Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79160 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79160 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Atlas’s eyebrows shoot up like I just quoted Nietzsche and he bobbles the puck he’d been flipping. “Uh… thanks, man.”
King glances over at us, a grin breaking out on his face. “Look at you joining in. Who are you and what’ve you done with Navarro?”
I grunt, already regretting the effort. “Don’t get used to it.”
Laughter follows me to my seat and just as I take it, the door swings open and Coach West walks in, followed by a tall dude with blond hair tousled in a way that feels more careless than calculated. His eyes sweep the room, bright and sparkling with interest.
“Gentlemen,” Coach says, nodding to the new face. “Meet your newest teammate. We finalized the trade yesterday—Matteo Branson.”
We all know Matteo Branson. He’s been in the league about five years and is fast as hell on his skates, a solid addition to our third-line left wing, replacing Evgeny Denisenko.
Matteo flashes a grin that belongs in a whiskey ad. “What’s up, dudes? As Coach said, the name’s Matteo, but I go by Lucky. In fact, I won’t answer to Matteo so don’t even bother. And if you’re curious, yeah… I was born in Boston, cursed by my grandmother at birth and kissed by fate ever since.”
Stone chuckles from behind me and I hear Boone mutter, “What the hell does that even mean?”
Coach is amused and he sweeps his arm to the seats. “Take a chair, Lucky. You’ll have plenty of time to get to know the guys after practice, but we’ve got a lot of stuff to go over first.”
Lucky’s eyes scan the room and he aims for a row where Rafferty and North are sitting just before me. He settles in beside them and I can see he has a vine of shamrock tattoos climbing from his collarbone up his neck. He nods at those around him, even twisting in his seat to nod at me. He’s wearing a corded necklace with a rabbit’s foot pendant settled at the base of his throat like a talisman.
“Lucky, huh?” Rafferty asks. “Never would have guessed by the shamrocks and rabbit’s foot.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know it’s cliché,” Lucky says, grinning. “But hey, it works. Been traded three times, never missed a playoff run. Lucky charms, baby.”
Laughter ripples around us as several players heard that, and there’s something kind of endearing about the guy. Not that I’m interested in making friends.
Coach starts running the plan for tomorrow’s game against Ottawa—matchups, line strategies, what to expect from the Cougars’ aggressive forecheck. I half listen, fingers tapping against the leather armrest. We watch some video, several of us—including me—piping up observations. Our team meetings are always collaborative and that’s been a vibe I’ve very much enjoyed since coming to the Titans.
Twenty minutes later, the meeting’s over and now it’s time to lace up and hit the ice for practice. Players file out toward the locker room to suit up, but before I can even exit my row, Callum is walking in. His eyes scan the crowd and land on me, and he doesn’t have to say a word.
I know by that look on his face he’s here to see me.
I make my way down to him and we loiter until the room is cleared. When we’re alone, he holds out his phone to show me an article online from the Pittsburgh Times.
“You’ll want to read it,” Callum says, his voice clipped.
I take the device and start reading. The title jumps out at me in bold serif font:
A Decade of Silence: Hazing, Tragedy and the Secrets of Juniors Hockey
By Jillian Towne
Just over ten years ago, a promising young player named Nathan Gentry died after a night of drinking and alleged hazing while playing for the Muskogee Wraiths, a junior hockey team based in Minnesota. The case sparked whispers but no charges—until suddenly, there were.
My heart slams against my breastbone as I read a succinct summary of the criminal complaints against Jace, Peter, Ryan and Colton and how two minor-aged witnesses were able to help the district attorney get guilty pleas. I glance up to see Callum watching me warily and then return to reading.
Now, for the first time, one of the two unnamed witnesses from that investigation is speaking out.
“I was fifteen when it happened,” says Mila Brennan, who contacted me after receiving multiple anonymous threats over the past several months. “I overheard my brother and three other players talking about what they’d done to Nathan. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done—knowing that by helping the police, I was condemning my brother, but I had to do the right thing.”
According to her account, she overheard how Gentry, a rookie already struggling under the pressure of elite-level play, was subjected to a brutal hazing ritual organized by several of his own teammates, which led to his death.