Total pages in book: 167
Estimated words: 164557 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 823(@200wpm)___ 658(@250wpm)___ 549(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 164557 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 823(@200wpm)___ 658(@250wpm)___ 549(@300wpm)
Things won’t be the same after this.
I sit on the bench, slowly taping my stick, trying not to think too much. Beside me, Ryder is shaking out his shoulders like he’s already preparing for the game. He’ll be headed down to Dallas with the wife this summer. Going pro. Winning a Stanley Cup or two.
“What?” he says when he catches me staring at him.
I smirk. “Just thinking how I’m gonna miss your grumpy ass after you move.”
His eyes soften a little. “It’s weird, isn’t it? Possibly the last game with the team. Last few weeks at Briar.”
“Yeah,” I say. I’m trying to shrug it off, but it’s hitting me harder than I thought it would. I’m feeling the weight of it. The inevitable goodbyes. Soon, this team, my teammates…it’ll be just a memory.
Before the melancholy can take root, Shane strolls over, tapping his stick against the floor in a lazy rhythm. He’s also NHL-bound, heading to Chicago. Far as I know, Diana’s going with him.
“Look at you two, getting all sappy,” he drawls. “It’s adorable. Do you want me to film you guys braiding each other’s hair for an online tutorial?”
“I hope Chicago is ready for your smart-ass remarks,” I say.
Ryder snorts. “Either that, or his new teammates sign a petition to get him traded.”
I glance at Will, who’s taping his stick, focused, in the zone.
He still hasn’t decided what he’s doing after graduation. Neither have I. The uncertainty feels like a dark cloud hanging over me. It’s like everyone’s moving on, and I don’t know where I fit anymore.
My attention is diverted when Coach Jensen stalks in, tailed by his assistant coaches. He stands at the head of the room, arms folded over his bulky chest, shaking his head like he’s dealing with a bunch of toddlers when nobody has even said a word.
“Colson,” he snaps. “If I see you miss any checks tonight like you did last weekend, I’ll check you myself. Kansas Kid, don’t sass the refs again, or I’ll sass your fucking face.”
“What does that mean?” Patrick asks in confusion.
But Coach has already moved on. “Dunne, I need you on their winger—that goddamn nuisance, number fifty-five—all goddamn night. Focus on keeping the puck away from his grubby hands, not on your pretty-boy looks.”
“I’m offended by that,” I call from my perch on the bench. “I don’t even own a mirror.”
He ignores me. “Ryder, watch out for Palicki. He’ll be breathing down your neck all night.”
With that, Jensen turns to speak to his assistants.
“Was that our championship tournament pep talk?” Shane says with a sigh.
“I feel like Coach needs to take classes on how to be a nice human,” remarks one of our freshmen.
“I’m still in the room, Abrams,” Jensen growls from the door.
“Hey, Coach Hollis,” Shane calls out. “Why don’t you give the pep talk?”
Our assistant coach turns toward our side of the room with a dark scowl. “Oh, now I’m worthy of you?”
I swallow a laugh. Here we go. I’d kill to spend five minutes in that man’s brain.
“I heard about you joining Dad Chat,” Hollis says, glaring daggers at us. “And I don’t take betrayal lightly.”
“If it helps, we were removed from the chat,” I tell him.
“No, sir. It does not.” Hollis proceeds to shatter everyone’s eardrums by blowing his whistle. In the fucking locker room. “I will offer no pep until I receive an apology letter in my mailbox.”
“Mailbox? What century does he live in?” Shane murmurs to me, and I choke on my laughter.
We finish getting dressed, the anticipation once again building in the room. By the time we’re in uniform, every single one of us is wired and ready to murder our opponents.
Just as I’m about to head to the tunnel, my phone vibrates in my locker. I almost ignore the alert, but something makes me check it.
Figuring it won’t matter if I’m one minute late for warm-ups, I slide my gloves off and grab my phone, then freeze when I read the email on the screen.
It’s a job offer.
From an ocean conservation organization. In Sydney.
I skim the email, my pulse racing when I see the words salaried position. This is an actual position. Not an internship, not some part-time thing. A full-time, real job. The kind of job I’ve always been dreaming about. Actual fieldwork.
“Dunne,” a sharp voice says from the door. It’s Coach. “Get your ass out there and join your team.”
“Sorry, Coach. Coming.”
“Now.”
I shove the phone back in my locker and scramble for the tunnel.
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
CHARLOTTE
How often does it rain in Sydney?
THE PILE OF ACCEPTANCE LETTERS SITS ON MY DESK, STARING AT ME IN accusation. Daring me to make this massive decision I’m nowhere near ready to make. All the programs are phenomenal, but I can’t decide which path to follow. The pressure to make the right choice is so intense, a part of me wants to just run away from it all.