Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 125213 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125213 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
I can’t see what she’s doing, but she’s bent over the counter, focused on something. One foot is tucked under her while the other is propped up on the barstool to her left. She keeps tugging at her hair with her right hand while her left works.
I realize as I get closer that she’s writing.
At first, I think it’s a poem. But then, I see the strange symbols and notice how she’s tapping her foot, how she’s humming a rhythm so quietly only she can hear.
I realize it’s a song.
The next step I take is close enough for her to hear, and she gasps, whipping around to look at me. She clutches her song to her chest like I might steal it or, worse, see what she’s written. I’ve scared her, which I’m used to, so I don’t apologize.
In fact, I don’t say anything.
I just… stare.
She’s beautiful.
Her eyes are an electric blue, a shade so bright and brilliant it puts the lake to shame, even with the large-framed glasses covering them. She has thick, dark lashes and brows the same color as her hair. Her lips are a dusty pink, pouty and soft-looking. She has a beauty mark on her left cheek, just below the crease of her eye.
She blinks at me, lashes fanning over her tan cheeks.
“There you are,” someone says from behind me. It’s Holly. She sweeps into the kitchen with a wide smile. She’s wearing a dress, a bit more casual than what she was wearing before, but still nice. She moves to stand behind the girl, kissing her cheek and placing her hands on the girl’s shoulders with a gentle squeeze. “And I see you’ve met our daughter, Mia.”
Mia looks at her mom, and then back at me, her cheeks red now.
“Hi, Mia,” I say.
“Hi,” she says back.
When she smiles, a dimple appears on her left cheek, just an inch below her beauty mark.
The emotion finally hits me.
Now, I am excited.
Elephant in the Room
Aleks
“Oh, God. This is pure gold,” Carter Fabri said, holding his phone up to record as I lined up to take another shot at the golf ball resting on the lush green grass.
I’d missed it the first swing.
“Aleks Suter, Suuuu Man — top scorer in the league, and Most Likely to Whiff on the golf course.”
My eyes narrowed into slits as I glared at him. I turned back to where I was lining up my shot, pretending like I was going in for my second try, but instead, I reached out with my golf club and swiped it under his knees, making him fall backward as the rest of the guys laughed at his expense.
Stupid, bright-eyed, bushy-tailed fucker didn’t even get mad.
He sat up laughing just as hard as the rest of them.
Carter had been a pain in my ass ever since I first met him. I didn’t care that he was a nice guy. He was my particular pet peeve of a teammate — the kind who had the potential to be great, but had the backbone of a salamander.
I’d watched him kill it in practice so many times, playing like he was the center of our dreams, only to witness him throw it all away in a game because he lost his focus. His confidence had to be the equivalent of a five-year-old learning to ride a bike.
It was why he’d been sent down to the AHL time and time again.
He was back in Tampa this summer, promised a spot at camp next month, but he’d have to prove himself to stay any longer than that.
“Aw, leave Su Man alone,” Jaxson Brittain said. “Not his fault he’s an ugly sonofabitch who’s only good at one thing.”
“You mean sniping on your ass every scrimmage? Yeah, seems to be my specialty.”
Jaxson started in on his defense as the other guys laughed. I ignored them, lining up for my shot. I hit the ball this time, but it was a poor showing compared to the rest of them.
I didn’t know why I let them talk me into golfing in the first place.
I didn’t play hockey to make friends — I never had.
The only reason I entertained the idea of today was because Will Perry had been the one to invite me. He was our goalie, a beast of a man who was one of the few I’d ever played with who made me want to be better. He’d also helped me out last season when I was flying too close to the sun, as Mia’s father would say.
Coming into Tampa after being discarded from the Seattle team like a broken hockey stick, I’d felt like I needed to prove myself even more than usual. Of course, for me, that usually turned into my temper getting the best of me. In my attempt to be the best, I was quick to lash out at my teammates, alienate myself, and, more times than I liked to admit, get into fights on the ice that led to me sitting in the penalty box.