Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 46198 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 231(@200wpm)___ 185(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46198 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 231(@200wpm)___ 185(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
She grabs my hand, massaging my skin to soothe me. “Don’t let one terrible experience sour your experience on campus.”
“I won’t.”
“I can see it now. You’ll go home, see Corey, and feel like you made the wrong choice when you left him. Then you’ll leave school to marry him.”
“No way. Not even close.” I blow out a deep breath. “I need an escape. A reset to take my mind off things.”
“As long as you don’t jump back into something with Corey. Give yourself time before you make another big decision.”
“Corey wanted kids and a wife. I’m not ready for that. You have nothing to worry about, sis.”
She opens the door to the chapter house for me. “Put all your boy drama behind you for the night so we can have fun.”
My cell phone buzzes in my pocket as I enter the house. It’s Trent again. I type a quick message, giving him a response he might not like, and shove the phone into my pocket.
Chapter Eighteen
Trent
Coach Bryant calls for a line change. Tucker and Killian Kade hop over the wall, sticks in hand. I follow behind them, skating down the ice past our teammates as they head toward the bench. I have so much anger and aggression built up from the last two weeks—after everything that went down with Jemma—that I want to take it out on the opposing team.
The Black Friday game has always been my favorite. When people are out wasting their money on Christmas deals, I spend my day getting another win for my team. Even though we have a few months, the Regionals are so close I can taste another victory.
I visualize my goal as I check a defenseman into the boards, fighting him for possession of the puck. He’s not as good of a puck handler as me, attempting to push it through my legs instead of taking the toe of his stick blade to move the puck away from me. That’s what I would have done if the situation were reversed, which is why I can expect his next move—the sloppiness in his game, a weakness I can read.
A winger on my right side throws his shoulder into mine, trying to push me out of the way. But I’m slick enough to tap the puck away from the defenseman’s stick using a not-so-simple toe drag to slide the puck around to the other side of my body, a trick I learned from my dad when I was a kid.
I set off down the ice on the breakaway, crossing the puck in front of me. It’s just the goalie and me, with the rest of the players trailing behind. I switch from my left to right to fake him out and then quickly change at the last minute, smacking the puck to the right side of his skate. He attempts to stop it, but the puck sails over the crease and hits the back of the net.
The goal horn blares through the packed rink, and my teammates rush over to me. Gloves hit me on the top of my helmet, back, and shoulders. It feels good to do something right. I can’t make up for what happened with Jemma, but at least I can make up for the games Tucker and I missed.
I find Tucker leaning over a bench in the back of the bus. He’s talking to Jamie with his eyes pointed down at his cell phone. His fingers rush across the keypad.
“Tuck,” I call out.
My brother looks up at me, and I beckon him with my index finger. I get a nasty look in return. He whispers something to Jamie and gets up from his seat.
Tucker sits next to me. We have a few empty chairs behind us, which gives us enough space to have a conversation without the entire team overhearing us.
He cocks his head at me, his eyebrow raised. “What’s up?”
“This needs to end, Tuck.”
He sinks into the bench, his back flat against it, eyes pointed out the window. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“We haven’t been right since Jemma.”
He crosses his arms over his chest and sighs. “You’re the one who’s pissed at me.”
“You’re my brother, Tuck. My twin. We share everything, including the same DNA. I don’t want to shut you out over a girl.”
“Maybe I like her, too,” he quips with a silly smirk.
I ball my hand into a fist, wanting to punch him in the fucking mouth, but I restrain myself. “She kissed me first. I had her first. She’s mine.”
He shakes his head. “Since when do you ever give a fuck about women?”
“I love women.”
He snickers. “You love fucking them.”
“What man doesn’t?”
“I’m just fucking around.” He sighs. “She’s hot, and so was that kiss. But she’s yours, bro.”
“I want her back,” I confess. “I fucking like her. Weird, right?”