Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 44479 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 222(@200wpm)___ 178(@250wpm)___ 148(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 44479 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 222(@200wpm)___ 178(@250wpm)___ 148(@300wpm)
I try to shake it off, trying to lose myself in the rhythm of the drills, but I can feel the exhaustion creeping in, slowing me down in ways that frustrate me. It’s like skating through mud.
“You okay, York?” Coach shouts again from the bench, his sharp eyes tracking my every move. He’s noticed, of course. He always notices.
I skate toward him, slowing to a stop just in front of the boards, the cold air biting at my face. My breath comes out in heavy puffs as I lean on my stick. “Rough night, that’s all,” I say, trying to brush it off like it’s nothing.
Coach raises an eyebrow, not buying it for a second. “You’re playing like your head’s somewhere else.” He taps his clipboard against the boards. “Whatever’s eating at you, sort it out. You’ve got a game in less than a week.”
I nod, knowing he’s right, but it’s easier said than done. My mind flashes back to Noelle, the way she looked at me last night, the tension hanging between us like a heavy cloud. I’ve known her forever, but lately, things have felt different. I don’t know how to explain it. Hell, I don’t even know if I want to explain it.
The puck skitters across the ice, and I chase after it, trying to focus on the drill. I go through the motions, but my heart’s not in it. My mind’s too tangled up in everything outside the rink—this whole fake dating thing with Noelle, the way she looked in the kitchen last night in that tiny tank top, the fact that I couldn’t stop thinking about it when I should have been sleeping.
Coach blows the whistle, signaling the end of the drill, and I skate back toward the center. Sweat drips down the back of my neck, and my muscles scream for a break, but I force myself to keep going. I need this practice, need to get my head straight before I get out there on the ice for real. Hockey has always been my escape, the one place where everything else fades away. But today, even the rink feels off.
“You’re off your game, Steele,” Coach says as I glide back toward the bench. “Take five and get your head in the right place. We’ve got too much riding on this season for you to lose focus now.”
I nod again, wiping the sweat off my forehead with the back of my glove. I skate to the bench and take a seat, leaning forward to rest my elbows on my knees, trying to catch my breath. My stick taps against the ice as I stare down at it, wondering why I can’t shake this feeling. Usually, I’m laser-focused, but today... it’s like the ice beneath my feet isn’t solid.
Noelle. She’s always been there, in the background of my life, but now, she’s right in the center of it, and I don’t know how to handle it. We’re pretending, sure, but it doesn’t feel fake anymore. Not when she’s looking at me like she did last night, or when I’m fighting the urge to pull her into my arms every time she’s near.
I shove those thoughts down as deep as I can. Coach is right. I need to get my head in the game. But as I take a deep breath and lace up my skates a little tighter, I know it’s not going to be easy.
Because the thing I’m trying to escape? It’s not just some passing thought or distraction.
It’s Noelle.
After another grueling thirty minutes of Coach pushing me to my limits, we finally call it quits. I’m grateful for the extra attention over the holiday break, but it doesn’t ease the weight of disappointment I feel for letting him down today. My mind has been everywhere but on the ice, and I know I need to get my head on straight.
As we leave the rink, we head back to Coach’s house. I can feel the adrenaline from practice still coursing through my veins, but it’s overshadowed by the nagging thoughts of Noelle. The kitchen encounter from last night plays on repeat in my mind, mixing with my guilt about today’s lackluster performance.
Once inside, I head straight to my room, shedding my gear and stepping into the warm spray of the shower. The water washes away the chill and sweat, but it doesn’t clear my head. I stand under the hot water, letting it cascade over me, trying to focus on the here and now. After a few moments, I turn off the tap, dry off, and throw on a fresh pair of clothes.
When I finally emerge from my room, the mouthwatering scent of breakfast wafts through the air, hitting me like a freight train. I don’t realize just how hungry I am until I step into the kitchen and see the spread laid out on the table. Fluffy pancakes stacked high, crispy bacon sizzling, and a golden-brown casserole bubbling away in a dish.