Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 55760 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 279(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55760 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 279(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
“So what? He’s still a professional hockey player, and maybe Vinnie’s clout will bump him to the AHL for a season. That would be an awesome way to finish his career. Let me know what you find out. I’m dying here!” she sighed theatrically.
I nodded and gave her a high five, casting a brief glance at the group of men still deep in conversation at the far end of the lobby. My mind was buzzing with more thoughts than I could sort through.
Agent, queer ambassador, hockey couple…
I moved down the hall and into the brightly lit rink and made my way to the burly man sitting a few rows behind the bench.
“For you,” I said in greeting, handing JC the to-go cup.
“Merci.” He lifted the cup and winked. “This is probably a lukewarm cocoa instead of a true hot chocolate now, eh?”
“Bite me.” I loosened my scarf as I took a seat, my gaze searching the ice for Court.
JC snickered. “I’m only teasing. I was wondering where you were.”
“I was talking to Erica. She was excited about the agent in the lobby,” I replied, a smile spreading at the sight of Court leading a dozen kids in a backward skating drill through a hodgepodge of cones.
“Mais oui. The great McD has come to save the day and put money in his pocket in time for Christmas,” he scoffed.
I furrowed my brow. “Why do you say that?”
“I think he’s gathering all the queer players he can find in Elmwood to sell to the highest bidders. Like Court. I’m not saying Court doesn’t deserve another chance in the league. Of course, he does. But he’s signing up for the circus if he takes Gary McDermott on.”
“He was talking to Jake Milligan too. He’s not queer.”
“But his father is and he lives in Elmwood…like Vinnie and Riley. Honestly, it’s good business for the town, so I shouldn’t complain. It’s just…inauthentique.”
I was thinking the same thing. “But if it gives him a chance to do what he loves…”
“He seems to love that too.” JC pointed at the gaggle of kids laughing uproariously on the ice as Court balanced a hockey stick on his head and did a funky squat-skate combo that made him look like an Oompa-Loompa.
It was true. Court looked carefree and happy—like a man who’d found his place again.
Bryson joined us in the stands as his son glided out to meet his teammates. I nodded or hummed where necessary while he chattered excitedly about the possibility of Jake signing with an elite agent.
“Jake doesn’t know where he wants to go to college yet and I’ve emphasized the importance of education like a broken record, so I know he’ll choose wisely. I don’t want him to go where an agent thinks he’ll do well professionally. He can dream all he wants, but there’s no guarantee he’ll ever play pro,” Bryson confided.
I missed JC’s reply and gave up listening altogether when the juniors took the ice with a few of the coaches for a scrimmage. Court jumped over the boards and skated like a demon into the fray of bodies scrumming behind the goal. One of the juniors tipped the puck to a teammate who tore across the ice on a breakaway. The excited cheers from the juniors’ parents and friends turned to a worried rumble as Court closed the distance, cutting off the scoring opportunity. He passed the puck to Riley, who deked around a junior D-man, and passed it back to Court.
For an instant, Court was alone with the puck. There was a narrow opening in the crease, the tempting kind that required a flashy shot at an insane angle. An experienced player knew when to take it and when to wait it out. The opponent’s reckless defense could lead to a penalty that would open the ice even wider. He just had to stay agile and…be patient.
A moment later, a junior barreled toward Court, knocking him against the boards. The whistle blew, a penalty was called, and the coaches scored easily on a power play.
“That is how you get the job done,” Vinnie hooted, tapping Court’s stick and head-butting his helmet in praise. “Watch and learn, children. The big boys are on fuc-fire!”
The stands erupted, and the juniors groaned on cue.
Court beamed, his chin held high. The shadows of uncertainty and fear that clung to him when he’d first come home were long gone. He reminded me of the cocky boy of my youth—the one with a quick smile and contagious lust for life. The one voted most likely to kick ass and succeed at all costs.
The adult version was an unstoppable force—more determined, more tenacious, more confident than ever. That last quality would take him anywhere. Far, far from Elmwood…whenever he was ready to go.
“Did you see Riley’s last shot? That motherfucker hit the bar and it still slipped in the net.” Court waved to a couple of teens and parents, then adjusted the strap on his bag, and reached for my hand.