Total pages in book: 144
Estimated words: 136296 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 681(@200wpm)___ 545(@250wpm)___ 454(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136296 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 681(@200wpm)___ 545(@250wpm)___ 454(@300wpm)
“Maybe. Send me the address.”
I’ve been off the party scene for weeks now. But after this shitshow of a day, I might need to unwind with a lot of beer. Or shots.
The freshman, whose last name is Frenchie, sends me the details. I tell the guys I might see them later, then hit the showers, passing Kody on his way out.
He bumps his fist against mine. “See you back at home.”
“Sounds good.”
I take my sweet time in the shower and getting dressed. As expected, my dad is waiting for me outside the locker room. He’s chatting with a couple of the younger players, and when he sees me, he lifts his hand in a wave.
They shake his hand and head for the door, glancing over their shoulders as my dad strolls toward me, one of his eyebrows quirked. I’m a carbon copy of him. Same build, same height, same hair, same everything—apart from the bump in his nose where it was broken more than once in his earlier years, and the fact that he’s an infinitely better hockey player than I’ll ever be.
“I didn’t realize you were coming tonight.” My shoulders are already tight, bracing for what’s to come.
“I had a dinner meeting in the city with one of Aunt Sunny’s clients, and I figured I’d check out the second half of the game.” He pulls me in for a back-pat hug.
Aunt Sunny works for a nonprofit organization that helps kids with terminal cancer meet their favorite hockey players. It’s awesome, but also tragic. They’ll never experience a broken heart before theirs gives out on them.
Dad and I make small talk on the way to his truck. “You drive here?” he asks.
“I got a ride in.”
“Want to grab a beer?”
“Maybe a coffee would be better. I have an exam I need to study for when I get home.” It’s not a lie, although I don’t plan to study tonight. And this is my way of cutting this visit as short as possible.
“Coffee it is, then.” My dad’s truck beeps, and I toss my backpack in the back seat, then climb into the passenger seat and buckle up.
“You want to tell me what happened out there tonight?” he asks as he slides the key into the ignition.
I knead the back of my neck. “I don’t know. Just played like garbage, I guess.”
He glances over at me. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah. Just . . . exams and games are a lot to juggle. I don’t want to shit the bed.”
“Your grades are okay, though?”
“Yeah. They’re up.”
“Okay. That’s good. One more semester and you’ve got a degree under your belt, and I have a feeling you’ll get called up. Just keep your eye on the goal. You’re almost there.”
“What if Nashville decides they don’t want me?” I give voice to the fears that plague me after games like this.
“There’s another team that wants you if Nashville doesn’t.” He says this with such conviction, as if it’s a given.
“But what if there isn’t?”
“There will be. Trust me. The scouts are talking. That’s all I can tell you, though.” He pulls into the drive-thru of an independently owned coffee shop and rolls down the window. He gets a black coffee, and I get one of their latte things that are full of sugar and caffeine.
I wait until he pulls ahead before I say, “What if I don’t want to get called up?”
A crease forms between his eyes. “You’ve been working your entire life for this, Maverick. Why would you want to walk away now? What’s going on? I’m worried about you, son. This isn’t like you.”
I lift my hat and run my hand through my hair before replacing it, adjusting the brim. “I know. I’m being stupid. Tonight, I played like a rookie, and it put me in a shit headspace. I’ll be fine next game.”
He squeezes my shoulder. “You will. It’s normal to have doubts after a rough game. We all have them. I had lots of bad games. And I got lots of penalties when I was a rookie and playing with my emotions and not my skill set. I don’t ever expect you to be perfect. You know that, right?”
“Yeah, Dad, I know. Thanks for the pep talk.” But part of me wonders if I’m so focused on hockey because it’s the one thing he and I have in common, and I don’t want to give that up.
We pull around to the window, and my dad pays for the coffees before the college-aged girl passes them over. Once we’re back on the road, my dad says, “You know I’m always here if you need to talk.”
“Yeah, I know. I appreciate it.” But telling my dad what’s going on in my head isn’t something I can do.
“How’s everything else? You dating anyone new?”
I shake my head and take a sip of my overly sweet coffee. “Nah. Gonna focus on exams and getting through to the holidays. Doesn’t make sense to get involved with someone when I don’t have the time for it.”