Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 80932 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80932 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
Tacker shrugs and turns away from us, walking into his small efficiency kitchen. He opens the refrigerator and pulls out a bottle of water, closing it without offering us anything. He untwists the cap, takes a sip, and then says, “Everyone just needs to go on like we did before. I will be a professional out on the ice. Won’t be anybody’s fucking friend off the ice.”
Bishop shakes his head and snaps, “You see, that right there probably isn’t going to work, Tacker.”
I blink in surprise at my friend for the anger in his tone. Everyone always treats Tacker with kid gloves, but I’m thinking they’ve just been pulled off.
Bishop continues, “You see, I want to win the fucking Cup. In order to do that, everybody on this team has to be playing at their maximum. You have to give forth every effort. And you have to rely on your teammates to do the same. That involves a certain amount of trust. And if you can’t open yourself up to the men on this team who would probably lay down their lives for you if asked, it’s not going to fucking work. So I suggest you get your head out of your ass and figure out how to not only be a professional hockey player, but also how to be a comrade to the rest of your teammates. It’s time to move the fuck on, Tacker. Figure it out.”
And with that, Bishop pivots on his foot and storms out the door.
I stare after him a moment before turning to Tacker warily. The expression on his face is stunned, and there’s a tiny bit of red in his cheeks. His attention comes to me slowly, and he sort of shrugs. “I guess I just got fucking put in my place, didn’t I?”
“Appears so,” I reply.
I turn to leave, but Tacker’s hand on my shoulder stops me. Turning around, I look at him questioningly.
“I have an appointment with a counselor tomorrow. Tell Regan, okay?”
It’s a chore to keep my lips from crawling into a smile, because Tacker just gave me a gift. He opened himself up without prodding or pushing. He volunteered personal information that could have invited a lot of feedback from me. He put himself out there.
It’s a start.
I smile at him. “You got it, buddy.”
CHAPTER 26
Dax
Jesus Christ.
I’m hot under the collar. And I mean that literally.
I tug at the knot on my tie as I walk up the porch steps to my condo, thinking it feels just a little too tight. I’m wearing one of my best suits, and I have never remembered it feeling so uncomfortable. I’m thinking it has something to do with the fact I’m walking up to my own home getting ready to pick my wife up and take her out on a Valentine’s Day date.
I hit the top of the porch, stopping to appraise myself. A dozen red roses clutched in one hand and a black jewelry box in the other. Fancy restaurant reservations have been made, and I even preordered a bottle of the most expensive champagne to be waiting at the table for us. I’d told Regan I wanted to come pick her up like a real date even though we live together. So I had everything prearranged and planned except for the roses I’d needed to pick up for her. While she was in the shower, I put on my best suit and jetted out of the house, calling out I’d be back in about half an hour.
Earlier today, I spent a torturous two hours with Bishop, Erik, and Legend as we all went out shopping for gifts for our honeys on Valentine’s Day. I imagine we’d looked lost and out of our elements.
Over the past six months, we have methodically fallen for a woman. All four of us were previously irrepressible, confirmed bachelors and never once considered buying a Valentine’s Day gift for the female persuasion. We finally ended up at a jewelry store where a kind, matronly woman who had been in the jewelry business for thirty-five years—or so she said—helped us each pick out what she deemed to be the perfect gift.
This came after we each tried to outdo one another, which meant we kept finding ridiculously more expensive pieces of jewelry to buy. I just about had my mind made up on a twenty-thousand-dollar bracelet when the clerk showed me a stunningly simple yet elegant necklace with a diamond pendant hanging from it. It was significantly cheaper than the bracelet, but that had nothing to do with my decision.
I’d just known Regan would love it. She’s not into flashy, ostentatious bracelets, but this necklace was understated elegance. It’s exactly how I would describe Regan.
As for right now, I should just walk in my own house and call out Regan’s name to see if she’s ready. Instead, I ring the doorbell as if I were picking her up for a first date and about to meet her father. It takes her a few minutes to open the door, but the wait is so worth it.