Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 70518 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70518 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
When one of his teammates hit a slap shot over my right shoulder to bring them within one goal, I mentally grimaced.
“Shake it off,” Wes said, skating over to me. “Miller talking shit?”
I grunted.
“You want to jump him in the hotel parking lot after the game, I’m in. But you’ve got to hang on for six more minutes. You hear me?”
I nodded.
I turned and faced the net, away from everyone getting ready for the next face-off. I took a cleansing breath and pictured that last puck going into my glove instead of the net, reminding myself what I would do next time. I lifted my mask and squirted a shot of water onto my face, then shook it out onto the ice in front of me. I focused on one tiny drop, slowly freezing on the ice, and centered myself.
Now I was ready.
I slid my mask back down and turned around. I positioned myself on the goal line, right in the middle of the net and watched the puck drop. Philly’s star forward grabbed it and headed in my direction with Keegan flanking him on the right. The first shot hit the post but Keegan picked it up behind me and came around front, passing it back to his teammate, who took another quick shot I stopped easily. The ref blew the whistle, but Keegan kept coming, knocking me back and trying to work the puck out of my glove.
I managed to flip onto my stomach, keeping my glove and the puck beneath me. Lars shoved Keegan off me and I turned over just as five or six guys from both teams all came together, gloves and fists flying. The linesmen and ref were in the middle, trying to separate everyone, but it was hard to see what was happening. I got to my feet as two guys went after Lars. He was a big motherfucker, but Philly’s guys weren’t exactly small. I nudged the one closest to me, kicking at his skate to keep him off balance. Before I had a chance to do anything else, Keegan was in my face.
“You wanna go, asshole?” Keegan had already dropped his gloves, holding up his fists.
This guy was truly stupid.
Then he proved it by shoving me.
“Come on, you Russian fuck. Whatcha got? You know you’re dying to show off how you can fight. Svetlana told me how you like to hurt people.”
I didn’t know why she would have told him anything, but I was willing to bet my left nut she hadn’t said that. My gloves came off before I could stop myself, a cross between amusement and annoyance ripping through me. But I wouldn’t hit him first. I’d let him take the first punch.
Then I’d end it.
As expected, he swung his fist but it barely glanced off my jaw.
“Is this all?” I asked patiently. I knew this was being filmed, so Coach and every hockey fan watching would see that I didn’t start it.
“You want more?” He swung again, hitting me twice, once with each fist, but I barely felt the blows. This guy had no idea what underground fighting was like in Russia if he thought he could hurt me like this.
I smiled just before using my right fist for an uppercut under his jaw that I knew would jar his teeth and get him off balance. I followed it up with a jab to the left side of his face that took him down.
He moaned but wasn’t getting up.
The ref and linesmen were blowing their whistles, Lars was punching the shit out of one of Philly’s enforcers, and Nash was trying to pull two guys off of Wes. I was surrounded by chaos but felt strangely calm.
I was over Svetlana romantically, but Keegan was the scum of the earth. It was one thing for her to cheat on me—there was no way for us to be together after that—but I still felt responsible for her. I wouldn’t be alive if she hadn’t sacrificed herself for me. So despite her infidelity, I didn’t begrudge her moving on. She was broken, probably more than I was, and I needed her to find peace. Maybe even love. If for no other reason than to assuage my guilty conscience.
Keegan had used her. Once he’d succeeded in breaking us up, he’d apparently kept her around long enough to knock her up and then kicked her to the curb.
And I fucking hated him for it.
It was that simple.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Lucy
“This bread is the reason my first wife married me,” Luigi said as he held up a loaf of cinnamon bread.
His brother snorted from the other side of the front counter. “That tracks. It sure as hell wasn’t for your looks or personality.”
“At least I found a woman who wanted to marry me,” Luigi countered.
“Yeah, three of ’em,” Mario shot back. “And those two divorces were messy. No thank you. I’ll be a bachelor for life. Master of my own remote control.”