Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 90475 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 452(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90475 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 452(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Then I get on the ice, and I play my best, blocking passes, rattling the other team, not letting up even an inch, and doing everything I can for the Avengers for all three periods.
It’s a tight game, and it comes down to the wire as they attack in the final few seconds. But I’m all focus as the Seattle center flies down the ice like he’s hellbent on tying it up and forcing overtime.
Nope. Not today.
I’m there, blocking the shot before he even reaches Dev, and the buzzer sounds, signaling our victory.
Later, I don’t take the easy way out. I retreated last night. I won’t do it again. I talk to the press after the game and I don’t grunt. I don’t swear either.
I do say we played hard against a tough opponent. “But I’m glad we won,” I add, even though I still feel empty.
But I keep that part all to myself.
38
DIDN’T SEE THAT COMING
Chase
Here’s the thing about New York fans. They don’t just hate you. They really fucking hate you.
Which is why it’s that much sweeter that I’m finally in the zone again with, count ’em not one, but two goals over the New York Rogues in their famed arena on Wednesday night. And the rabid fans have not let up with their chants of bad luck charm.
Yeah, real creative.
Pisses me off. But makes me play even harder. Trina wasn’t a bad luck charm. Not one bit. She is fucking incredible, but nope.
Can’t think about her on the ice.
Not during the game. Not at all. And I won’t get cocky even with our three-goal lead.
With only a few minutes left, I’m skating hard. Ledger has the puck, and he’s racing to the net. He takes aim, and then it comes: a mighty shot that smashes into the net’s twine and pads the lead.
The boos are deafening but still crystal clear.
Bad luck charm.
A few minutes later, when the horn sounds, signaling the end of the game, the jeers intensify, the brand-new insult rising in volume.
It’s not even apropos given we won, but that’s beside the point. I knew someone would say it. It started online a few days ago and picked up steam. But at least we’re winning again, and that’s all that matters.
On the way to the locker room, I rip off my helmet and Andrei high-fives me. “Nice work,” he says, then smacks palms with Ledger too. “And you too, old man.”
Ledger thumps Andrei’s head. “Where was your goal tonight, kid?”
Andrei laughs it off and the conversation moves on to the next game and the one after that.
And that’s the thing—it was one game, and anything could have happened, but it was a relief to play well. The bigger relief? My teammates haven’t said a thing about the podcast blowup and the big she’s your fake girlfriend bit.
In the hallway, Gianna catches up and says she wants Ledger and me for the post-game press in ten minutes.
“I’ll be there,” I say, and a few minutes later, after I take off my skates and jersey, we head to the media room. Along the way, Ledger shoots me a thoughtful look. “Don’t let that shit get to you. That bad luck charm stuff. I don’t think you are, but I just wanted to say it.”
And I spoke too soon. They noticed. Or at least, he did.
“Me, let something get to me? Never,” I say, keeping things light even though I don’t feel that way inside. I haven’t since Trina walked out. I know it’s for the best. Truly, I do. But I miss her more than I’d expected. Too bad there’s nothing I can do about it.
Ledger gives me a dubious look, but there’s no time to dig deeper since Gianna’s ready and waiting outside the room. Which means I need my armor since it’s New York and the press here has fangs.
After a couple easy questions about the game, a reporter in the back barks out, “Joe Cotton. New York Press. So you dumped the bad luck charm?”
And I burn inside as the gloves come off. I hate that he called her that. But I can’t let on. I’m all smiles as I say, “C’mon, Joe. You know you can’t believe everything you read. She’s a friend.”
“That’s not what I heard,” Joe presses. “She was your pretend girlfriend. Why’d you need a pretend girlfriend? To improve your play?”
And yup. I had a feeling this would happen, but I’m staying on message because it’s the right thing for her. But Gianna cuts in, leaning toward the mic at the table. “We’d like to keep the questions focused on hockey.”
“Fine. How was it dating someone who hates the sport?” someone else asks.
Clever. Real clever.
“That’s not hockey related,” Gianna corrects, but I can’t let her handle this mess for me.
“Actually, she knows a helluva lot about hockey,” I say. “Picked up the nuances real fast. And if you’re interested in nuance, you might want to consider reading a romance novel. You might learn a thing or two. Next question?”