Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 100294 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 501(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100294 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 501(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
I don’t answer. I’m not sure “good” is the word. She’s necessary. Like oxygen. Like blood. Like water. All essential to maintain life.
And that should scare the fuck out of me, but I’m embracing it. No point in fighting the inevitable.
“You think Georgia is a good driver?” I ask Grant. He glances around, stalling. “Grant,” I snap.
“I’m sure she follows all the rules of the road.” She is a stickler for those things. “But she’s also a little clumsy.” Now that I think back, yeah, she is. Fuck.
“Clumsy” means you drop shit. Not run into a ditch. That’s what I tell myself.
“Nah, she’s more likely to turn in the wrong direction or forget she still has the gas pump connected and pull away with it still attached to the car.” I grab my phone and text Madeline again.
Me: How much gas does the car have?
“Bro, chill. I was teasing.”
“It’s not funny.”
“It doesn’t matter.” I jerk my head up. What the hell did he say? It does. “Those pumps just disconnect. No harm, no foul.”
Buttercup: Almost a full tank.
She answers, not bothering to inquire why I asked. Madeline is getting used to my level of crazy. I’m still adjusting.
Caleb stands up in the aisle, yelling some bullshit about the other team’s goalie, his voice cutting through everything, wanting to be the center of attention. I don’t bother looking up. Caleb is one of those guys who thinks volume equals personality. He’s a pain in my ass, but he’s a damn good shot.
I pull out my headphones and put them in, not even bothering with music at first. I just need the barrier. The noise of the team fades to a dull roar.
Almost without thinking, I open the tracker app. I watch the little dot that marks Madeline’s car as it moves along the highway behind our bus.
I finally start my music, but I barely notice it. I’m focused on the dot. Once we get there, we’ll drop our bags and head to the rink to start warming up for tonight’s game.
The Kingmakers Ice Crew only performs at home games. Madeline will be in the stands for this one.
The bus pulls into the rink’s lot, and I grab my bag, already scanning the parking lot for Georgia’s car. Nothing. They’re not here yet. She got to the hotel a little after us, but we quickly dropped our shit and got back on the bus. The hotel already had all our keys ready so that we could haul ass.
I follow the team inside, but my head’s not in it. I have played hockey for most of my life because it got me out of the house and it was a place to take my aggression out. Now, it’s getting in the way.
The locker room smells like every other rink—stale sweat and tape. I get dressed without thinking. Before heading to the ice, I check my phone. The tracker app says they’re five minutes away.
I hit the ice for warm-ups, but all I can do is check to see if she’s here yet.
“Locke!” Coach’s voice cuts across the rink. “Eyes front. She’ll be here.” He shakes his head at me, annoyed. I can’t blame him. I’m fucking annoying myself at this point.
I force my attention back to the puck. Then I see her.
Madeline walks down the steps with Georgia, and my chest tightens. But it’s not just her that is having that effect on me. It’s also what she’s wearing: a white T-shirt, hand-painted in black and gold. My number and name are on it.
She made that. For me. Seeing my name displayed on her makes me want to beat my chest in victory. Now everyone will know she’s mine. Not only the students from Kingmakers.
She spots me on the ice and tilts her head, smiling as she waves to me.
“Locke!” Coach says again. “Let’s go!”
I skate backward to the line. She takes her seat right behind our bench, close enough that I’ll hear her. Close enough to see that shirt every time I look up.
She’s all in. She’s really fucking all in.
The first period starts fast. We are flying around the rink today. I’m on my game, but the referees are making shit calls.
My eyes keep going back to the stands where my girl is. Madeline stands out under the lights, cheering every time I do anything. She’s louder than everyone else and doesn’t hold back.
“If you had another eye, you’d be a cyclops!” I hear her shout across the ice. “Hey, ref, does your wife know you’re fucking us?!” Georgia turns to Madeline, her mouth hanging open. I can’t help but laugh a little.
“Locke!” Grant yells from the wing. “Focus!”
I pull my attention back to the game. The puck drops, and I win the face-off. We’re up by one when I feel someone watching.