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 throw it right back at him. “I know that what they did to you was wrong, and neither you nor Sofia deserved that.”
That too-touchy target I should avoid tap-dancing on top of? Yeah, that was it.
“Keep my wife’s name out of your fucking mouth or so help me, I will—”
“What? Kick my ass?” I interrupt him to suggest, leaning in close so only he can hear me. “So you keep saying. And do you think anyone in here would help you? Or help me? Or would they stand back and cheer us on while we destroyed each other?” We both know the answer. This group would probably start taking bets on who would win, but none of them would actually care. Not about me, which is understandable since we’ve just met. But Kipson has been on this team for years and they should care about him. But they don’t. “You think that makes a good team? You think they give a shit about you? I don’t even know you and I care more than these motherfuckers do.”
He doesn’t want me to be right and spins on a heel, heading for his locker and trying to hide from the truth.
This team is rotten. Not from the ground up, but from the top down. Coach sets the tone, but the rest of the team has gone along with it for so long that the foundation of what a team should be has never properly developed.
I yank a pair of sweats over my underwear and pull a T-shirt over my head, letting Kipson pretend I’m not right. But as I throw my bag over my shoulder, I offer, “If you want to get a beer, let me know. If you need a fight to get your head straight, I’ll put that shit on my calendar too.”
He doesn’t glance up to state, “No.”
“We don’t have to be friends, but I’m stuck here for at least the season, and as far as I can tell, you might be the only decent human being on this team.”
At that, he does lift his chin, and I pointedly look around the locker room. He follows my gaze and I know what he sees . . .
Anderson is holding up his phone to show Sabine a close-up picture of someone’s cleavage while making a jacking-off motion with his other hand. Pacholek is laughing along with them. There are other guys all around the room getting cleaned up and dressed, but each and every one of them is goofing off. Not a single one of them is checked in to the drama between Kipson and me, his ongoing distress, or even rehashing the game we just drained ourselves to play.
It’s all shits and giggles playtime around here.
“This isn’t what a team is supposed to be like,” I state flatly. Before he can answer, I walk out of the locker room and to my truck. I don’t know if Kipson is salvageable. At this point, I don’t know if I am. Or at least my hockey career, which is basically the same thing.
Chapter 10
Briar
Weekends alone are always hard. I use the time as best I can because it seems like there are never enough minutes in the day to get everything done that I need and want to, like deep cleaning the refrigerator, painting my toenails, and filling up my online shopping cart with an astronomical number of goodies only to close it out without buying anything because the browsing is the fun part.
But even while I’m scrubbing baseboards with my hands encased in moisturizing gloves, my mind is on Harley. Do I wish that he didn’t have to see Tyler at all? Absolutely. And my lawyer did the best he could to limit Tyler’s access, but my ex can put on the charm when it benefits him and he got the judge to believe that he was a caring, attentive, involved father. Hence, every other weekend visits.
At least he was on time for pickup yesterday, rolling in at six o’clock on the dot.
The stress of Harley being with Tyler never lessens, though. In fact, I think it might be worse this time after his stunt at the hospital. He was furious, not at Harley’s accidental and minor injury, but at me for bringing a “boyfriend” to the hospital. I knew better than to argue with him, since that’s what he wants, so I stuck to discussing Harley’s exam in short, emotionless statements. Tyler didn’t really care about that, but did call me some choice names before stomping out, promising that I’d regret everything.
As if. The only thing I regret is him.
Though if there’d been no Tyler, there’d be no Harley, and I would never undo the gift my son is to me.
I just can’t shake this feeling that something’s wrong. I’m worried if Harley is okay, and hoping that Tyler isn’t filling his mind with his twisted version of whatever truth he’s decided serves him.