Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 114951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 575(@200wpm)___ 460(@250wpm)___ 383(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 575(@200wpm)___ 460(@250wpm)___ 383(@300wpm)
As if I hadn’t had enough of his bullshit explaining this to me and my staff, I now had to listen to him charm the pants off everyone in the press room and hope this didn’t fall back on me in the end.
“We had some really competitive camp battles this year,” he continued, answering a journalist’s question about his decision regarding the rookie. “These are good problems to have — depth is a luxury. We want guys who play hungry, and Baranov earned his spot.”
“And Wood didn’t?” the journalist probed.
My stomach soured at the mention of our ten-year veteran, who was now on waivers, waiting to see if anyone in the league would take a chance on him before noon tomorrow.
“Wood has served this team incredibly, but all journeys must come to an end. I have faith he will find even more success with the team lucky enough to claim him off waivers.”
Lights flashed, more hands shot up into the air, all of the journalists in the room clamoring to be the one Nathan addressed next.
A few minutes passed in a daze before someone asked me how I was feeling about the season ahead with the roster set, and I faked my best confidence as I answered that the team was strong and ready. Neither was a lie, but I was far from feeling my best with the way the rug had been yanked from under my feet courtesy of my new GM.
When the attention was back on Nathan, I let mine wander around the room.
I clocked every reporter, the ones furiously scribbling or typing, and the ones live streaming from their phones. I noted their expressions, which varied from shocked and disappointed to absolutely riveted.
And then my eyes found Ari.
She was standing off to the side, her back against the wall like she wished she could disappear into it. She was dressed modestly in a navy-blue pencil skirt and white blouse, the cuffs and lapel of which were lace. Her hair was fastened into a secure bun at the nape of her neck, her makeup light and flawless.
She looked sad.
I couldn’t place why I felt that way. She was smiling, her hands folded demurely in front of her hips, her eyes sparkling as she watched her husband like he had hung the moon. One of our PR interns stood next to her, and when she leaned in to whisper something, it made Ariana laugh.
But there was something under the surface, something she was hiding.
As if she felt my gaze burning a hole into the side of her head, her smile faltered. She blinked, frowning, and then her eyes snapped to mine.
My next breath burned a little as I tried to smile at her, the corner of my lips ticking up before falling again. I wondered if it would ever pass, the strange sensation of both pain and longing that seared me when she looked at me. Decades had passed between us, and yet I could blink and still see her at twenty-years-old, wearing my hoodie, a pen chewed to bits between her teeth as she pinched her brows in concentration over a sociology book.
I thought she’d tear her gaze away, but perhaps Ariana was taking this stolen moment we had to let herself linger. Every interaction we’d had until now had been rushed, but in this moment, neither of us had anywhere else to be — and no one was paying attention to us.
Her lips quirked up, just marginally, and the prettiest flush crept across her cheeks.
The sight was enough to make me pant. I wanted so badly to get her alone, to ask her the millions of questions that had been plaguing me since her arrival.
But as quickly as that small smile had come, it was wiped away, her gaze turning cold. And I knew it without needing confirmation.
She’d just remembered that I’d left her when she needed me most.
I felt the ice she shot my way with that glare, the accusation, the hurt. I had only done what I thought was right, what I felt would be best for both of us — most of all her.
But now that I was older, I looked back at that young decision I’d made, and I didn’t see a hero. I didn’t see a man acting out of love.
I just saw a selfish, scared little boy.
And I hated him just as much as she did.
“Listen, I know it can be hard having a fresh face and new blood making decisions,” Nathan said beside me. My focus was still on Ariana, who was watching me in return, though with more wariness now than anything. “We’re making a few changes here at the Ospreys this season, yes. New faces, fresh energy — but we’re also keeping the same values this organization, and this city, have always been built on. In fact, I’m proud to announce that my wife, Ariana Black, will be heading our Sweet Dreams Initiative this year.”