Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 83355 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83355 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Following are sweet messages from Mom, Dad and Jenny wishing me a great day, Lucas sends a GIF of a hockey player getting in a fight, then slipping on the ice, and Mike merely says, Call me later. I might be able to come to Pittsburgh next month.
I heart all the messages, even Lucas’s, and spring from the couch. I turn off the TV and pocket my phone. My gear bag is already packed and by the door.
My lazy morning included sleeping in, a hearty breakfast of eggs and bacon, playing a little PS5, and bantering with the Kingston crew. It’s a bright, crisp fall day in Pittsburgh as I head to the garage where my brand-new Porsche Macan sits waiting for me to make the short drive to the arena. I’m five weeks into the regular season with my new Titans teammates and I’m looking forward to the light practice we have today since we’re between home games. Tomorrow we play the Carolina Cold Fury, a powerhouse in the league.
When I got traded from the Houston Jam to Pittsburgh, I can’t say I was overly disappointed. The owner, Brienne Norcross, and general manager, Callum Derringer, are making an obvious bid for the championship this year, as evidenced by the quality trades they made over the summer. I was proud to be included in an elite list, headlined by the acquisition of Penn Navarro in a sweet one-hundred-million-dollar, eight-year deal.
It’s deserved too, as he’s hands down the best player in the league. The fact I was considered good enough to be on his line—his first line of defense—made the trade all that more surreal.
Now I’m a Pittsburgh resident, making great new friends within the walls of the arena and I even own my first abode. The Porsche was a ridiculous indulgence—I just couldn’t help myself. Besides, it feels like I’ve truly made it in the big leagues now and it came from a lot of hard work and perseverance.
The drive to the arena through North Shore, where a lot of the players live, takes about ten minutes at this midmorning hour. I’m a bit early in the locker room and only a handful of the guys have arrived, so I kill some time shooting the shit.
This team is an interesting mix, a collective pool of second-chance stories built after a plane crash that killed the original Titans players and staff over a year and a half ago. Today’s Titans are men called up from the minors, while others came out of retirement or are guys who were traded by their teams because room had to be made for better players.
The plane crash that devastated the Titans will always be a painful memory, but it also forged an unbreakable bond between those who remained and those who joined in the aftermath. The crash took so much, but it also gave them a new purpose. They’ve rebuilt, stronger and more determined than ever.
Somehow, it has all worked out and just a season and a half in, the Pittsburgh Titans made the playoffs last year. It was my third year with the Jam and while we had the talent to go places, we didn’t make the playoffs. I watched the games and cheered for this ragtag bunch who were starting to make a name for themselves through sheer grit and a desire to prove everyone wrong. I truly felt awful when their run came to an end and just a few months later, I found myself wearing the purple and silver jersey.
I felt like I’d been given a gift with this trade and I don’t intend to waste it.
“Your Highness,” I hear from across the locker room and see Foster walking toward me, his gear bag slung over his shoulders. He’s taken to calling me that rather than King, and I let him have his small amusements.
My eyes roam over him critically, looking for any signs of distress. The man’s been through the ringer the past few months because of his crazy ex-wife, Sandra. He returned from our away game in Toronto to find out she’d tried to kidnap their daughter, Bowie Jane, of whom she’d lost custody over the summer. Foster’s girlfriend, Mazzy, wasn’t having any of that though and although she took a punch to the face from Sandra, she managed to keep Bowie Jane safe.
Since then, he’s been sticking close to home. Other than during last night’s game against the Eagles, I haven’t been able to really talk to him past getting the basic details.
He gives me an easy smile… a promising sign.
“All good?” I ask as he drops his bag onto the bench. His locker is two down from mine.
“Yeah,” he sighs, brushing a hand through his hair. “Bowie Jane is fine, Mazzy is the most perfect woman in the world and Sandra is blowing in the wind.”