Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 92180 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92180 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Inside the party, I search for Baden. While I know other guys from having been in the league for so long, Baden and I actually played together on the Wolves before he went to Arizona. I was the primary goalie and he was the backup, and we were tight. While I hated to see him go in the expansion draft, he blossomed in Arizona and became one of the best goalies in the league.
Until his injury, that is.
Now he’s a coach here in Pittsburgh, and we’ve come full circle. Except we’re not teammates anymore. He’s technically my boss, and I’m cool with that.
A bar sits in a spacious area to the right as soon as I walk in. It’s filled with antique furniture and what I’m sure are priceless works of art. I grab a beer and meander through the crowd.
Some might think it would be awkward to be back in an industry that totally betrayed me, but it wasn’t the players who did that. It was the owners of the team I played for—the Wolves—and after they released me, it was the owners and general managers who wouldn’t even look at me.
The players never turned on me, and those who were my friends stayed true. Those who were merely acquaintances listened to those who knew me, and their support came my way. It was probably the only thing that kept me sane during this last year—messages of support from players I barely knew on other teams.
I stop and have small conversations. Some of the guys who came up from the minors approach to introduce themselves. I’ve got a gift for remembering faces and names, so tomorrow when I step out on the ice, I’ll have a good head start on identifying my new teammates.
Someone taps me on the shoulder and I turn to see Baden wearing a big fucking grin. We clasp hands but can’t go so far as to clap each other on the back in a classic bro hug as we’re both clutching beers.
“Dude… you don’t know how fucking stoked we are that you’re here,” he says.
This isn’t a surprise to him. He’s the first person I called after my agent accepted the Titans’ offer. Baden has kept in touch and even helped me find a place here in Pittsburgh over the last few weeks.
“You settled in?” he asks.
“Mostly. I came by myself on the bike and met the movers day before yesterday. Kiera’s coming with the boys in a few weeks. She’s got to get some things settled at work.”
“So glad she’s going to be here to help out.”
“You and me both.”
Baden tips his head toward a hall. “Come downstairs. I’m in the game room with the gang.”
“The gang?” Last thing I want to do is hang out with the coaches or the administration. That’s what Baden is now, and while it’s different with him since we used to play together, I’m staying far away from anyone in management. It’s a line I don’t cross because I’ve been brutally betrayed by those who aren’t teammates.
I may have accepted Brienne’s apology for her ill-conceived comments about my ability to care for my kids, but I don’t trust her or anyone in management.
Baden, obviously, is the exception.
“The gang,” he repeats. “Gage and Stone, their girls, and mine, of course. I really want you to meet Sophie. You just missed Coen and his girlfriend, Tillie, but you’ll meet him tomorrow at training camp.”
“I’ve met him before. Cool dude. Assuming he got his head out of his ass?”
Baden barks with laughter. “Yeah, he did. Mainly because of Tillie. She’s a good influence. It’s new with them though, so I think that’s why they didn’t hang around too long.” He winks, but I don’t need the prompt. I get exactly what he’s saying.
I hear a woman’s voice off to the side, and my body tightens. I’d recognize Brienne Norcross’s slightly husky tone and penchant for directness anywhere.
Glancing right, I see her talking to a couple I don’t recognize. They’re older—maybe early sixties—and I’m guessing one of them is in upper-level management. Or hell, maybe they’re involved in one of the other companies within her conglomerate.
“Give me a minute,” I say to Baden. “I want to say hello to Brienne.”
“Sure thing,” he says, but I’m already turning from him.
The ice princess is looking especially gorgeous tonight. Her silvery-blond hair is loose and falls only to her shoulders. I’ve wondered how much there was, given the two times I’ve seen her, it’s been sleekly knotted in the back.
It shines like silk and softens the angles of her face.
She looks younger.
She’s wearing black pants with legs so wide I mistake them for a long skirt at first. The hem hangs low, and I get just a peek of a stiletto heel. If they’re as high as the damn shoes she was wearing when she visited me in Red Wing, she’s in danger of breaking an ankle.