Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 79850 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79850 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
“And I’m assuming somewhere in that story you’re going to tell me you fell for her,” my mom cuts in, urging me to get to the point. “Because I can hear that in your voice, Bishop, and if you’re not falling for her, then this whole thing is beyond stupid.”
“I like her.” That’s all I’m willing to say out loud to my mother. “I just wanted you to know there’s a woman I’d like you to meet when you come, and our history is really complicated and involves deception, and you need to know that. I’m still going to be perpetrating a pretty big lie.”
“How you met and the length of time you dated is the lie,” she corrects me. “The way you feel now isn’t.”
“Something like that,” I say vaguely. I can’t get into it too deeply on the phone with my mom right now. I’m still trying to figure out these feelings myself, and besides that, I have a game to start prepping for. “I’ve got to go, Mom. Talk soon, okay?”
“Okay, honey. I understand,” she says softly. “I love you. Kick some ass tonight, but we should talk about this more.”
“Love you too, and we will.”
All I’m thinking about is Brooke when I walk into the arena. It’s two and a half hours before the game is set to start and I’ve given up wondering and worrying about why she occupies so much of my thoughts. I wasn’t exactly being truthful to Brooke yesterday when I said she made me lose focus. It’s more like I choose to give most of my focus to her, so some other things might suffer a bit.
I don’t think, however, that includes my ability to play world-class hockey, because here’s where it really gets interesting. It’s like Brooke gives me more motivation to do even better than the incredibly high expectations I already put on myself. So if my focus is on her, and in turn knowing she’s going to be in the stands watching me tonight is making me a better player, I’m going to fucking roll with it for now.
The players’ parking was only about half full. Some players get here earlier than me, some a little later. Within half an hour, though, everyone will be here engaging in their own personal pregame rituals.
Mine is always the same.
I head to the locker room and change out of my suit into workout gear—shorts, T-shirt, and sneakers. It’s management’s policy that all players dress in suits on game day. Doesn’t matter that we only may be in those suits for less than an hour—we are to look professional when we walk in and out of the arena.
I take a quick look at my equipment, which has been worked on by equipment staff. I make sure my skates are sharp and my sticks are freshly taped. I like at least three spares for the trainers to bring to the bench before the game starts.
After that, I actually grab a cup of coffee from the player’s lounge where I’ll spend ten to fifteen minutes just relaxing by watching TV or chatting with some of the other players.
Then it’s off to the trainers’ room to work on nagging injuries. This is a frequent occurrence—sore hamstrings, groins, hip flexors, or all of the above. As a professional athlete, I have pain a good chunk of the time. Today it’s actually my lower back, and one of the trainers treats me with some hot packs followed by electrical stimulation.
I’m in the training room for about thirty minutes, and when I’m released, I head over to the workout facility to continue my warm-up. I prefer the bikes, and they are set up against the glass walls overlooking the Phoenix skyline. Sunset’s not for about an hour and a half yet, and the late afternoon sun has the mountains behind the city blazing with color.
There’s only one bike in use and I recognize Tacker’s hulking frame as he pedals slowly while staring out the glass. As I approach, I’m surprised to see he doesn’t have any earbuds in, but in retrospect, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him listen to music when he’s working out. That is definitely strange. I know no player who isn’t connected to his music in some way. Most people who work out listen to music, and let’s face it, we work out a lot. Many of us have certain music-listening rituals in fact.
I take the bike right next to Tacker, who looks over at me when I come into his peripheral vision.
“What’s up, man?” I say as I adjust the seat.
“Not much,” he says as he pedals, back straightening slightly. He rests his palms on his thighs and chugs along. “You all good?”
“Feeling real good,” I tell him, much of that due to my general exuberance over Brooke in my life. But my body’s in great shape and feeling awesome as well. I don’t tell him this, though, because Tacker is the absolute last person on this team I’d ever discuss my love life with.