Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 81831 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81831 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
“You’re always a level head in a crisis,” Gram says. “Just don’t push too hard.”
“I won’t,” I promise. “See you around noon?”
“Noon is perfect,” she says. “Oh, and do you still need Slasher to drive you to get those new scans tomorrow? We have it on our calendar and it’s no problem.”
“That would be great, thanks,” I say. Until this morning, I was thinking about renting a car and trying to drive with one arm, but after carrying Chase down the stairs, my shoulder and wound are sore again. I should probably take it easy for at least a week or so and let my family help out.
As much as I want to be useful and strong for Melissa and Chase, I have to think of the big picture. If I can’t get back on the ice soon, the dream I’ve been busting my ass to make come true my entire life might be over for good. I’m not getting any younger and I’m the Midges newest rookie, which means I’ll be the easiest to let go.
Ending the call with Gram, I reach the front door just as the cleaning woman rings the bell. I welcome her in, explain the situation and everything that needs a good wipe down, and retreat to my room.
I’m contemplating another ibuprofen and a nap when a text pops through from my coach.
I haven’t heard from him since the morning after the accident. He’s probably just texting to check in, but my pulse picks up anyway, a part of me superstitious that I’ve brought bad news upon myself with my negative thoughts. Hockey players are notoriously superstitious. I have friends who wear the same game day underwear for an entire season, and I had a lucky sock I kept for so long, it had holes in every toe by the time it was finally retired from service.
But I still keep it in my gear bag, just in case.
Taking a bracing breath, I swipe up on the lock screen to read—Just know we’re all behind you, Aaron. The Midges have your back, and this will blow over soon. The Wisconsin fans are animals, but they have short attention spans, like everyone else these days. That’s why we meditate as a team. Focus has to be cultivated and exercised, just like any other muscle. And, of course, you did nothing wrong. Obviously. These people are just assholes.
My brows furrowing, I use voice-to-text to type—Thanks Coach, but I’m not sure what you mean. I’ve been living the small-town life and staying away from the internet. Is there something I should know?
Shit. Yes, unfortunately. Just a second. Bubbles fill the screen.
I head to my laptop on the window seat to do some searching of my own before I remember that I only have one hand and won’t be able to open the computer or type in my access code until I’m done on the phone. Cursing, I start to pace, willing Rich to hurry. I love Coach’s firm, measured style, and emphasis on staying grounded in the present moment, but there are times when rushing isn’t a bad thing.
Finally, a headline pops through, along with a link to a newspaper article. I click and skim it quickly, my stomach sinking even as outrage builds in my throat until it feels like I might choke on it.
“Fuck!” I bark, remembering the woman downstairs only after it’s out of my mouth. Lowering my voice, I mutter, “What the fuck? What the actual fuck?”
Thumbing back over to the conversation with Coach, I shoot over—Can I call you? It’ll be faster than voice-to-text or trying to type with one thumb.
A second later, my phone rings.
I answer with the only phrase still running on frantic repeat through my head. “What the fuck, Coach? How is this a thing? Wisconsin fans are calling for me to be kicked off the Midges? Or worse?” I don’t want to talk about the uglier threats the article alluded to. The idea that some Wisconsin fans think it would be a great idea if someone tracked me down and finished the job Jimmy Kriecheque started on the ice is downright chilling. Not to mention insane. “I don’t understand where this is coming from.”
“I don’t know, Aaron. The world is upside down these days. It’s not the same planet I was born on, and this isn’t the sport I played my entire life. Back in my time in the NHL, you never would have been hurt this badly in the first place. We knew when to pull back on the rough stuff. At the end of the day, we all wanted to beat the other team fair and square, not with dirty tricks. And especially not with criminal behavior.”
I’m not sure how true that is—my dad used to love watching hockey players fight on TV when I was a kid; it was his favorite part, the violent bastard—but I let it go. I have more pressing concerns right now. “I haven’t been contacted by the police. And if I had, I wouldn’t have agreed to press charges. Kriecheque is a bully and an asshole, but he didn’t fall and cut me with his skate on purpose.”