Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 86367 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 432(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86367 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 432(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
I can’t help the way my hand moves as I grab my phone to call my mother. She answers after two rings, her voice is cheerful, “Hello, my daughter.”
“Mom,” I whisper, my voice cracking.
“Ryleigh,” she quickly says, “are you all right?”
“I’m not sure,” I say honestly. “Can you talk?”
“Of course,” she says softly, “talk to me.”
“Stone asked to be traded to Chicago.” I say the words, and even though we know nothing about hockey, she gasps. “They didn’t approve it or whatever. I don’t know the hockey lingo, but he asked me to move to him.”
“Okay,” she says, unsure of where this is going.
“I can’t move to him, Mom,” I quickly declare. “That would be insane.”
“Would it?” I don’t even know how to answer her. “Would it be the end of the world?”
“Yes,” I hiss, “it would be the end of the world. Look at everything I’ve done to get where I am.”
“Well, does all that work just go away?” She doesn’t give me a chance to answer. “Ryleigh, just because you move doesn’t make your success go away.”
“I am not moving for a man,” I snap. “I won’t.”
“So why are we having this discussion?” she asks me the million-dollar question. “Why are you even thinking about it? Why does this even bother you?”
Because I fucking love him, I want to shout, but I don’t. “You’re right.” I pretend I’m okay. “Thanks for the talk.”
“Anytime,” she says to me, instead of telling me I’m just bullshitting myself.
I hang up the phone and put it aside. Put aside everything that just happened. Put aside all the thoughts I’m now having. Put aside how empty I feel without him here.
The following morning, I’m off the elevator and smile at Claudia, saying hello. I’m arriving later than anyone else. I spot a couple of people I know, and Kristal comes out of her office and waves at me before walking into someone else’s office.
I walk into the office and sit at my desk. My hands tap the desk in front of me before I pick up my phone and make one more phone call.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
stone
We skate off the ice, every person with their head hanging down. The reality of the season hits us all at once. We are not making the playoffs. It’s mathematically impossible for us to make it. Bottom line, we needed to win the game tonight, and we missed the opportunity.
Walking into the locker room, no one is saying anything. I put my helmet on top of the shelf and then toss my gloves beside it before I turn to sit down. I grab the water bottle beside me, taking a sip of it. “We did everything we needed to do out there,” I state, and a couple of the guys look up at me. “It’s tough. It feels like we have let each other down. I know I could have been better, and it’s hard. I also know everyone in this room will think they could have been better, but we win as a team, and we lose as a team.” I get up, take off my jersey, and toss it in the bin in the middle of the room.
The coach comes in with his hands in his pockets. “Before the media comes in here and fucks with your heads, I want to say something.” I sit. “We will look back at tonight’s game and won’t like the game we played. But I want to say something. It has nothing to do with our top pair, top line, or third line. We know that we are capable of more as a group. So we learn from this.” He looks around the room. “Are we clear? We still have two more weeks and five games. I don’t want to see anyone dragging ass on that ice.”
“Yes, Coach,” we all say in unison before Jay laughs.
“We did good, guys.” He looks at me. “Even you, Richards.”
I toss my head back and laugh before I take off my elbow pads. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.” I hold up my fist for him to fist-bump me, and when he does, he smirks at me.
The coach was not wrong, the press came in, but we decided we were going to go down as a team, and that is what we did. The minute I get into the car, I look down at my phone, and I’m not surprised about the texts on the screen.
Uncle Matthew Sr.: Tough loss. You’ll get ’em next year. We’ll train harder this summer.
Uncle Max: This fucking sucks. Call me to bitch.
Dylan: Next year, yeah?
Michael: I’m sure you’ve gotten the texts, so I won’t hash it out. One step closer to summer vacation.
Grandpa Cooper THE OG: Tough loss out there, my boy. Doesn’t define you, remember that.
I smile because no matter how many of us play hockey, he literally watches every single game, maybe not that night, but he is always up to date. He also always texts us.