Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 104081 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 520(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104081 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 520(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
Today, they were supporting and celebrating their only daughter as she officially launched her new initiative — the Tampa Bay Babes Compassion Project. She’d flipped the Vince Tanev channel, using the followers and traction she’d gained to steer everyone’s attention toward Tampa community heroes and ways for locals and tourists alike to give back.
Her parents weren’t the only ones here to support. The entire Ospreys team was sweating in the Florida heat, fresh off a season and ready to get their hands dirty. We were helping build houses with Habitat for Humanity, where Maven’s father still worked. Not making the playoffs meant these bastards had plenty of time on their hands, and Maven made sure it was put to good use.
Bernie handed me a pole digger, nodding toward the mailbox that needed to be handled near the end of the unfinished driveway. I saluted him with a smirk, but before I could make it to my new job on the site, Maven popped up in front of me with her phone right in my face.
“The people are demanding to know which is better — scoring a goal, or scoring a date with the remarkable, beautiful, bedazzling Maven King?”
I grinned at the camera. “The people, or you?”
“Answer the question, Mr. Tanev.”
“Mister?” I let my eyes run salaciously over her body, marveling at how even in a pair of dirty overalls and old sneakers, she turned me on like a fucking light switch. “I like that,” I mused, pulling her into my arms. “We should try that in a different setting.”
She laughed as I pulled her in for a kiss, but she pushed me away quickly, flushing as she looked back at where her father was watching us like he was one step closer to drop-kicking me across the yard.
The last five months had passed in a blur. I was wrapped up in hockey for most of it, and any time I wasn’t on the ice, I was with Maven. Whether she was in my bed downtown, or I was in hers by the beach, we soaked up every minute we could get together — which wasn’t nearly enough when the season was in full swing.
The Ospreys had a winning season through January, but we choked in the playoff race, missing the clench in a gut-wrenching loss to Ottawa. It never felt good to lose, but it had a particularly sharp sting when we were so close to something we’d worked hard for all season. Now, we were watching other teams battle it out for the Cup, all the while planning for next season, when we’d have to start all over again.
As much as I couldn’t wait for next season to start, for our chance to do even better and make the playoffs — I was more excited for the next few months with Maven.
The offseason was short, and we still had expectations to stay in playing shape. But with a much less demanding travel schedule, I’d have more time to take Maven out, to lose mornings and afternoons and nights with her.
When she wasn’t too busy running the world, at least.
“How are you doing?” I asked her.
She smiled, shaking her head and looking around at all the work being done. “Amazing. I thought for sure we’d start to lose followers when I changed over all the logos and branding images, but we’ve retained most of them. And we’re already pulling in new followers. Probably has something to do with all the shirtless, sweating Ospreys’ players I’ve been posting on our stories.”
I barked out a laugh. “Why do I have a feeling this won’t be the last of us being roped in to help?”
“Don’t act like you all don’t love it. Look at them,” she said, gesturing to my teammates. Even Coach McCabe was helping, bent down and hammering lattice into place around the porch of one of the houses. Jaxson was on the roof laying shingles. Will was working on the floors. The entire team was hard at work — in-between horsing around, of course.
My chest tightened a bit when I noted Carter talking to Maven’s mom across the yard. He was mid-laugh, and he looked so carefree I might have believed he really was if I didn’t know the truth.
“I can’t believe Carter got sent down,” I said.
Maven frowned, following my gaze. “I can’t either. But he said this is par for the course with rookies. And who knows, he could come back, right?”
“He’ll be back,” I said with conviction I truly felt.
Carter had been sent down to the AHL in March, just in time to help them with their playoffs. For now, that’s where he was staying. Just because he wasn’t knocking socks off here in the NHL didn’t mean he wasn’t a great center. It was just hard to compete with the veterans, and he needed a little more work to level up. I knew he’d take the time to get better, but it didn’t make my chest hurt any less at the thought of him not being around. We’d gone through rookie camp together, our rookie party, and the first decent season Tampa had secured in more than a decade.