Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 92180 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92180 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
I met him last night at the party, and he’s one of those people you can’t help but fucking like. I’m excited to see what he can do to help this team coalesce into winners.
When Callum calls him up, he’s greeted by a rowdy cheer, and that probably has to do with not just our excitement that he’s here but because almost everyone is giddy that the former coach, Matt Keller, is gone.
Or so we discussed last night. I was filled in on the apparent glory of Gage putting him in his place when he made a disparaging remark about Jenna, and by putting him in his place, I mean he almost strangled the guy.
Another mark in the column for Brienne, I suppose. She fired Keller on the spot for the remark, and yeah, that’s surprising. Most management, at least in my experience, sides with the coaches over the players.
It makes Brienne a continued conundrum, but one I’m not going to put too much thought into figuring out. She’s hot in a way that should be illegal, but she’s also a distraction I don’t need, not to mention she sits across an employer-employee line I can’t cross.
Well, I could, but I shouldn’t.
Coach West pumps his hands downward in the universal sign that says shut the hell up, and the room silences. One voice in the back mutters, “Remember the shit show of our first team meeting with Keller?”
No clue what that means, but I’m guessing he was an ass from day one.
Stone leans over to me, his voice low so it doesn’t carry. “The asshat tried to make us all stand up and share our touchy feelings. Called on me and asked me how I felt about being here.”
I wince. “Jesus… what a douche.”
Stone’s brother died on that plane, and I can’t imagine a dumber question anyone could ask.
“Got that right,” he replies and draws back into his chair to listen as our new coach speaks.
“When my wife died,” Cannon says, and it’s a jolt to all of us those would be his first words, “I thought my life was over.”
He pauses, lets his words hang heavy in the air. No one so much as twitches a muscle.
“She was only twenty-seven, and the cancer took her fast.”
A knot forms in my gut. I lost a wife, too, but it was to drug addiction and it wasn’t fast at all. Cannon West loved his wife through cancer, and I loved mine as long as I could through addiction. I worked harder at helping her get free of her demons than I’d ever worked at anything in my life.
When she admitted to me in therapy that she simply loved the high more than anything else, I was done. I could forgive her for not loving me more than the drugs, but I couldn’t forgive her for not loving our kids enough.
In the end, Cannon and I both lost our wives. He loved his when she died, and I hated mine in the end.
And I didn’t even hate her for the lies she told about me, which ruined my career. I hated her because of what she did to my boys.
“My world was flipped upside down, and I couldn’t see a clear path. I lost hockey—at least the part where I’d step foot on the ice again. It’s not that I couldn’t physically do it, it’s just that I didn’t want to anymore.”
The knot turns into a lead ball that drops low in my abdomen. Fuck if this doesn’t hit close to home—that’s exactly how I felt when the league abandoned me. When they chose to believe my vindictive, cheating, strung-out wife that I was betting on my own games, it destroyed my passion for play. The thought of strapping on my skates made me sick to my stomach.
Still does sometimes, but here I am. It’s my chance to give it a go and see if my career can be resurrected, if my character can be redeemed.
West continues about how he pulled himself out of his depression by turning to coaching. “Caring for my wife while she was in hospice taught me that I’m good at giving of myself. And that’s what coaching is… giving. That’s why I’m here, to give all of you every bit of wisdom—even though some say I don’t have enough at the tender age of thirty-six—to give you my energy, my strategies, my comfort when you’re down, and most importantly, to give you your best chance at success.”
I jerk when Stone starts a slow clap next to me. It echoes throughout the room for only three beats before others join in. He stands, eyes locked on West in admiration. I follow suit along with the other players.
It appears that this opening meeting is far better than the one they had with Keller in February.