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)
“Damn,” he whistles. “How’d you get that?”
“I’m Penny Lee. Dominic Lee’s sister and Griffin Mahoney’s wife. You might’ve seen them fighting on the ice last season because of little ol’ me?” She frames her face with her hands like she was the one on the jumbotron.
He eyes her a bit more carefully. “Yeah, yeah . . . I did see that. I think everyone saw that,” he laughs. “I think your brother won that one.”
“How about a little trade? I’ll give you this jersey if you let her in the locker room.” She rushes to add, “No psycho puck bunnies here, I promise. She really is Coach Boothe’s daughter. She’s also Dominic Lee’s girlfriend.”
“Wait, wait . . . what? Is that what all the yelling in there’s been about?” he asks, leaning toward us. Gossip is apparently the great unifier. “I heard something about that. Walls aren’t that thick, you know?”
Nodding, I spill the tea right back. “I’m Robert Boothe’s daughter. I’m dating Dominic Lee. Look.” I hold up my phone, showing him a picture of me and Dad. I’m about thirteen or fourteen, but it’s still obviously us. And then I swipe to show him a picture of me, Harley, and Dominic.
He seems convinced, but shakes his head. “Still can’t let you in. Sorry.”
“Hey!” Penny shouts suddenly.
The guard and I both look at her, but her jersey hits the guard square in the face. She shoos me with a wave, telling me to go through the door. Quickly, I do, letting it shut behind me. On the other side of the door, I hear loud footsteps as the guard chases Penny down the hallway. “Come back here!”
I get it. I absolutely understand why Dom and Griffin think she needs protection. But goodness, I love her and appreciate her self-sacrifice to get me in here.
This part, I’ll have to do alone.
Chapter 28
Dominic
Coach is yelling. Again.
Ranting really, about how we’re going to pay for this and he’s going to punish us for that. It’s all blah, blah, blah to me, the same thing he did during the first intermission, only ramped up even more because we’re going to lose this game. I don’t even mind. The guys having my back means more than anything Coach could do to me, or us.
It’s not just me either. No one in the locker room is listening to him.
From what I can tell, Kipson had a little chatty-chat with the guys, explaining the backstory of what’s going down with me and Briar, and therefore, with me and Coach. They’ve chosen their side. It just happens to be mine, not Coach’s. And I think he’s finally beginning to realize how much he’s lost. Let’s just say it’s a helluva lot more than one game. It’s the respect of nearly every player in this room.
“Getchur asses back out there and play the way we all know you can or—”
“Ahem. Excuse me.” The soft female voice shouldn’t grab anyone’s attention. It’s only because it’s so out of place that it does. But it grabs mine, and my eyes automatically swing toward it, toward her.
“Briar!” I exclaim, standing up in surprise.
She’s wearing my jersey again, this time with a cute little flippy skirt I’ve never seen before. And fuck me, knee socks. The woman has on baby-blue knee socks that match the jersey.
She gives me a little wave with a bright smile. “Hi, Albie. But I’m not here to see you.”
What? Who’s Albie? I swear I almost look around for some other guy, and then I realize that she means me. Apparently, we have pet names now. Albatross, Albie. Okay, I like it. I want to crow . . . Caw-caw, motherfuckers. I don’t even know if that’s what albatrosses—albatrossi?—sound like. I should look that up or ask Briar. But maybe later because . . .
She holds up one finger, telling me to wait before turning suddenly hard eyes to her father, who’s vibrating with unyelled words stuck in his throat. “Dad, a minute?”
“What are you doing here?” he blurts out finally, looking like he’s choking on each syllable.
He probably means in the locker room, but just as easily could mean at the game because he had no idea Briar was in attendance tonight. Why would he know? He’s never invited her. But I did. I got her seats, made sure she had a parking pass, and confirmed that she had money for the concession stand. I took care of everything for her. Unlike him.
Apparently, though, it doesn’t matter as he shakes his head, getting his wits. “It’s not a good time. We’re in the middle of a game, in case you hadn’t noticed.” He holds a hand out wide, gesturing to the team around him.
Briar arches a brow. “Trust me, I know. It’s not a game, it’s an ass-whipping. I also know that, for you, it’s hockey over everything, but that doesn’t seem to be working this time, does it?” She points at the countdown clock over the door that still reads eight minutes. “Two minutes. Can you spare that for your daughter, Dad?”