Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 100818 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100818 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
Like soft-core porn is the first thought that comes to my mind, but I don’t think it’s what he wants to hear. When I don’t answer right away, he barrels on.
“This whole thing makes it look like you’re not serious about your rehab at all, or your teammates, for that matter, or my goddamn orders.”
“I’ve been working my ass off.”
“Based on this, it looks like you’ve been doing a hell of a lot more than that.” Alex pinches the bridge of his nose. “Rehab with Stevie is done.”
“But—”
“There are no buts, Bishop. We laid out the rules, and you shat all over them.”
“I did follow your orders until last night.”
He gives me a look that tells me he thinks I’m full of shit. “If there was something going on, you should’ve been forthcoming, but you weren’t.”
“I would’ve told you if I’d had the chance, but that wasn’t really possible, now, was it?” Although, to be fair, I planned to change things last night, regardless. I should’ve told Alex about the event either way, but I hadn’t considered how it would look, which is really damn bad.
“Are you seriously lipping off to me, Winslow?”
“I’m trying to explain. I worked my ass off with Stevie. We spent a ton of time together over the past two months, and until last night I kept my end of the bargain. I was hands off and focused. She’s the reason I’m back on the ice.”
“Which means you don’t need her for PT anymore. If she actually worked for the team, she’d be out of a damn job for this. I need you to see the team physiotherapist, and then you can head home.”
“What about practice?”
“I think you need to do me a favor and give your team captain some time to settle down.”
“Let me get this straight. I’m being sent home because Rook is in a mood?”
“You’re being sent home because I need to set an example. You went against a direct order, and you didn’t come to me when you should have. This could’ve been avoided. PT and then home. Understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
I don’t ask any more questions because I don’t want to make things worse.
I get to play the following night, but I can’t say that’s a good thing. My head is all over the place, and Rook is pissed at me, which means everyone is tense. Add to that missing out on practice yesterday, and my on-ice performance is less than awesome. I’m also tight as hell from not having Stevie forcing extra PT on me.
To make a shit night even shittier, I haven’t seen or heard from Stevie since she sent me home yesterday morning. I don’t know what the protocol is. She wants space, so does that mean I should leave her alone entirely? Do I send her flowers? A pizza? Do I knock on her door and ask her if she’s ready to talk? Or do I let the dust settle and wait for her to come to me?
It’s late by the time I get home from the game. I stand in the middle of the foyer, breathing in the excessively fragrant flowers sitting on the glass-topped table, considering whether I should knock on her door. I don’t want to cause myself more problems with my team, and I don’t want to push Stevie to talk about this before she’s ready, so I leave it alone, even though I don’t want to.
The next morning we leave for a short series of away games. We’re playing in Nashville, Tennessee. Being in my home state is something I usually get excited for. It means I’ll invariably run into old friends from college, but I’m not looking forward to having to explain the viral video.
My go-to defense is generally to avoid commenting when stuff crops up on social media. It’s what I’ve always done with the women who’ve posted pictures of me after they’ve slept with my brother. But I’ve never had anything spread so far or wide this fast, so ultimately I’m avoiding doing anything because I honestly don’t know where Stevie and I stand, since she’s not talking to me.
I don’t want to corroborate what she said to Rook about it being on her, but I also don’t want to say we’re dating if we’re not. It’s a fucking mess. Until we have a conversation, I’ve decided to keep my damn mouth shut. Lord knows when I open it up and say the things I want to, I usually cause an assload of problems for myself.
Kingston and I are sharing a room, as we usually do, but he’s been off with me since the viral video happened. He drops his suitcase on the bed, unzips it, and starts putting his stuff away. Kingston functions on routine. He turns on the steamer he always packs so he can rid his clothes of wrinkles before he hangs them in the closet.