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)
“Does he usually try to run your life?”
That doesn’t sound like the Dominic I know. Sure, he’s told me some hard truths, but in the same breath, he’s let me decide what I want to do—with him, with Tyler, with my dad.
Penny scoffs. “Uh, yeah. You could say that. Basically, he’s spent my whole life trying to protect me. From what? Literally everything.” She rolls her eyes like he’s ridiculous, but then, seeing my face, she backpedals. “In his defense, I kinda needed it. I’m a bit . . . accident-prone.” She gestures vaguely toward her knees like that’s a normal occurrence. “He handed responsibility for me over to Griffin, and I take special delight in making his life as difficult as I can.” She winks playfully.
“Mom?” Harley says, tapping me on the knee. When I glance at him, he points toward the Blizzard defensive zone. “Are Dom and Kipson okay?”
Brows furrowed, I look at them. They’re in position, eyes locked on the play, and all seems to be fine. “Yeah, I think so. Why?”
Harley frowns. “They’re not being as aggressive with blocks. Not how they usually are. Anderson is fielding a bunch more shots than usual.”
“Maybe Dom’s taking it easy on his old teammates?” Penny suggests.
I meet her eyes, both of us saying simultaneously, “Naaah.”
We go quiet, all watching closely, and I begin to see exactly what Harley is talking about. It’s not that they’re missing the action. They’re where they need to be, doing what they should be, but the tension that typically threads through their every move is missing. There’s no fight in their play. If I didn’t know better, I would actually think they’re taking it easy on the Hawks.
The next play has Jack Off beelining down the ice. He makes a quick pass to Krivosky and, working together, they send the puck forward. Dominic meets Jacofovich, and they scuffle, vying for control of the puck.
“Get it out of there,” I mutter under my breath as they get closer and closer to the crease. But Dom is barely fighting and he’s giving up inches of ice too easily. Suddenly, Jacofovich shoots. Anderson drops, legs butterfly split to protect as much net as possible, but the puck gets through. The red light comes on and the horn sounds as the crowd goes wild.
“Score, Jacofovich! Hawks 1, Blizzard 0!” the announcer calls.
“Uh-oh,” I whisper.
“See?” Harley says. “What are they doing?”
“You don’t think . . . ?” I trail off, not wanting to give breath to what I’m thinking. Dom is a pro, but maybe in some twisty-turny universe, he’s feeling conflicted about playing his old team? He didn’t say anything. In fact, he was downright excited to see everyone, claiming he was going to wipe the ice with them and show Coach Leverson what he lost, which sounds more like the Dom I know.
“Okay, wait,” Penny says, her palm held out. Leaning into me and lowering her voice, she says, “Considering Dom possesses exactly 0.0 percent sentimentality, let’s go the other way. If they’re not playing like that because of the Hawks, could it be because of the Blizzard?”
I blink, thinking that through. If Dominic and Kipson aren’t playing to give the Hawks an advantage, that would mean they’re playing to put the Blizzard at a disadvantage? Which also makes no sense, but then I scan the ice again.
Another puck goes sailing toward Anderson. And then, another one.
“He’s under siege,” Penny states.
Harley corrects her. “They’re putting him under siege.”
I see it. That’s exactly what Dominic and Kipson are doing, but why? Why in the world would they let the Hawks make that many shots on goal, when each one is a potential score?
When the clock sounds the end of the second period, the teams disappear into the locker rooms and the Zamboni drives out. Harley is normally rapt with attention anytime the Zamboni appears, but tonight, he’s glancing from me to Penny with eyes wide with confusion. But we don’t have answers about what’s going on either.
Chapter 24
Dominic
“That was some fucking bullshit out there, Lee, and you know it! Go suck your boys’ dicks if you want, but don’t screw us over in the process!” Anderson yells from the other side of the locker room as he throws his helmet at the wall. It hits the cinder block and bounces back, sporting a large crack that’ll mean Anderson’s going to be wearing a new helmet come gametime tomorrow.
Final score: Hawks 2, Blizzard 1.
“Check your fucking tongue, Anderson. They’re number one in the league for a reason,” Kipson informs Anderson. He’s sitting on the bench closest to his locker, but he might as well be standing in front of me protectively for the effect his statement has.
“Oh, so you two are all buddy-buddy now?” Anderson sneers, pointing from Kipson to me.