Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 129323 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 647(@200wpm)___ 517(@250wpm)___ 431(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129323 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 647(@200wpm)___ 517(@250wpm)___ 431(@300wpm)
It’s time.
I step out of the locker, the last one on my team, as always, and then start to head toward the rink.
The sounds of my skates on the rubber echo in my ear.
It’s been a rough few days, but I’m ready to get back out there.
The feeling I get when I glide across the ice, is what I need right now.
My anticipation builds the closer I get, and when I’m finally at the entrance, I glide onto the ice, the cold air and familiar smells hitting my face.
I skate across the smooth surface, meeting my team where they’re already skating because I’m always the last of us out here.
When I come to a stop, I hear the roar of the crowd.
Cheering.
“Slate!”
“We love you, Slate.”
I glance around to see why the chanting is growing louder.
When I do, the arena erupts in cheers.
A sea of enthusiastic faces, some painted, others holding signs.
Squinting, I try to make out the words, and when I do, my heart pounds in my chest.
Thank You.
You’re not alone, Slate.
We love you, Slate.
We’re with you.
Each person here, reminds me that I’m not alone. That maybe I don’t have the family I was born into, but I do have a home.
I raise my stick, and they cheer louder.
At that, my team huddles around me, and I’ve never been more ready to play.
“For fuck’s sake, ref. You plan to make a fucking call today?” Dane yells out from the penalty box, taking his chances by calling out the ref for the second time in the past few minutes.
“You sure you wanna poke the bear, Sin?”
“I’ll do more than poke if he doesn’t start using his eyes and that fucking worthless whistle of his.”
I chuckle, knowing that Dane is about to lose his shit if this continues, and it will likely result in more stints in the penalty box.
We’re both waiting for our time to be over so we can get back on the ice and end this fucking game. It shouldn’t be this fucking close.
The Bulldogs are assholes, and the refs seem to be blind to it. The cross-checking is out of control, but it appears the only calls today are going to be made on us. Go fucking figure.
“It’s fucking bullshit. They’re getting away with everything.”
I grin over at my friend. “You sound like a whiny bitch.” Normally, Dane Sinclair is more the type to let his anger simmer beneath the surface, but something is up with him today, because he’s letting it all out.
He glares at me before breaking eye contact, shrugging. “Molly’s rubbing off on me.”
I roll my eyes. “You and I both know you whine far more than Molls does.”
“Whose side are you on?”
“Hers. Every time.” I grin. “If not for her, you’d be a bigger asshole.”
He bobs his head. “No question. Fair point.”
My eyes search the bleachers until they land on Cassidy and Molly. They’re chatting about something animatedly, Cassidy’s hands flailing in the air like they do when she gets excited.
My stomach twists, telling me that I’m bothered. I just don’t know why.
Maybe it’s all the eyes on me. Knowing what they know. Feeling their possible judgment.
Or maybe it’s something else entirely.
“Slate, you’re up.”
I fist bump my friend and skate onto the ice, ready to push down this unnerving feeling and get my head in the game. These Bulldogs need to be snapped, and I’m in just the mood to do it.
34
CASSIDY
My throat burns today.
After yesterday’s game, I thought we’d be able to rest.
But Coach wanted everyone at the arena bright and early today.
The team is so close to winning this round, he doesn’t want to take any chances. Which means practice on top of practice.
Which also means despite it only being noon, it’s been a long day.
Hell, it’s been a long week.
I’ve been walking on eggshells over when I’m finally going to talk to him about who I am.
I’ve tried.
Lord, have I tried. But with all the shit being spread around about him, the words have been locked inside me and no matter how hard I try, I can’t say them.
Especially not now. They need to win this round. It’s important. If I tell him now, he could lose the game.
That is something I can’t let happen.
Plus, the truth is Aiden needs me right now.
You’re not ready to lose him.
I’ll talk to Mike, ask him to give me more time. Aiden isn’t in a good place emotionally and winning the Stanley Cup is so important to him. Surely, Mike will agree that now’s not the time.
Chickenshit.
Despite the voice screaming at me to tell him, I don’t.
Instead, I follow him into his place, heart still racing from the game.
We’re just inside the foyer when he stops abruptly, causing me to nearly run into his back. I’m too preoccupied with my own thoughts. I halt, letting go of the door. My hand moves to my heart as the door swings shut with a bang, causing me to jump back and shriek.