Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 116231 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 581(@200wpm)___ 465(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116231 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 581(@200wpm)___ 465(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
I walk out of the room and head to the elevators and then decide to just take the stairs. I get into the truck and the first thing I do is reach for my phone to call my father back, but I stop myself. When I get home, I’m hit with the stillness of the house. My new routine after the kids go back with Josephine is going through their rooms, making sure they didn’t leave any food or drinks in them that could get smelly in a week. Last time, Vincent left chocolate milk in his bathroom and the odor was insane the week after, that, along with the chunky clump was disgusting.
The next morning I get up when the alarm rings and head to the bathroom, brushing my teeth before grabbing a pair of shorts and a T-shirt. I snatch up a baseball hat before going out to the SUV and heading into the rink. I get there at the same time as a couple other guys. It’s our first real day back, and we should all be catching up and reconnecting as a team after the break. As we sit and my teammates talk about their summer plans and what they did, the big elephant in the room is me, of course, or at least it feels like that. I had all these plans for the summer, and they were all shot to shit. Of course, the team knows about us getting divorced since I reached out to a couple of the guys to tell them I was staying in town.
“You look like you spent the summer in the gym,” Lane, another forward on the team, observes when he walks in, and I get up to shake his hand and pull him in for a hug. “Definitely different than last year.” The back of his hand hits my stomach.
“Yeah.” I almost say, “I lost about one hundred and fifteen pounds of dead weight.” But instead I nod. “Definitely a different summer.”
“Sorry, man,” he says softly, “I heard.”
“Happens.” I try to avoid looking at him and hearing the pity in his voice. “I’m going to go and get something to eat before getting on the ice.” I look around for Kirby or Jaxon and I’m not surprised they aren’t here. They have their women at home, so why come and eat breakfast here? I grab an omelet before going to lace up for practice, and Kirby and Jaxon are here when I get back.
We spend about four hours on the ice, going through some drills. Otherwise, it was us getting our feet wet with some of the newer guys. A couple of rookies are on the ice, along with a couple of new guys who were acquired during the summer trades.
I skate off the ice and head to the locker room, sweat pouring off my head as I push my helmet higher. “You going tonight?” Jaxon asks when I step into the room.
“Where?” I ask him, taking off my gloves and tossing them to the equipment manager, who catches one and then looks to catch the second one.
“The coaches are having a welcome back get-together tonight,” Kirby says, sitting down with his bottle of water in between his legs.
“No,” I shake my head, “I’m definitely not doing that.”
“Yes, you are.” Jaxon chuckles. “If we have to go”—he points to him and Kirby—“then you have no choice but to come.” I’m about to say something. “And before you blame it on you having the kids, we know you’re lying.” He points at me. “You had them last week.”
“Can I just say I don’t want to go and leave it at that?”
“No,” Jaxson clips. “Buckle up, big guy, we are going out tonight. You are going to have to leave your Hallmark movies for one night.”
I laugh at him. “For your information, some of those movies are great.”
“I’ll take your word for it.” He shakes his head. I step into the shower and when I’m about to leave, he calls my name, “Knox.” I look up at the ceiling. “Tonight at seven.” I look over my shoulder. “Want me to pick you up?”
“I think I’m good,” I reply and they both look at me. “Fine, I’ll meet you guys there; send me the address.”
I get home and the quietness of the house gets under my skin. I hate it. Every other week, I open the door to silence, it’s the worst. Coming home and having no one here is torture. I grill myself a steak and head upstairs after I clean up and put everything away.
I slip on a pair of black boxers when I step out of the shower and head to the walk-in closet off my bathroom. I dry the water from my hair before I grab a pair of black jeans. Tossing the wet towel on the floor, I slip a white polo off the hanger and then put it on. I run my hands through my hair, annoyed I agreed to this, before grabbing a pair of socks and a white pair of sneakers. I spend five minutes in the bathroom playing with my hair, putting on my silver Rolex, and spraying on my cologne before switching off the light and heading out.