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)
“We always need you,” Callum says, and then we step into the tunnel to watch the end of the game.
The last two minutes are exciting as the Vengeance battle viciously to try to score. They pull their goalie early and do an amazing job of deflecting long shots down at their unprotected goal.
But try as they might, Drake easily blocks every shot they take on our goal. He’s in the zone tonight.
When the final buzzer sounds, the arena erupts into a deafening roar, and I have to resist clamping my hands over my ears.
While the Vengeance exit through their tunnel on the opposite side of the ice, the Titans swarm, congregating down at the net where they congratulate Drake for his shutout.
I can’t help but get pulled into the joy of the moment. Every one of the guys out there is grinning so broadly, their jaws might crack. Drake flips up his mask, and looking upon his handsome face hurts. I start to turn away, but his eyes lock onto mine across the ice, and I freeze.
While his teammates clap him on the back and tap their sticks to his legs, he just stares at me. I start to get hot and then embarrassed, but I’m saved when someone calls my name.
“Ms. Norcross.” I turn to see Eddie Olmstead with Deebo the cameraman. Who can forget a name like that? “Can we get a few minutes?”
The gate between the ice and the tunnel opens, and the players start coming off.
“Actually… I’d like to greet the players, and I know you’ll probably want to interview some. You can get me at the end.”
The reporter flashes a smile and surges forward. “Drake… can I have a few minutes?”
I step back several feet with Callum, pressing against the wall as the hulking players lumber by. I congratulate every one of them with a fist bump, and every one of them gives me a huge smile.
I glance over at Drake. The reporter and cameraman have their backs to me, and Drake is at an angle as they mic him up for an interview.
I could back away, give them privacy, but the glutton in me wants to hear his voice. Despite blocking him from my number, I still received his voicemails. Texts don’t come through, but the other night, I found a folder in my voicemail inbox entitled Blocked Messages, and I listened to them over and over.
They weren’t long. He offered no apologies. Only requests that I call him so we could talk.
I ignored them, but I didn’t delete them.
You know… glutton and all.
“You got a shutout against the Vengeance,” the reporter says as he holds the microphone to his mouth. “That’s got to feel good.”
Drake’s pouring sweat and his hair is matted, his mask tucked under his arm. He nods at the reporter. “Yeah… a shutout always feels good. We had some great defense going on tonight. It’s always a team effort.”
What a statesman. I can’t help but smile, but when Drake looks past the reporter to me, it slides off. I duck my head and stare at my shoes.
“You’ve had some trying times, not only with the claims made by your wife, Crystal, but with the Wolves releasing you—”
“Let’s stop right there and let me make a few things clear,” Drake says, and my head snaps up. His voice is calm and nonthreatening, and he’s in control of the narrative. “First, she’s my ex-wife, and the reason she’s my ex-wife is that she made false allegations, all of which were investigated and disproved. So let’s make sure you report that accurately, okay?”
The reporter nods dumbly.
“Second, the Wolves—and most everyone else in the league—chose to believe the lies, because the media twisted it that way. Sells better if I’m a villain.”
At this point, poor Eddie is speechless.
“Lastly, I’m back in this league because someone believed in me from the start.” Drake’s eyes slide past the reporter again and land on me. My entire body flushes with the attention, and I feel like bolting. His gaze is so focused on me that the reporter turns to see what’s making his interview go off the rails. “Brienne Norcross,” Drake says softly.
He doesn’t look at the camera but keeps his eyes pinned on me, and I’m helpless to look away. “She gave me a chance, and I took it. I’m also stupid fucking in love with her, and I’ve been trying to tell her that for a while now, but she won’t give me the time of day. So I guess now I’m going to have to make the most of this opportunity.”
My mouth gapes in shock, and beside me, Callum mutters, “Is he fucking crazy?”
Drake pulls off the microphone and hands it to the cameraman. He pushes past the reporter and walks over to me, his skates adding enough height that I have to tip my head way, way back.