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)
I did invite her to the game, though, as I thought it would be good for her to get out. She loves the sport. To my pleasant surprise, she said she’d love to go. I arranged a ticket for her to pick up at Will Call after suggesting she Uber to the arena since I had to leave so much earlier than she did. I even told her we’d go out with the team afterward to The Sneaky Saguaro to have a few beers so she could meet some of the others.
And Regan seemed happy and excited for our plans. Maybe that’s all we need—to get into a regular routine, cement our bonds of friendship while she’s staying in my home, and try to forget about this weird mess of a marriage we’d committed ourselves to. That wasn’t what was important.
The entrance to the player’s parking lot comes into view. I force my thoughts away from Regan. It’s time to start focusing on defeating our opponents tonight. I put my blinker on, but just as I’m starting to turn, I see a crowd of people standing around a truck that’s crashed into some concrete barriers outside the loading dock.
“What the fuck?” I mutter.
As I pull into the closest spot, I notice a few of the players and dock workers standing around. I exit my car, grab my game duffel, and hitch it over my shoulder.
As I approach, I see Baden Oullet, our backup goalie, examining the damage to the front of the truck. “What’s going on?” I ask.
“It’s Tacker’s truck,” he responds, and a chill races down my spine.
“What happened? Where is he?”
Baden nods toward the player’s entrance door. “We were told to enter through the dock area, but he’s right inside there. An ambulance has been called.”
I don’t respond, nor head toward the dock area, turning instead toward the player’s entrance and marching with resolve.
Throwing the door open, I immediately see Tacker sitting on the floor, propped against the cinderblock wall. Legend and Erik are standing off to the side with their heads angled in toward one another, talking in hushed voices. Bishop is squatted next to Tacker, who is staring ahead with a blank expression on his face. There’s a rivulet of blood running down his face, his wrist cradled against his chest.
“What the hell happened?” I demand.
Tacker doesn’t even acknowledge me, but Bishop rises from the floor with a grave expression. He starts walking down the hall, away from Tacker, and I follow.
When we reach the end, Bishop stops at the locker room door, turning to me. He’s my closest friend on the team. We were roommates and played together with the Vipers prior to coming here. Of course, that all changed since he got engaged to Brooke, but I couldn’t be happier for the guy.
Bishop leans in toward me, keeping his voice low so it doesn’t carry to Tacker. “Legend, Erik, and I were in the parking lot when it happened. Tacker pulled in, driving crazy. He fucking gunned his engine, didn’t slow down, and headed straight for that barrier.”
“Was it deliberate?” I ask, hoping Bishop isn’t implying what I think he is.
“I think so,” he murmurs. “And he’s fucking drunk off his ass.”
“Shit,” I mutter, casting a quick glance down the hall. Tacker hasn’t moved. Erik is now sitting on the floor next to him. “How bad is he hurt?”
“I don’t know. He was able to walk. Something’s wrong with his wrist, but no clue about internal injuries. We had no choice but to call an ambulance.”
“Agreed,” I say with a clap to his shoulder. “Does Coach know yet?”
“I sent Demere to go find him right before you walked in.”
I grimace at Tacker. “He’s in so much fucking trouble.”
“He’s going to be arrested.”
Dropping my duffel to the ground, I ask the question that needs to be asked. No one is all that close to Tacker, but Bishop probably spends the most time with him. “Is he too far gone, dude?”
Scrubbing his hand over his face, Bishop lets out a sigh. “Fuck if I know. He asked me a few minutes ago how people could live with themselves knowing they killed someone. Apparently, it was MJ’s birthday today.”
MJ would be Tacker’s fiancée who was killed in a plane crash last year. There had been something wrong with the plane. Tacker was the pilot. It wasn’t his fault, but no one can tell him that. He’s been one quiet, moody, and disturbed son of a bitch since he started with this team. No one can seem to reach him or get him to open up. While he’s probably the best player in the league out on the ice, he has no camaraderie with anybody on the team. He’ll talk the mechanics of hockey with us all day long while on the ice, and he’ll be a supportive captain to his team. But outside of this arena, he’s pretty much closed off.