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)
“That was a valid artistic choice,” I argue. “And the original cut was rushed.”
“She walked into his office with a notebook, a revised outline, and a shot list,” Mara adds. “He didn’t even argue. He sighed and asked when she wanted the equipment.”
Crosby laughs, eyes warm as they flick to me. “That is not shocking to me in the slightest.”
“And she got an A,” Caleb finishes. “Obviously.”
Leo leans forward. “That’s not even the most unhinged thing she’s done. When I tell you she’s a perfectionist in her work, I am not underselling it.”
I groan. “Please don’t—”
Leo cuts me off with a stern look. “You once spent forty-eight straight hours in the editing lab because you refused to cut a scene that was technically unnecessary but emotionally important,” Leo says. “You had to go through the entire project to cut out other stuff to allow for it. You slept under the desk and ate Ritz crackers.”
“It was a good scene,” I insist. “And I showered.”
“Once,” Mara says.
Crosby’s shoulders are shaking now, laughter quiet but real.
“She also does this thing,” Mara says, turning to him, “where she pretends she’s flexible, but she’s not. At all.”
“That’s not true,” I say. “I compromise.”
“You negotiate,” Caleb corrects. “There’s a difference.”
“Oh, this is good information.” Crosby tilts his head, studying me. “So you’re stubborn.”
I shrug. “I prefer committed.”
He smiles at that, thoughtfulness settling into his expression. “Makes sense.”
Leo grins. “She’s also the reason half of us finished our senior projects. Wouldn’t let anyone quit. Would show up with coffee and sit there while you kept working.”
I go quiet for a second, caught off guard by that one.
Crosby notices and his gaze stays on me, steady and soft, like he’s filing this information away.
Mara lifts her glass. “She’s exhausting,” she says fondly. “But she makes everything better.”
I roll my eyes, but I don’t argue.
Crosby raises his drink in a heartfelt toast. “I like that.”
“And for the record,” Leo adds, unable to resist one last jab, “she absolutely hates being the center of attention.”
Crosby chuckles. “Noted.”
I shoot him a look. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”
“Am I?” he asks, smiling. “Because it kind of feels like I’m just getting to know you.”
CHAPTER 24
Juno
By the end of a losing game on the road, the weight shifts. Not onto the ice but onto the team trying to hold its ground while the crowd surges against them.
We’re down by one, and I’m standing behind Evan in the visiting tunnel right at the boards. I have a headset pressed over my ears, eyes trained on the ice while the LA crowd buzzes with the anticipation of a win.
The Demons sense blood.
Every Wildfire clearance is met with boos.
Every save Crosby makes is acknowledged, grudgingly, like they’re irritated he’s still in the way.
Crosby isn’t having his best night. That’s the truth, and I don’t flinch from it, like I know he wouldn’t.
He’s let in two goals he’d want back—one a rebound he couldn’t control, the other a deflection that slipped through traffic and past him before he could reset. Neither egregious, but for a goalie like Crosby Hale, almost getting the save doesn’t count.
Evan adjusts his angle, tracking the puck as it cycles high in the zone. “You okay?” he murmurs.
“Yeah,” I say automatically, even though my chest tightens when Crosby drops into the butterfly again, glove snapping out a second too late.
A goal horn blares and the red light shines because the Demons have scored again. The arena explodes and Evan exhales through his teeth. “Oof.”
I don’t look away from the ice, my eyes pinned on Crosby, who stays down a beat too long. When he pushes up to his skates, he brings his stick down against the post—one quick crack of frustration that cuts through the noise. My heart twists when he lifts his mask and drags the back of his glove across his face, sweat and irritation wiped away in the same motion. His jaw works once before he snaps the mask back into place.
His focus is reasserted—but tighter now, and the clock keeps moving.
“You know,” Evan says, lowering the camera and turning his head my way, “you two look good together.”
I blink. “That was random.”
He shrugs, eyes cutting to the ice and back to me. “I’ve been around you long enough to know when something’s different, and he’s different.”
I swallow, not expecting this conversation here, now, with the crowd roaring and Crosby under siege.
But Evan opened the door, and now I’m curious. “But… like… don’t you think it’s weird? I mean, I’m doing a documentary, and he’s a subject.”
Evan laughs. “Yeah, that’s a story in and of itself, but for what it’s worth, I like how happy you look around him. Last night, you looked like you two belonged together.”
It felt like we belonged together, too.
We hung out with my friends, trading stories and laughs. Crosby, Evan, Nina and I went to a late dinner, and we talked about everything from cheesy movies to nuclear proliferation. Crosby put his arm across the back of my chair at times, fingers brushing my shoulder. When we parted ways to head back to the hotel, he held my hand across the parking lot.