Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 86537 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86537 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
I could almost imagine him as a college athlete—young, hopeful, and ready to take on a new sport in a new country. Now, he was a little jaded, a little cynical, and much less likely to put himself in uncomfortable situations.
He hadn’t alluded to it, but something life-altering must have happened in the past eighteen years. Maybe he’d fallen in love, had his heart broken, or perhaps there’d been strife within his family. At first, I’d thought it had something to do with Freya, but that wasn’t it. Glimpses of a jolly man with a heart of a gold shone through his rough exterior more often these days. If it was his intention to hide his amiable nature, he was losing the battle.
Look at him now, hurling a football with his peers for a laugh. No serious agenda, no high stakes…just fun. For someone who’d been reluctant to join the team, Viggo seemed perfectly comfortable in the mix of loggers. Like he belonged here.
The game was terrible.
Elmwood’s hockey jocks kicked the sawdust out of Wood Hollow’s loggers—pun intended. 42-7. There were no highlights, only a series of unfortunate events. I sat with Reg and Gretchen behind Troy and did my best to pump up the beleaguered lumberjacks. All the enthusiasm in the world didn’t help with dropped passes, slow running, or the very real fact that Elmwood was simply in better shape.
They had a bit of an advantage. In spite of the fact that they were ten-plus years older than our guys on average, Riley Thoreau, Vinnie Kiminski, Court Henderson, and Smitty Paluchek were former pro hockey players who ran the Juniors camp and coached year round. It was basically their job to stay fit. Sure, Elmwood had a few less physically imposing team members, but that didn’t quite even things out.
Viggo growled as his last flag was ripped from his belt, his face red with exertion and frustration. He hobbled over to the sideline and gulped water like a man who’d been stranded in the Sahara for a month.
Troy patted his shoulder. “Good game out there, Big V.”
“That was good?”
“You scored, man. At least we’re on the board.” Troy resumed cheerleader-slash-coaching duties, pumping up the remaining players with “You’ve got this!” and “Let’s go!”
They didn’t have it, and honestly, it was a relief when the final whistle blew.
“Ouch,” Reg commented. “That hurt. And Elmwood only had a couple of their big guys out there.”
“They’re tough to beat.”
“The hockey boys are, anyway,” Reg groused. “But I think Big V helped us out there. Troy’s right. We wouldn’t have scored at all if he hadn’t bullied his way into the end zone.”
I hummed in agreement, my gaze fixed on Viggo’s broad back. “True. I’m glad he’s here.”
Viggo turned just then with a scowl that turned into a lopsided smile, and damn it, my heart flipped in my chest.
I coughed, averting my eyes before I got caught blushing. If Reg noticed, he was kind enough to let it slide.
He hugged Gretchen to his side. “We’re gonna head over to Elmwood and catch Rhys’s game. If I leave now, I’ll be on time. You sure you don’t mind waiting for Jess? Or…Gretch could come with me to watch her brother play.”
“Mom wants girl time with me,” Gretchen replied. “She said so, and she texted me that she’s only five minutes away. I can stay with Dex. Right, Dex?”
“Right.”
Reg kissed his daughter’s forehead. “Okay. See you later, pumpkin. Thanks, Dex.”
I gave him a thumbs-up and nodded at a few friendly locals who’d come to support the mill’s team.
The sun was scorching in the midday sky, giving everyone a wilted look. I pulled my ball cap off and wiped my brow as I scanned the emptying field where Viggo, Lyle, and Beau were gathering their belongings. Viggo hiked his bag on his shoulder and loped toward us.
“Tough game.”
He grunted. “Very.”
I twisted my lips in a sympathetic gesture. “Have you met Gretchen?”
Viggo squinted. “I don’t think so, but I’ve seen you in town.”
“You’re Thor,” she said matter-of-factly.
“Or Viggo. Where’s your cape?”
Gretchen held up a ball of black fabric. “It’s too hot. It was making me sweat.”
“I never sweat,” he boasted, turning to shake moisture from his hair like a dog.
Gretchen yelped and giggled. “Ew! You’re super sweaty!”
“Well, I was running and running, and what can you do?”
“It’s why I don’t like sports.” She scrunched her nose. “I also don’t like the costumes. Everything is itchy. Plus, I’m terrible.”
“Uniform, not costumes,” I corrected. “And you’re not terrible.”
Viggo set his hands on his hips. “If you’re terrible, I’m terrible, too. But not always. Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose. That’s life.”
“Are you sad that you lost today?” she asked.
“Not too sad. And I’ll feel better after I get some ice cream. Something ordinary like chocolate—no jalapeños, please.”
Gretchen chortled. “No one puts jalapeños in ice cream. That would be so gross.”