Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 55599 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 278(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55599 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 278(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
When I go back downstairs, Dad is sitting in his office, clicking away on his computer. I see the reflection in his reading glasses. Though the screen faces him, I see him close the window, glasses going dark.
“Can I borrow the car?” I ask. “I need to pick Chrissy up from a party.”
He lets out a sigh of relief. He thought I was going to ask about those scary and dangerous-looking men.
CHAPTER TEN
Logan
“It doesn’t matter if we won the goddamn game!” Coach Tremblay yells down the phone at me. His furious voice bounces around the interior of my rental car. With each step along the way, the flight, the car, driving here, to the end of Emma’s street, I’ve become more certain.
I’m listening to my feelings, not my logic. I promised myself I couldn’t do that, but this is more than a feeling. It’s like being back at that fire with my woman, covered in heat and filled with intent.
“Logan,” he snaps. “I need some information. Maybe we can make this work for a couple of weeks, but you know the games we’ve got coming up. Real hitters. Real scorers. I need your reflexes.”
I mentally go over the game schedule in my mind. It’s amazing that I didn’t do this during the flight, but somehow, I forced myself to fall asleep. It was only because I knew it would bring me closer to my woman sooner, or what felt like sooner, anyway.
“Yeah, you will.” I sigh darkly. “Listen, Coach. Give me two weeks. Then I’ll be home. I’ll be sharp, but I must take care of this.”
“Can’t you tell me anything else, son?” Coach Tremblay says. “You’ve never missed a single game, bar injuries. You’ve never walked out. You’re a quiet, hard worker. You’ve never let the fame go to your head. You’ve always just focused on the game.”
Pride rises in me, almost like I’m that little boy again, making patterns in the ice with my blades, driving my muscles to complete exhaustion. Then, finally, I could sleep. “I can’t tell you anything,” I say, “except that I need to be here.”
“The press is already asking questions,” Coach grumbles. “What am I supposed to tell them?”
I close my eyes for a moment. I’ve pulled at the end of her dead-end street. I know the address because I sent Michael some pucks last month. Few cars pass this time of night. The sun has set, and the air is cool, but it’s still far, far warmer than I’m used to this time of year.
“Tell them I’m handling a personal matter.”
“That will raise more questions.”
“Tell them anything, Coach. I don’t give a damn what they think. This is bigger than the press.”
He grunts. “Get back here as soon as you can. We need you.”
I hang up the phone, drumming my fingers against the dashboard. I came here in a rush, so intent on being close to my woman, my child. Now, I don’t know how to make that happen.
What will I do, knock on the door and say, Bonjour, Michel?
I lean forward when I see the car driving past me. She’s so intent on the road she doesn’t spot me. She probably assumes I’m a parked car, but I see her—my Emma. I almost smash the window of my car to get to her. She’s got that concerned flush in her cheeks as she drives away.
Am I really going to follow a woman? Apparently, I’m a stalker now. I came here to see her. I’m going to see her. Starting the engine, I pull onto the road, driving until she reaches the highway. The mechanics of following somebody are surprisingly easy. I keep my distance and watch. I’m not overly cautious or overly reckless. It’s almost like defending a player.
She drives out to the college, then a neighborhood next to it. We’ve been driving for about forty minutes. When she pulls up to the party house, something in my stomach drops with a dull thud. It’s like all the hope drains out of me. It’s another new, strange feeling.
Lights flash inside all the windows in the house. I hear the music from the end of the street where I’m parked. Young men and women dance and drink on the front lawn. Suddenly, I see myself for what I am—an almost forty-year-old man stalking a nineteen-year-old woman who just wants to have some fun.
So why did she tell me she was pregnant? Was that revenge for me leaving her on the balcony? She walks up the lane, disappearing into the crowd. I should drive away. I’m torturing myself. The team needs me. The coach needs me. I’ve made a goddamn fool out of myself.
I flew for five hours to be here to be with the so-called mother of my child. Chuck’s voice is in my head: Told ya, buddy. They all want their piece of flesh. On the lawn, two people kiss and fall onto the grass. People cheer and throw beer over them. It’s disgusting. I feel truly old, older than I am, ancient. I feel like running onto that lawn and telling them all to have some fucking self-respect.