Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 99723 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 499(@200wpm)___ 399(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99723 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 499(@200wpm)___ 399(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
“I’m gonna kick your ass, Lee.” It’s a vow he means wholeheartedly.
“Maybe later,” I reply with a cocky smirk, inviting him to try. “For now, let’s win this damn game.”
“Fuck you.”
“Aw, love you, too, man.” I skate away backward, holding up my finger and thumb in a tiny heart shape.
Hard truths followed by annoying bullshit. It’s not exactly rocket science, but it’s surprisingly effective on a testosterone-addled mind, resulting in anger that’s particularly useful in a physically demanding sport.
Taking my place on the left side of the ice, Anderson whistles at me from his spot in the net. When I glance back, he asks, “You got a death wish I need to know about?”
“We’ll see,” I answer before putting my own focus solidly where it needs to be . . . the drop of the puck, and the incoming attack from the Vortex’s center.
Midway through the second period, I’m perched on the bench but my body is reacting to every movement on the ice as if I’m the one out there.
“Get in there, Rodney!” I shout. “Help him, Sabine!”
These guys are not my guys. This team is not my team. But if I’m stuck with them, I’m gonna be supportive. Especially of the rookies who might still be worth something and are just glad to get some ice time since if they show out in tonight’s meaningless game, they might not be sent down to the minors.
As though my cheers, or the small crowd’s, actually helped, Rodney makes a slick move toward the Vortex’s goal and takes a quick snap shot. It’s blocked, but it was a solid attempt that I can respect.
“I know what you’re doing,” Kipson growls from beside me. We rotated out together this time and thankfully, he’s been drinking the water he should’ve had before the game started.
I don’t give him my full attention, just merely cut my eyes his way. “Good. You’ve got another period to go still to earn your place on this team.”
“Asshole.” He takes another healthy swig from his water bottle.
I lean over the slightest bit, inclining my head. “If you’ve forgotten, the key to winning is that little black thing out there.”
He bumps his shoulder into mine, the hard impact jostling me on the bench. I don’t fight back, not now. It’s not the time. Instead, I chuckle. It’ll set him off more. I know it will, but I’ve gotta hurt him to help him.
Coach must have eyes in the back of his head because, though his never left the action on the ice, he snaps, “Do we have a problem, boys?”
“Nah,” I fake-drawl, “just doing my job, Coach.”
“Put that fight into the game. Fight them, not each other,” he advises. “Get your asses back out there.”
Kipson and I stand, wait for our chance, and on the signal, vault the boards and hit the ice once more.
If I had to choose when to fight, while I’m standing in my underwear in a locker room full of guys would not be my first choice. Hell, it wouldn’t be my tenth choice, but here I am.
Bam!
Kipson’s fist slams against the metal locker, mere inches from my head.
“Missed me,” I deadpan.
He earned this go at me, I’ll dance with him. Not that I’m going to let him get his satisfaction that easily. If anything, I might turn the tables on him. A good ass-kicking might do him some good and give him something new to whine about.
Same could be said about you.
“Leave me the fuck alone, Lee.”
“No,” I clap back. “You might not like it, but you play better angry. That’s why we won out there tonight.”
Anderson makes a half-assed “hey!” noise, mumbling to Pacholek about having something to do with us coming out ahead 3–1 against the Vortex.
“I’m always fucking angry!” Kipson roars.
“Not about the right thing!” I roar right back, pointing at him and then the ice. “Not in the right way! I’m trying to help you, motherfucker.”
“I don’t need your help.”
His rage is like a flash fire, igniting with the slightest spark, but dying quickly as the darkness he’s living in snuffs it out. The fight in him is waning, his voice going quieter when even he doesn’t believe his own lies.
I snort a humorless laugh. “If you think that’s true, you really do need help. And I can tell you one thing for damn sure . . .” I wait for his fury-filled eyes to lock on to me. He can’t help it, he wants to know what’s on the stick I’m dangling in front of him. “These guys don’t have your best interest at heart. Shockingly, I do.” I point around the room at the team, who are loudly hooting and hollering as they celebrate tonight’s win, already making plans to hit the club for a nightcap.
“What the hell are you talking about? You don’t know shit, and you sure don’t know me.” He gives me a scathing up-and-down that would send a weaker man away with his tail between his legs.