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)
And now his place is shaking with the aftermath of it.
Music rattles the walls, people packed shoulder to shoulder, laughter spilling into every corner. Jerseys have been exchanged for hoodies and jeans. Axel has a fully stocked bar with what looks to be every liquor known to man, and the team is putting a hurting on it.
I scan the room, my eyes looking for the one person I’d hoped would be here but expect she won’t be.
Juno isn’t exactly a team member, not in the purest sense, so I wasn’t sure if an invitation got filtered down to her. I have no clue if she and Evan were filming this game or taking a night off. I didn’t see her in the locker room post-win.
I found that to be a little weird… given it was a win against a top-ranked team, but what do I know? I’m not a filmmaker or a storyteller.
Maybe wins aren’t where the interest lies.
“Here you go,” Arch says, handing me an ice-cold Bud Light. I grimace as I twist off the cap because I’m a bit of a beer snob.
“Cheers,” I reply, and we tap the necks.
Across the room, Boss is standing on the couch, twerking with some blond woman I don’t recognize.
“Gonna get crazy tonight,” Arch opines.
“Entire team is going to be hurting tomorrow at practice.” I take a sip of the Bud Light, and as bad as it tastes, I know I’m going to drink more than one.
“Not the entire team,” Arch mutters, and I know exactly who he’s talking about. “Can you imagine Locke up on that couch twerking like Boss?”
I take in the brash winger giving zero fucks about what others might think of his dancing abilities and shake my head. “I can’t imagine Locke even having a conversation with anyone, forget coming to a social event and letting loose.”
While my save tonight will be what’s on the highlight reel tomorrow, the game wasn’t without other notable moments. Mainly, it was Locke Donovan, our first-line defenseman, causing mayhem on the ice. He racked up an unbelievable thirteen minutes in penalties, two of which were for retaliation, causing Coach Monahan to nearly have a coronary.
Locke made the final cut at training camp and I’m wondering about that decision. Patrick has spared no expense on this franchise with the goal of building a winning team. Yes, that has a lot to do with talent, but it really boils down to the mindset of each of the players.
If I had to boil it down to what’s most important, I’d say it’s the pure love of the game. We all have it.
Except for Locke.
Granted, he has the talent. He’s an insanely good defenseman, but his head isn’t screwed on straight. He seems angry all the time, picks stupid fights on the ice, and will be a league leader in penalty minutes if he doesn’t rein it in. Our normally cool and collected coach loses his shit on Locke at least once every practice, and seriously, I can’t find one likable thing about the guy. He doesn’t talk to anyone and I kind of want to ask him… Dude, why are you even here? You seem miserable.
But I don’t, not because it’s not my place—as a captain, it might be—but because it’s still new.
We’re still new as a team and we are settling in.
Not every player has to be great friends, and we don’t have to bond personally to do our jobs. It might be that we need to get used to his churlishness, and the coaches will clean up his issue with bad penalties.
“Maybe he needs a hug,” Arch says.
“You get right on that.” I laugh, cheerfully lifting my beer in a mock toast.
We clink bottles again, easy camaraderie settling between us. This is the part of hockey I like. The debriefs after the noise. The shared language of mistakes and corrections that don’t need to be dressed up.
I’m mid-sip when I catch movement at the edge of my vision.
Juno has walked in and a burst of pure delight explodes within me. She’s by herself, no Evan and no camera in tow. She’s wearing jeans, a fitted blue top and leather jacket, hair loose around her shoulders, expression open and curious as she takes in the room. She looks completely relaxed, but why wouldn’t she be? She’s basically been embedded with the Wildfire for five weeks now, flying coast to coast with us, practices, games, social events. I think most would view her as part of the team. An invitation was probably extended to her because she belongs here in a way that has nothing to do with observation.
My grip tightens on the bottle and Arch follows my line of sight. We both stare at Juno and then she looks back at me slowly, eyebrows lifting a fraction, as if she’s having some sort of light-bulb moment.