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)
I claim a seat at the bar and order a beer. I’m not much of a drinker but I do like sipping on a good local IPA.
We flew in from Alaska less than four hours ago after we beat the Blizzard in a shutout. Everything went my way. It was the kind of game where I was in the zone and nothing felt frantic… one of those nights in the crease where my body answered before my brain caught up.
Tomorrow night, we’ll go up against the Vegas Spades, but I’m not dressing. It’s time for the coaches to evaluate the other two goalies and see who will get the backup nod for the season.
Juno steps into the bar, eyes scanning the dim interior. She’s wearing a black top that dips low enough to be distracting and for a split second, my attention snags on the pale line of cleavage she’s advertising.
Her hair is loose tonight, glossy waves that I bet feel like silk, and little makeup other than some shiny lipstick. She looks less like a filmmaker and more like a woman who knows exactly who she is when the camera is off.
Juno spots me a beat later and heads my way. When she stops beside my stool, she gives me a genuine smile. “Thanks for the invite,” she says, voice warm, unguarded. “I figured you might appreciate the quieter end of Vegas.”
“You figured right,” I reply, pulling out the stool beside me for her to sit on.
The bartender approaches and Juno orders a beer, which doesn’t surprise me. She doesn’t seem like the fine wine type and too controlled for liquor. We’re silent as he pours it, placing it before her on a coaster, and I motion for him to put on my tab.
“Thanks for the beer.” She takes a long sip. “Haven’t seen you since the win last night. I crashed hard on the plane trip here. Congrats on the shutout.”
I shrug. “Defense did their job.”
She doesn’t argue, nodding as she turns her glass once on the bar. “You’re ready to talk, huh?”
I meet her gaze. It’s steady and unwavering. “Sure, but shouldn’t we wait for Evan?”
She shakes her head. “Just you and me tonight, big guy. We’re getting to know each other a bit. Besides, Evan can’t resist the lure of a craps table.”
“A pre-interview interview,” I chuckle.
“Nothing as formal as that. I want to help put you at ease. You are, after all, a bit uptight about this sort of thing.”
“Not uptight,” I correct her. “Cautious. And do you do pre-interview interviews with everyone?”
She picks up her pint glass and winks. “Only the uptight ones.”
“Cautious,” I reiterate.
Juno studies me like she’s deciding how to approach a skittish animal. “You don’t like talking about yourself,” she says.
“Thought that was pretty obvious,” I drawl, considering my own glass but not picking it up.
She nods, accepting that without offense.
Then she does something unexpected. “Maybe it’ll help if I go first,” she says. “I often find you have to give a little to get some.”
I can’t help but chuckle. “You show me yours and I’ll show you mine?”
Juno smirks. “It’s not like we’re curious kids getting a peek down each other’s pants behind the schoolhouse.”
A bark of laughter pops out of me, and I shake my head, amused. But… since she’s offering, I pick up my glass to take a sip. “Okay… show me yours.”
Juno turns her stool toward me and leans her elbow on the bar. “I grew up in a religious cult,” she says calmly. “Very conservative. Very controlled. I was promised to the head pastor that he would take me as his wife on my fourteenth birthday.”
I suck in air, so shocked by what she said that I inhale the ale straight into my windpipe. A coughing fit starts that doesn’t stop for a full three minutes. Only after some pounding on my back by Juno and a glass of water from the bartender do I get control of my breath.
I test out the words, rasping. “Promised…?”
She nods. “He was sixty-two years old and already had four wives.”
“Jesus Christ,” I mumble. I don’t hide the reaction. Couldn’t if I tried. “What happened?”
“On my last night as a thirteen-year-old,” she continues, “I escaped the compound where I was living with my parents. I made my way to the nearest town and police station, told them my story, and they helped me.”
My throat tightens. “Your parents were okay with…?”
“They were told they’d have eternal glory if they gave me to him,” she says, so matter-of-factly it’s almost hard to believe this could be real.
But I completely trust what she’s saying. “What happened to the pastor? Your family?”
“Police swarmed the compound, gathered up all the kids, and there was a huge investigation. The pastor was arrested, along with a few of the other elders, for child abuse and sexual assault. The church collapsed. The end.”