doesn’t slow and in fact, picks up the pace. “I’m busy,” he says flatly. “Find someone else.”
I’m not surprised. I’ve been turned down by men with less reason to resist and far worse poker faces.
“When would work better?” I ask, hurrying to match his stride. “Tomorrow? Later this week?”
He exhales through his nose, impatience slipping through the cracks. “Going to be busy for many days to come.”
I stop walking and he keeps going.
“You can’t ignore me forever,” I call out to him, not as a threat, but a fact.
That’s when he turns, facing me fully. His eyes are hard and cool. He looks down at me—not dismissively, but like he’s weighing whether I’m worth the energy.
He is all discipline and distance, but there’s a brief hitch before he schools his expression. His gaze drops, quick and unguarded, tracking from my face to my boots and back again. Not lewd, but what might actually be appreciation.
Then it’s gone so fast I might have imagined it if I hadn’t spent my life studying microexpressions.
“What are you going to do?” he asks evenly. “Go tattle on me to Rowe?”
There’s no anger in it. Just challenge. “Do I need to?” I ask.
“Do your best,” he replies and then turns away, disappearing down the tunnel without another glance.
I stand there for a moment, the echo of his words settling in my chest.
I could force this. Rowe would absolutely back me.
But that’s not what I need.
I don’t need compliance. I need Crosby to be comfortable, and that’s going to take something else entirely.
As I turn back toward the stands, Evan watching me with raised brows, I know one thing for certain.
Crosby Hale isn’t avoiding the story.
He is the story.
CHAPTER 5
Crosby
By the time we’re done for the day, my legs are heavy—a sign that tells me the work was good. More importantly, I think I exceeded the expectations I’d set for myself, which were hopefully higher than what the coaching staff was aiming for. The building is quiet now as Arch and I head toward the exit, most of the guys already gone or scattered through the maze of hallways that make up the performance center.
“All things considered,” Arch says, slinging his bag higher on his shoulder, “that could’ve gone worse.”
I huff a breath that might pass for agreement. “Only because it’s day two.”
He grins. “Fair.”
“What are you going to do tonight?” I ask.
“Probably watch mindless TV all night. You?”
“More unpacking,” I mutter. I hate moving, but I hate being disorganized even more, and I’m determined to finish my kitchen so I can at least cook.
When I signed my contract with Portland, the first thing I did was go hunting for a new home. It’s bigger than what I need, clocking in at over six thousand square feet, but the price tag of two and a half million was more than easy with what I make. It was the neighborhood that sold me. Private, gated, huge lots so you feel secluded.
Arch, on the other hand, is currently staying in a hotel. While he’s been signed to the team in the expansion draft, he’s not immune to being waived down to the minors, depending on how he does in training camp. He’s waiting to secure permanent housing until the regular season starts.
“Are you sure you don’t want to come stay with me?” I offer again, for probably the tenth time.