Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 81794 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81794 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
Aaron’s eyes dull a bit, then drop down to the cast on my left wrist. “Got anything to do with that?”
It’s no secret… my accident. It was in the news.
Veteran Hockey Star in Drunk Driving Accident.
That’s what the headlines said.
It’s also no secret within the league that I was temporarily suspended from the team because of it. Aaron has no clue how deep the shit I was in was because he doesn’t know I drove my truck into that barricade intentionally.
“Let’s go grab some lunch,” I suggest instead. I suppose we need to talk, seeing as he’s now firmly back in my life as a teammate. He’s been worried about me. We haven’t talked in several months, mainly because I kept blowing him off after MJ died. When I got traded to Arizona, there was almost a relief on my part to have distance from him, so I wouldn’t have to look at his worried expression anymore.
I take Aaron to The Sneaky Saguaro, a large Tex-Mex restaurant and beer garden, boasting over one hundred and twenty-seven varieties of beer on tap. While I can’t drink and don’t want to anyway, Aaron will appreciate not only the beer, but also the hot waitresses in denim cut-off shorts, bare bellies, and big tits. He’s a certified player when it comes to women, and he might as well be introduced to The Sneaky Saguaro as it’s where the Vengeance usually hangs out after a game.
We get settled into a booth on the second floor, and Aaron curls his big hand around a mug of draft beer. I sip on a glass of ice water as we peruse the menus, far longer than we need. It’s an avoidance on my part for sure, because the minute I’m done trying to decide what I want to eat, Aaron is going to want to talk.
“So… I know some of what’s going on with you,” Aaron says out of the blue, and I let my eyes rise over the edge of the menu. “But the news is sort of vague on details. Going to fill me in?”
Sighing, I set the menu on the table. Why I bothered to look, I have no clue. I always get the steak fajitas. Slouching into the booth, I clasp both hands on the table and give a slight shrug. “You can probably figure it out… haven’t been doing all that great here.”
He knows I mean on a personal level, because I’ve been killing it out on the ice.
“Drinking and driving?” he asks with a cocked eyebrow. “That’s not your style. You were never a big drinker.”
“Yeah, well… have your fiancée die while you watch and that might change things,” I mutter.
I wince as soon as the words come out, and there’s no stopping the backward flinch from Aaron as they strike.
“I’m sorry,” I say. It’s the first time I’ve apologized for being an asshole since, well… I became an asshole. I have instant regret for doing that to him.
Aaron raises a hand, waving me off. “What are you doing to move on?”
It’s a bold question. Most people who would ask, I’d tell them to go fuck themselves for being nosy bastards.
But this is Aaron and although I’ve successfully pushed him away over the last year, I have Bishop’s words ringing in my ears. Yes, he’d told me to get my head out of my ass, but he’d said something else I’d been thinking about.
“You see, I want to win the fucking Cup. In order to do that, everybody on this team has to be playing at their maximum. You have to give forth every effort. And you have to rely on your teammates to do the same. That involves a certain amount of trust. And if you can’t open yourself up to the men on this team who would probably lay down their lives for you if asked, it’s not going to fucking work.”
That had struck a chord within me, because what ultimately led me to the decision to stick with the team, even if I had to get the counseling I was so loathe to undergo, was that I wanted that camaraderie of the team back. It was the one thing that gave me self-worth while I continued to fuck up all the other aspects of my life.
“I’m starting counseling tomorrow,” I offer. He blinks in surprise, his lips curling in approval. “It’s mandated by the team, so I have to do it.”
“Good,” he says firmly. “You should have done that from the damn start.”
He’s the only one I’d let talk to me that way. As my best friend, he’d said all sorts of things to me after the crash. Words of wisdom, support, and love. I’d tuned it all out, but if there was one person I should have listened to, it was Aaron.