Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 85387 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85387 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
I want to replace the old memories of a loveless life with new ones full of all the love.
Love only Eliza can give me.
I swallow thickly as that realization explodes inside my body. Instead of rushing out of the locker room to find where she is, I retape my stick for the third time. My thoughts and hopes will have to wait till after the game. Not that I think I can make it up to where my wife is sitting anyway. I’m shaking everywhere. I’m scared out of my mind, and I hope I don’t fuck this up.
I look around at all the guys I’ve followed for the last few years. Boon Hoenes, the captain Aiden Brooks, Flynn Anderson, Wes McMillan, Dimitri Titov, and my old teammate, Ciaran Carter. Everyone is getting ready and is focused on their game. Meanwhile, I’m focusing on not puking up the contents of my stomach.
I shake my head. This isn’t me. I want this. I want to be on this ice. My wife is here to watch me. I have to show off for her. I have to gain a spot somewhere so that no one can bother Eliza and me.
Because I’m keeping my wife forever.
And then some.
Confidence blooms inside me as I finally get my tape how I want. I start putting on my gear, careful of my burning ribs that are black and purple today. Ha, even my skin matches the Assassins’ colors. I obviously belong here. I chuckle at myself as I finish putting on my gear. Once I’m ready, I stand up and squat down, repeating the motion seven times. I then hop once from the squatting position. As my wife said, I’m a creature of habit, and I’ve got some quirks, for sure. The coach of the Assassins comes in to do his pregame speech. When he announces me, I’m surprised, but then a warmth spreads deep within when everyone welcomes me once more.
“Katz will hit the ice first, and then let’s get two points, boys!”
Everyone grunts in agreement, high-fiving one another. And I’m not gonna lie. I geek out a bit when Aiden Brooks high-fives me like we’re cool. Excitement courses through me as I head down the hall that leads to the ice. I’ve done this many times in the Knoxville arena, but already, I know this is different. The air is full of electricity, the chant of “Let’s Go Assassins!” clap, clap, clap-clap-clap is already loud and clear from the fans, and I do everything in my power to ignore the nervousness in my gut.
When the nod comes from the bench attendant, I take off onto the ice, and the crowd cheers me on as I do my lap to welcome myself to the NHL. I think it’s special that the organization does this for their rookies, and I feel myself getting emotional. But on my second lap, I see my wife. I come to a stop, my jaw going slack at how gorgeous she is. She stands by the penalty box in her number 71 Katz Assassins jersey and has a bright grin on her sweet face. In her hand is a white poster board that reads: This is your moment. Live it. I’m so proud of you. Congratulations. Love, your wife.
It takes everything in me to keep my emotions at bay when our eyes meet.
Fucking hell, I do love her.
She is perfect. She is there for me. Cares for me. Always there to lift me up, even when I feel like I’m not worth it. She is what is right in this world. Or better yet, in my world. She makes my world right. Beautiful. Full of sunshine and rainbows, because when I look at her, that’s what I see. Which is really fucking corny, but hell, I don’t care. I love her. I love her eyes, her smile, her nose. I love how compact she is and wish I could just keep her in my pocket.
I love her. All of her.
And I need her to know right now. While it’s not ideal to scream it through a thick piece of glass, I have to tell her. My eyes burn with unshed tears as I skate toward her while she beams at me. But before I can reach her, a large body stops in front of me. The body of the man whose wife had my cock in her mouth. I meet a pair of dark-brown eyes that are narrowed and full of vengeance. Willis Barnes’s dark-brown hair is long and touching his shoulders, his seafoam-green Kraken helmet hanging haphazardly on his head as he pins me with a look. My stomach clenches, my heart thumps in my chest, but I don’t back down, nor do I cower away. I’m tired of letting people steal my happiness.