Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 113072 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113072 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
“Not a good surgeon,” Butters grumbles. “His Corsi numbers are mediocre at best. We need more players who can drive possession.”
“Aw, come on. The kid’s got instincts. I can feel it in my bones.”
“Your bones said the same thing about that goalie from Saskatchewan last year. And look who was right.”
“Yeah, yeah. You never let me forget that one. But mark my words, Number 4’s going places.”
“Like straight back to the peewee league if he doesn’t improve his zone exits. Look at those turnover numbers!”
My head hurts, and I can’t hear myself think. After the first game, I sneak my noise-canceling earbuds into my ears and scribble away in my notebook. #14, center: Powerful first three strides from standstill. Edges need work. Loses speed on tight turns. Core strength?
I can do this job. I’m good at this job. And if I could only catch a break, people might realize that and be grateful.
Several hours later, though, my hand is cramping from making notes. It’s late, and I’m tired and hungry. ButterScorch, as I’ve taken to thinking of them, left an hour ago already. But they have more job security than I do. So I’ve stayed until the bitter end.
Eventually I shuffle out of the emptying arena and summon an Uber with the corporate card Darcy gave me.
While the car speeds toward the lights of Toronto, my stomach growls. But I’m also burning with curiosity. What happened today when Chase went to the chiropractor?
I pull out my phone to check my messages. There’s a text from Darcy. I’m in the hotel bar! Come find me when you get here. We’re roommates and I have your room key.
On my way now, I reply. Then I follow up with the second most pressing question on my mind. Do they have any food there?
While I wait for an answer, I scroll the rest of the messages on my phone. There’s one from my mother. What’s this video? All the girls at the rink are talking about it. And Bruce called! He needs to hear from you.
My ex called my mother? And she answered? That’s just rude. If I respond, I’ll lose my temper. So I keep scrolling instead.
There’s also a message from an unfamiliar 646 number. And it sounds like a come-on. What kind of champagne is your favorite? Brut? Extra dry?
I scroll past, but then I suddenly remember something Bess said at the rink when I was begging both her and Chase to get him a chiropractic appointment. Honey, I’ll buy you a bottle of expensive champagne if you’re right.
Oh my God. What if I was right?
Bess? What are you trying to say? I text back. But it’s almost ten, and if Chase’s agent has a more interesting life than mine, she probably isn’t staring at her phone right now.
So I hit Darcy’s number instead. It rings, and when she answers, the first thing that comes through the phone is the roar of a bar night in full swing. I hear laughter and testosterone dialed up to eleven. “Zoeeeee!” she shrieks. “It’s really loud here!”
“I’m getting that.”
“What? It’s so loud here! Not sure about the food thing, the kitchen might be closing! Didn’t you eat dinner?”
“No, but it’s fine!”
“Get over here! Everyone is talking about Chase’s pelvis! You fixed him!”
My heart does a triple flip. “Seriously?”
“SERIOUSLY!”
When the Uber pulls up to the Ritz-Carlton fifteen minutes later, a uniformed doorman steps forward. “Good evening, miss. Checking in?”
“Yes, thank you.” I sweep past him as if I’m someone important. As if I’m used to five-star hotels.
Although figure skaters usually stay at the Holiday Inn or the Best Western. It’s never like this. I cross a chic lobby with marble floors and stylish furniture arranged on thick imported rugs. I follow the low hum of voices toward the bar, where it’s easy enough to locate the hockey players. You simply follow the pack of tall, loud guys with deep voices.
The weird thing is that I can tell at a glance that Chase isn’t among them. Even after all this time, just a glance shows me that none of those broad shoulders are his.
But as soon as I walk in, someone lets out a cheer. And then someone else starts a slow clap.
A moment later, the whole bar is applauding. My face is on fire as Eric Tremaine steps forward. “All hail the Pelvis Whisperer! Well done, Coach.”
I let out a snort of laughter. “You’re welcome? Back up, though. What did Chase tell you about his chiropractor visit?”
Weber, the rookie, speaks up. “I heard they needed two guys to hold him down and snap him into place. Bess says he yelled like an angry cat.”
“That sounds… painful.” I flinch. “So I basically sent him for some medieval torture?”
“No, you don’t understand,” Tremaine insists. “He told me that he felt immediate relief when they clicked him back into place.”