Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 119212 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 596(@200wpm)___ 477(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119212 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 596(@200wpm)___ 477(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
But Reba handled all of our ordinances. She was the glue in the shelter. Dean and I were almost like decorative props in the building. If we didn’t have Reba, there would be no shelter. Sturdy and tough. I loved me some Reba, and if Reba was noticing my distraction and commenting on it, then I had to handle it because it was serious. Reba noticed a lot, but she didn’t comment on anything that wasn’t worth commenting on. She was a wise soul, and she never wasted her breath on something. It was her golden rule.
Boomer’s mouth turned in and his head went down.
Reba didn’t notice. “What is going on with you?” Her head twisted sideways, as if a new thought had just come to her. “You seeing someone? This seems like guy distraction.”
Guy distraction.
Aptly put.
I opened my mouth, but Boomer lifted his head up and said, “Let’s leave her alone. If she wanted us to know, she would’ve told us.” He gave Dean a pointed look. “You sure about switching distributors on some of our foods?”
Dean was still frowning, but turned back to him. “Uh. Yeah. Yes. We need it for the budget, but speaking of our budget, I think we should plan a big charity gala event.”
Oh no.
Call it a sixth sense, but I knew exactly where Dean was going with this. He’d been on his own buzzing level since the Mustangs were at Come Our Way.
He cleared his throat, sitting up straighter. “I have a meeting with the Mustangs’ PR team tomorrow, and I wanted to clear it with everyone here.”
“We already had them here.”
Dean glanced to Reba. “I know, and it went amazing. Our social media push brought in a lot of new volunteers and contributions locally, but I’d like to plan a big, big event—”
“No.”
All heads swung my way.
I never vetoed anything. I might ask not to be around for an event, but I never outright did what I just did.
Boomer’s gaze was speculative, so was Reba’s. Dean’s was just big and bulging. He hissed, “Let me finish before you just say no—”
“No.” I stood, gathering all my papers.
“Cheyenne.” Dean stood with me.
I saw the determination on his face. His jaw was set.
He wanted a big to-do. He wanted to invite all the hoity-toity rich, and nope. Not going to happen. Because he wouldn’t stop there. He’d ask the players, obviously, but he’d ask the players’ friends and families. That meant Cut. That meant Chad. That meant others, like Cut’s relatives, because he had a supportive family. They would fly in for that, but there would still be others.
Deek was here.
Natalie was here.
They were all here.
The entire group had been here for a full year and the only reason I knew was because of Hunter. No one reached out so I knew their priorities. So far, their world had not crossed mine. I did not want that to happen and Dean’s ambition was putting us on a collision course. So, I was going to do what I needed to do. I was going to stop it.
I pushed my chair back, gave Dean a firm look, and stood my ground. “I said no. You have to have a unanimous vote for any big event, so it’s not going to happen.”
“But—”
I left. I didn’t care.
And fuck it. I was going to go to the hockey game.
I could only say no to so much today.
22
Cheyenne
Otis, Maisie, and JJ were all giving me looks.
It was understandable. The Mustangs were on an away phase, but there’d been a few home games sprinkled in and I’d not been here for any of them. So they were giving me the looks.
I could feel them. I didn’t even need to see them, but I felt singed from them.
My normal seat. My normal seat companions. Our normal section.
Everything was normal. Except me.
The season seat group knew something was up.
The team came out on the ice, and it felt right again. Just right. All right.
He didn’t look up here, not once. And he skated wonderfully, but he had been all season so far. He had more of an edge, like right now as he was skating up with Hendrix and Franklin. Hendrix was in the middle, skating forward. The defensive line was on them, reaching in, trying to dislodge the puck or make them trip up.
Hendrix shot to Franklin.
Franklin danced between two linemen, hitting the puck forward with his skate, his stick lifting up and over their heads. The puck went past, right to Cut, and he skated around the last defensive end. The goalie was there, he was expecting it. Cut read him, and shot the puck back to Hendrix.
Everyone had forgotten Hendrix was there.
Hendrix reached forward and shot it up and inside.
Everyone was on their feet. Screaming. Shouting. Clapping.
Adrenaline was high, but adrenaline was always high for the games, win or lose. It was part of it.