Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 121764 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 609(@200wpm)___ 487(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121764 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 609(@200wpm)___ 487(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
It happened so fast. I had just stolen the puck and shucked it down the ice to where our center waited for the pass. Then, I was hit hard from behind, and I went flying into the boards shoulder-first.
My collarbone snapped.
The shock of it hit me more than the pain at first, my body sending all the adrenaline rushing through me to help quell my suffering. It wasn’t until later when it wore off that I really felt the torture — not just of the break, but of the realization that I’d have to undergo surgery, that I’d be off the ice for months, and that my season was over.
It was the first time I realized something you loved could hurt you.
The memory of that feeling, of that specific type of affliction sat with me the entire drive from Canmore to Calgary on the morning of the thirty-first. My eyes burned from the late night, so much so that I hadn’t even attempted putting in contacts. I held onto Grace’s thigh just as tightly as the steering wheel, both of us silent, her face blotchy and red from crying the night before, and my heart firmly seated in my throat.
There was no rush of adrenaline to help me, no doctor who could patch me up and send me home with a rehab plan.
There was only agony — ripe and all-consuming.
We’d booked flights as close together as we could — hers for Grand Rapids, mine for Tampa. But mine still left an hour before hers did from a gate on the opposite side of the terminal, and I was cursing how fast the minutes passed, how quickly the moment was sneaking up where I’d have to walk away from her.
After I made a quick purchase of an extra suitcase for Grace to fit all her souvenirs in, we turned in the rental car and checked our luggage, holding hands as we made our way to security.
Like I’d predicted, it was busy.
Someone recognized me in the line, which led to a flurry of people wanting autographs and photographs. I internally groaned, biting back the urge to tell them all to fuck off while Grace pretended not to know me.
We were pros at it now. When someone recognized me, she got lost just in case some asshole decided to take a photo of us and post it.
I was so fucking pissed at the world, at the circumstances we were locked in.
I didn’t want to hide her.
I didn’t want to lose her.
She shot me a text that she would meet me in the lounge. I’d booked us first-class flights, and I knew at least in the lounge, we could exist in peace. So, I forced smile after stupid smile for photos until security helped me escape the throng.
By the time I made it and took a seat next to Grace, I was a bundle of anxious energy.
My foot bounced, hands wringing together where they hung between my knees, every breath harder than the last. I couldn’t get enough oxygen, couldn’t will my heart to steady.
Closing my eyes, I forced an inhale as slowly as I could and let it out just the same. Then, I reclined, putting my arm around Grace.
“I think we should do one last video, don’t you think?”
“That,” she said, digging into her carry-on. “Is an excellent idea.”
She was trying so fucking hard to keep it together. Her smile was bright, her emerald eyes shining as she looked over her shoulder. Then, she leaned into me, resting her head against my chest and holding her phone up so we were in the video frame.
“Today,” she started, letting out a long sigh before plastering her smile back in place. “I get to fly first class. I get to see my parents. And I get to say goodbye to one adventure and hello to the next.”
A heavy boot crushed down on my rib cage hearing her say those words. It was what I wanted for her — to move on — and yet it fucking shredded me.
“Tell me something good, Jaxson,” she said next, looking up at me before she found my eyes on the phone screen.
I swallowed, hooking my arm around her and pulling her into me even more. I opened my mouth to speak, but then paused, feeling how the emotion was strangling me.
God, I couldn’t remember a time in my life that I’d felt like this. Not when I was climbing into the car with my father after a game knowing he’d be screaming at me the whole way home, not when my college hockey team lost the one time we made it to the Frozen Four, not even when I played in my first NHL game and felt sick nearly the entire time.
There was nothing as raw as this.
I cleared my throat, shaking it off as best I could, and then I tipped Grace’s chin until she looked at me, until I was looking at her instead of the camera.