Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 92779 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92779 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Anything for the game.
It’s ingrained in us.
Luckily, it won’t take that. I only need to take it up a notch with one woman. Which sounds like it’d be easier, but is infinitely harder considering that woman is Joy Barlowe.
I throw open my locker and grab my wallet, huge water bottle, and truck keys. When I slam it closed, Shepherd is standing on the other side, leaning back against the row of lockers like he’s got nothing but time.
“Fuck!” I hiss, jumping a foot in the air.
He laughs hard, his grin stretching his mouth wide and flashing the white grin a local dentist sponsors. Seriously. Shepherd’s in their ads now, wearing full Moose regalia and proclaiming Dr. Payne keeps his teeth ice-bright. “You should’a seen your face, man! Gotcha!” He’s wheezing from laughing so hard.
I shove him out of my way. “Knew you were there, but your face is fucking terrifying. Definitely a mug only a mother could love.”
I’m totally bullshitting and we both know it. Shepherd Barlowe is the sole reason our social media ever gets any traction. They pop him up there for a thirty-second video and suddenly, comments come streaming in saying “Daddy,” “Can I play with your stick?” and “Where’s Maple Creek? I need to know where to forward my mail after the wedding.” I’m pretty sure Shep’s personal inbox gets some extra attention from those posts, too, though he’s never said as much.
“Things cool with Coach?” he says, keeping his voice low in consideration of the other players still wrapping up to leave.
I shrug, acting like the meeting was no big deal even though it felt like a roller coaster with no seat belt to hold you to the seat. “Yeah. He told me to block everything. Duh. And wants me to lead a goalie section at the kid camp.”
“Oh, that’s good,” he replies, looking relieved.
I’m obviously not the only one worried about my place on the team beyond this season.
“Yeah, I’m supposed to lead a goalie section with DeBoer as I take him under my wing to guide him to greatness,” I deadpan. We both cut our eyes toward DeBoer’s locker, where he’s standing stark naked, flipping through TikToks like it’s his job and sole purpose in life. In his defense, there’s an outside chance he’s watching videos of the Rockets. More likely, he’s watching thirst traps of women doing viral dances.
“Shiiiit. Sorry, man,” Shep offers. “Anything I can do to help?”
“Keep me from killing him? I wouldn’t do well in prison. I’d look like shit in orange.”
“Unless Philadelphia calls. You’d wear orange like it’s your favorite if they wanted you,” he argues, grinning because he knows he’s right. I’d wear orange every single fucking day to play for an NHL team.
“What if they don’t?” I ask him quietly, staring at the floor. “What if no one calls me up?”
I’ve considered it a million times. It’s the first time I’ve said it aloud, and it hurts more than I thought it would.
“Then it’s their fucking loss, man,” Shep reassures me, throwing his arm around my shoulder. “And you play your ass off as a Moose, making that goal your Last Stand and winning the fucking playoffs.”
I meet his eyes, so familiar and blue . . . like his sister’s. I clear my throat. “Yeah, you’re right. Thanks, man. Having some come to Jesus realizations here, but as always, you’re right.”
I’m trying to downplay the rare vulnerability, but Shepherd knows. He understands. He’s been at this game a long time, too, and he’s not much younger than me.
“Let’s grab dinner.” He’s not asking, but rather telling me that it’s happening. “Been missing you, man. Need a chance to fill you in on what’s been keeping me so busy lately.”
His latest and greatest, I imagine. Shepherd dates more seriously than I ever have. He’s a relationship type, unlike me, but his first love has always been and always will be . . . hockey. It’ll take a special woman to understand that, and though he hasn’t found her yet, I know he’s looking. His ovaries are ticking loudly, no matter what he told his parents at Thanksgiving. He wants the whole picket fence thing.
I almost say no. Sitting at a table and discussing his love life over chicken and veggies while hiding what I’m doing with Joy sounds like hell. And heightens the betrayal of our friendship. In a way, I’m deluding myself into thinking that if I don’t lie outright to Shepherd, it’s magically not as bad. But the truth is, it is.
And I have missed him. He’s my best friend, and I’ve been avoiding him. Until now.
“Sure. First round’s on me,” I answer, knowing that we’re allowed only one beer anyway.
As hard as it’s going to be, I’m going to have to keep my mouth shut about Joy and me. Especially when I need her to stay hot on the ice.