Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 90524 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90524 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
“It was an accident!”
“And that won’t fucking matter if she chooses to paint that story differently out of spite for being publicly humiliated! Because she can! Because your NDA doesn’t say jack shit about her not mentioning shit that occurred before you officially hired her or shit that involves a romantic relationship if you were to ever enter one!” Her elbows slam on the desk as she lunges forward. “What the fuck were you thinking, Alexeyev?! Why couldn’t you fight in the car like normal people?! Or at the very…fucking…least…not outside one of the most paparazzi hungry places in the whole fucking city?!”
“W-”
“I don’t care,” Hennington huffs in obvious exasperation. “I really. Don’t. Fucking. Care.” She reaches for the bottle of water that’s near where she abandoned her phone. “Fix this shit.” Her hand curls around and crunches the plastic. “Or I’ll fix it by removing you.” Knowing we’re still well within the trade deadline sends shivers down the back of my neck. “Get the fuck out of my office, Alexeyev.”
There’s no reluctance to follow the order.
Or delay in me immediately doing something about it.
Back in the locker room, pre warmies, I host a player’s only meeting to inform the boys of the shit storm we’re now in and search for anything else I might’ve missed. Luckily for me, they seemed just as surprised as I was. Snowman – Becks closest teammate – seemed to be aware of the pain pill problem yet Becks had sworn to him, he was in touch with the rehab team, but was just trying to keep it on the low, which is why he didn’t push the topic with me. Rookie confirming having overheard that conversation alleviates one of the weights on my shoulder, while WonderWahl and Groffee proclaim the betting shit is just a witch hunt that happens anytime the league has it out for a team lifts the other. No other issues seem to need to be addressed except the ones regarding me.
Despite how easy it would be to keep the shit to myself, I don’t.
I own my fuck ups.
I own putting the team in jeopardy for not handling the other shit sooner.
And I own the possibility of losing one family because I couldn’t keep the other family shit behind doors.
To my surprise, the boys excuse the over-the-top behavior, claiming I did off the ice, what I do on the ice when feeling like my family has been threatened and then refuse to accept me being traded as a viable possibility prior to promising to prove it to the GM throughout the night.
While I wish relief was the feeling that settles into my system, it’s not.
In fact, hearing how unhinged I get on my blades making sense for how I got that way off them devastates me.
I mean…da.
I wanna be the man that isn’t afraid to fight for his family – whoever they may be – but I don’t wanna be the man that always lives to be defensive. The type that can never let his guard down. The type that can’t even give the woman he wants to marry the chance to consider her moves before deciding for her what they’re already gonna be.
I gotta do better.
For this team.
For my daughter.
For her.
For me.
With an apology geared up to go, I hit the ice last for warmies per tradition; however, post my lap around the area, I skate over to my daughter who isn’t in the arms of the woman she should be.
Who she hasn’t seen since the toy museum.
Who my parents haven’t heard from since she left to meet me for lunch.
I do my best to convince myself she just needs a little more time to cool off, blow Bella a kiss through the glass, and return to getting prepped for the miles ahead. Unfortunately, regardless of how hard I try, I can’t seem to keep my mind in the zone. It continuously wanders to the possibility of her having run off to cry on the shoulder of her long-lost sister, only to have Nani offer to let her run away to South Haven Island with her, far away from me.
My temper.
My abominable snowman attitude.
The first few shifts of the actual game further demonstrate how unfocused I am between sloppy turnovers and continuously being offsides. Typically, the combination of having my ass handed to me by Coach and feeling the disappointment of the boys is enough to get me to get my shit together, yet tonight, all it seems to do is the opposite.
Reinforce my shit plays.
Demonstrate why I shouldn’t wear a C.
Probably ever again.
Having Peck win the faceoff back to Frosky instantly puts him in a vulnerable position, one that if I were fully on my game wouldn’t be because there wouldn’t be any hesitation to my job. However, my slow response time leaves him no choice but to pass the puck to me and brace for the impact of being clipped by an opponent. All of a sudden, The Rookie rams his shoulder into the player instead, sending him straight into the glass, freeing Snowman to not only receive a tape to tape, but to breakaway for a possible goal.