Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 79850 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79850 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Needless to say, we’re close.
After I won the gold medal in Sochi in 2014 playing for Team Canada, I gave it to my mother as way to thank her for her support and dedication to me during those formative years and beyond. Of course, she is insisting she’s just “holding” it for me until she dies, but whatever. That gold medal is hers now.
“What’s Coach Perron like?” she asks after I wind down. I’d obviously steered clear of the topic of my coach, not wanting to get drawn into deceiving my mom by mistake.
“It’s hard to tell,” I reply, which is the truth. It’s also the truth when I say, “He’s hard, but those that have played for him before say he’s fair.”
Then, to completely redirect her even further away from the topic of Brooke’s dad, I ask her, “Have you decided what games you want tickets to yet?”
My mom is pretty high up in her company, having worked there for thirty-one years now. They are very flexible in letting her travel to come watch me play, partly because I’m a native son of London and big shit in the NHL, and partly because my mom can pretty much work from anywhere as long as she has her laptop.
“I’ll definitely want to hit the games close to me,” she tells me. “Detroit, Buffalo. Maybe Pittsburgh. And I’ll pull up the schedule and decide on the ones I want to come to for the first half of the year.”
That brings a smile to my face. “Sounds great. Just let me know and I’ll get working on the tickets.”
Of course, it would actually be Brooke’s job to help me secure tickets for the away games, but hey…what are girlfriends/fiancées for, right?
“Let me talk to her,” Dax demands, and rips the phone away from me. I let him have it because he’s become like a son to her. He starts telling her all about his new workout regimen, and because my mom will be sincerely interested, I know they’ll be talking for a bit. I head out of the kitchen to get into my workout gear, not in the slightest bit concerned that Dax will tell my mother about what’s going on with Brooke and Coach Perron.
He’s got my back always.
Chapter 7
Bishop
There have been nerve-racking moments in my life.
The NHL entry draft, waiting to see when I’d be picked and where I’d go.
First time I stepped onto the ice as a professional hockey player.
The last few minutes of the gold medal game in Sochi.
Walking into a team event with Brooke Perron on my arm.
Honestly, I’m not sure which one is the worst, but my stomach is in knots. It’s not only because people are going to be shocked as shit to see us together and the lies are going to unfold as our fake story is brought out, but also because she and I haven’t seen each other or talked in three days.
We’ve completed training camp, and our first preseason game is day after tomorrow. The new team owner—a rich dude named Dominik Carlson who also owns a professional basketball team in LA—rented out the swankest restaurant in Phoenix for us and gave the team carte blanche to eat and drink whatever we wanted. The invitation included spouses, kids, significant others, and even arm candy that I was sure many of the players would show up with tonight.
This get-together was purely to celebrate this new team as a whole and bring us together as a family. It would be the first time all of the players, coaches, team staff and front office staff, plus their extended families, would come together under one roof to get to know each other. I expect Mr. Carlson is going to be picking up a six-figure bill tonight, but I’m sure he can easily afford it.
“Is it your hand that’s sweaty or mine?” Brooke asks as we walk into the restaurant. I had grabbed her hand as soon as I met her on the other side of the car where the valet was helping her out.
“Shit,” I say as I drop her hand like a hot potato and wipe my hands on the bottom of my suit jacket. Brooke does the same, although she runs her hands down her hips. I’m not sure that slinky black material is going to help much, though.
“It’s fine,” she murmurs, taking my hand again, and I’m thankful to feel cool, dry palm against cool, dry palm. “We’ll be fine, I’m sure.”
I sure as shit hope we will. This is as disconcerting as sitting down at her father’s table earlier this week to face his scrutiny and potential wrath. Neither Brooke nor I made any effort this week to see each other, and I’m not really sure why. I know I demanded that we engage in a whole lot of fucking to get to know each other so we could carry this off without a hitch, but that wasn’t really necessary. Let’s be honest, that was totally self-serving to me, but if she didn’t complain or tell me no, I had to assume she was just as into it. I think the number of orgasms she had that last night together, as well as the completely satisfied yet sleepy smile on her face when I left, speaks volumes.