Shattered Truths – Lies, Hearts & Truths Read Online Helena Hunting

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Sports Tags Authors:

Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 119680 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 598(@200wpm)___ 479(@250wpm)___ 399(@300wpm)

The first time I met Winter Marks, I almost took her out with my Jeep.
To be fair, she came out of nowhere.

I flirted with her, and she flipped me off and disappeared into the woods on her bike.
But she left me a souvenir: a single hockey skate.

Seemed to me that divine intervention shouldn’t be ignored.

She was my icy Cinderella and I would be her Prince Not-So-Charming.

Winter was more than just a sassy, badass hockey-playing hottie.
She’s stuck in a prison of a life. And I’m the perfect escape.

Neither of us expected to fall.
Or for the truth to shatter us.

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************




“I’m heading to the arena.” I grab an apple from the fruit bowl and kiss my mom on the cheek.

She glances at the clock on the stove. “I thought you didn’t have practice with Adele until ten.”

“I don’t. Just getting in some solo ice time.” I take a bite out of the apple while I fill my travel mug with coffee.

“Don’t forget we have a free skate tonight,” Dad says as he slathers butter on toast.

“Looking forward to it.” I put the lid on my coffee and head for the door.

“An apple won’t cut it for breakfast, Randall. You need protein!” Mom calls after me.

“I’ve got bars in my bag. See you at the rink!” I shove my feet into my slides, grab the keys to my Jeep, and bust my ass out the door before my mom tries to sit me down for a seven-course meal. Skating on an overly full stomach isn’t my favorite.

A minute later, I’m pulling out of the driveway and onto the packed-gravel road, stones spitting from beneath my tires. I slow down at the T-intersection, glancing in both directions before I pull onto the main road that leads to town. As I accelerate, a person on a bike comes shooting out of the wooded trail that runs perpendicular to the road. I hit the brakes and the tires squeal, leaving rubber behind me.

My heart is in my throat as I make eye contact with the girl on the bike. She’s wearing a helmet, thank God. Her eyes are wide with shock as she attempts to course correct, and her lips form the word fuck as she turns the handlebars. I’m sure we’re about to collide, but she manages the turn, though she nearly skids out as she avoids slamming into the side of my Jeep.

“The fuck, dude?” She grabs the edge of my door to steady herself. “It’s called a goddamn stop sign for a reason, not a fucking pause-and-keep-on-rolling sign.”

In the brief moment when our faces are less than half a foot apart, I notice a lot of things—the first being that she’s smoking hot, in an unconventional way. Her face is all angles and sharp lines, and her eyes are the color of a stormy sky, but her lips are full and pouty, softening her features, and her chin tapers, giving her face a heart shape. There’s a jagged horizontal scar in the center of her chin, and freckles dot the bridge of her nose. Her long, dark hair is pulled back in a braid that hangs nearly to her waist, and there’s a hockey bag strapped to the back of her bike.

“Your reaction time is incredible,” I say, like an idiot.

“Seriously? You’re lucky I didn’t dent your Jeep, asshole.”

The last thing I should do is smile, but I can’t help it. “Damn. You’re gorgeous, with a sharp tongue, and you play hockey? This is divine intervention. You’re basically the woman of my dreams.”

She looks at me like I have two heads, then purses her lips and pushes off the side of the Jeep. She rounds the hood while firing the bird at the windshield. “I hope you don’t fuck like you drive,” she yells.

As she navigates the steep slope that leads to the trail on the opposite side of the road, her back tire skids on the fresh gravel and she goes down.

“Shit.” I flick on my hazard lights, pull onto the soft shoulder, and hop out of the Jeep. By the time I reach the bumper, she’s already back on her bike, disappearing into the forest. But not before I notice the Boones logo on the back of her shirt. It’s a local bakery that makes the most amazing fried apple fritter rings. Everyone I know is addicted to them, including me.

A skid mark from her tires mars the gravel where she wiped out, and something glints from the wildflowers that line the road. I crouch to get a better look. It’s a hockey skate with MARKS Sharpied on the tongue.

I pick it up and smile. Looks like I’m making a pit stop before I hit the ice.



I make it to Boones with ten minutes to spare, which is good because my elbow is bleeding and so is my knee, and the back of my right thigh has some serious road rash.