Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 132951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 665(@200wpm)___ 532(@250wpm)___ 443(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 665(@200wpm)___ 532(@250wpm)___ 443(@300wpm)
I nod, my cheek rubbing over his shirt. Selfishly, I want the same things—not just for him, but for me, too. Because without her, where will we be? I can’t get him to talk to me. He’ll hold me now, but he won’t give me more of himself.
We loop around the hospital a couple of times, and then return to the waiting area. The next two hours feel endless.
When the doctor finally comes in, Connor grips my hand, squeezing so tightly my bones grind together.
“She made it through,” she tells us.
The room exhales a collective breath.
“Thank God.” Connor deflates.
“She’s not out of the woods yet, though,” she cautions. “The next few days are crucial, and we’ll be keeping a close eye on her.”
“When can I see her?” Connor asks.
“She’s still coming out of anesthesia, but you can go in and say hi. Two at a time, though. And only for a minute.”
“Go with Isabelle,” Connor’s father says flatly.
Connor doesn’t argue, and he doesn’t look at me as he leaves the room, following his sister.
I’m thrilled Meems made it through, but I’m afraid of what’s coming next—and what version of Connor will be on the other side of this.
CHAPTER 41
CONNOR
I’m failing at protecting the goalie tonight. We’re down by two, and Ryker, Romero, and Palaniappa are working double time to make up for my shitty performance.
I’m frustrated, and I can’t focus. Meems is still in the hospital after five days, and I’m here, on the ice, a two-hour flight from home. She turned a corner after the first forty-eight hours and is doing much better. So I made the decision to be with my team instead of her and my wife. I needed to get away. To find some perspective. To put some distance between me and Mildred.
But I’m not performing. So when Ottawa tries to score again in the second half of the third period, I lose what’s left of my frayed cool and trip their lead scorer. I’m looking for a fight, so when I have the chance, I hit him in the place it hurts most. And he reacts, giving me a reason to drop my gloves. That results in a five-minute penalty, which is the last thing my team needs this late in the game.
Vander Zee looks like he’s ready to murder me. I can’t see Coach Forrest-Hammer because she’s in the box, but I can imagine how unimpressed she’ll be. Ottawa scores again at the end of my penalty, widening the gap. We can’t recover, and it’s our second loss in as many games—a trend that can’t continue if we want to secure a spot in the playoffs.
The mood is somber as we enter the locker room. Romero claps me on the shoulder. “Don’t get too up in your head. You have a lot going on.”
“It’s not an excuse.” I shouldn’t be here, but I can’t be at home. I’m drowning in worry and in wishing I could talk to my wife. Yet I’m too afraid to be honest.
Vander Zee comes in with the rest of the coaches. “This team has been working hard to prove we can succeed without Hammerstein and Hendrix on the roster. But this shit—where you let the other team get under your skin and play like testosterone-fueled rookies—won’t fly. We might as well hand over our spot in the playoffs if we keep this up. Get changed, get rested, and get your heads back in the game so we can beat Montreal in two days.”
He leaves us to shower and change. No one is in the mood to go out because there’s nothing to celebrate. I can already predict the news around tonight’s game. People will question whether I’m back to my old ways. They’ll wonder if the past few months were a blip, speculate that there’s trouble in paradise.
They won’t be wrong, either.
Meems’s time here might be extended another decade, and while I’m relieved and elated, I didn’t plan for this outcome, and I don’t know what to do. Because I believe keeping Meems means losing Mildred.
When I leave the locker room, Lexi is in the hall with the other coaches. Her gaze shifts my way, and the disappointment on her face is more than I can deal with. She’s always been on my side, but right now she looks pissed.
She pulls me aside. “I know you have a lot going on, but you’re a better player than this.”
“Maybe I’m not.” I voice the thoughts in my head. “Maybe the last few months were a fluke.”
She crosses her arms atop her swollen belly. “I know what you did out there to set him off, and the only reason you would stoop that low is because you’re looking for someone to take out their frustration on your face. Don’t forget that I’m aware your grandmother’s surgery is a stressor, and that there is far more to this than just her recovery.”