Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 87289 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87289 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
But then the energy shifts. It would be impossible not to notice the extra hits that come my way. Or the elbows that get thrown after the whistle and the subtle jabs behind the play.
At first, it’s nothing major. It’s just enough to piss me off.
But that’s to be expected in a tight game.
What’s not anticipated?
That it’s coming from my own teammate.
Zane.
Initially, I second-guess my suspicions, figuring it’s accidental and I’m reading into things.
But then he catches me with an elbow as we pass on the bench, and shoves me harder than necessary when there’s a skirmish near the crease. He mutters something just out of earshot of the refs.
I grit my teeth and keep my head down. The guy is trying to get under my skin, and I refuse to give him the satisfaction of knowing he hit a nerve.
No matter how much I ignore him, he refuses to back off. During a board battle, we get tangled again. Only this time, there’s nothing subtle about it. His shoulder drives into my ribs. It’s sharp and deliberate. The air gets knocked from me, and I stumble, twisting around with a glare. But he’s already skating off. There’s nothing playful or remorseful about the look he throws over his shoulder.
It’s cold and calculated.
The guy is trying to rattle me.
Shake my focus.
For a moment, it almost works.
Until I glance up and find Callie. She’s watching from the suite, hand resting on Nora’s back. Her wide eyes are locked on mine and flooded with concern. Somehow, they manage to do the impossible and ground me.
I take a moment to center myself.
This game might be personal, but so is everything I’m playing for.
At every opportunity, Zane keeps pushing. He throws slashes that ride higher than they should. Knocks me off the puck any chance he gets. Elbows me in tight scrums when the refs aren’t looking.
I take every cheap shot and dirty play.
As hard as it is, I don’t retaliate.
Not yet.
During the media timeout, Oliver glides up beside me. “Hey, Thompson. Check out the Jumbotron.”
I look up, and there they are. Callie and Nora, front and center, caught by the camera.
The announcer’s voice booms through the arena. “Looks like number twenty-three has his own fan club in the house tonight! Check out those matching jerseys. Talk about too cute to handle!”
The crowd erupts, the noise vibrating through me. Nora grins so big it lights up the whole damn screen, and her arms flap like she’s ready to take flight. Beside her, Lilah, Rina, and my sister are laughing.
But it’s Callie who captures my attention. Our gazes lock, and my heart clenches so hard it feels like it might burst. She gives the smallest wave, her smile hesitant, discomfort evident beneath the spotlight.
Even so, all I can think is that she and Nora are mine.
They’re my girls.
I’m still riding high from that moment when the third period starts.
I dish the puck off to Knox, already shifting my weight to loop around when Zane barrels into me.
I don’t even see the hit coming. His shoulder crashes into mine, and I slam into the boards with a bone-rattling thud. My head snaps forward, and pain explodes across my ribs and down my arm.
The crowd gasps and the whistle shrieks. The trainer is on the ice before I’ve even caught my breath.
“Are you good?” he asks, squatting beside me, hands moving carefully over my body.
I grit my teeth and nod, even though it’s a lie. “I’m fine.”
It takes effort to push to my feet as my lungs burn and my vision swims. I glance up and find Callie standing, one hand pressed to the glass, eyes locked on mine.
There’s no way in hell I’m crawling off the ice.
Not in front of Zane.
The guy who’s supposed to be my teammate.
The one I considered a friend.
More importantly, I’m not crawling off in front of Callie.
I wave off the trainer and force myself upright, pushing through the fire blazing down my side. My skating is slow and steady as I pretend like the impact didn’t drive the air clean out of me.
When I reach the bench, Coach is already waiting. His face is red and his jaw is clenched tight enough to crack his molars.
“You two want to make a goddamn spectacle of yourselves?” he barks. “If you can’t keep it together, I’ll bench both your asses for the rest of the season.”
Zane shrugs like he doesn’t give a shit.
But I do.
I care about this team and our shot at taking home a Stanley this season.
I also care what happens if this locker room turns on itself.
Even more than that, I care about Callie and Nora, and doing what’s best for them.
I refuse to throw any of that away because Zane can’t get his larger-than-life ego in check.
The rest of the game passes by in a blur of adrenaline and impact. My shoulder throbs. My ribs feel like they’ve been cracked in half. Every time I think Zane’s cooled off, he clips me again. Elbows, slashes, body checks that toe the line. Always just subtle enough to look like nothing if you weren’t paying attention.