Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 86068 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 430(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86068 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 430(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
She looks at me, her face filled with questions. Her eyes roam my face, her eyes focusing on mine when she asks me the question. “Why did you quit?” I’ve been asked by so many people. People who I didn’t want to answer, people who wouldn’t care either way. It just hits differently telling her, and I don’t know why. Here, in the middle of the ocean, I’m finally going to be able to tell my side of the story.
CHAPTER 19
VIVIENNE
I look at him, not sure what he means by that. My eyes roam his face, focusing on his when I ask the next question. “Why did you quit?” He lies in front of me, looking at me. He brings the bottle of water to his mouth and takes a deep pull of it. He’s on his side looking at me, his legs crossed over each other. His arm is propping him up, and I can see the muscle in full form. When he came up before, I wasn’t expecting him to be shirtless. When I saw him up close, my mouth watered, which was dumb, since I’m around built guys all the time.
“That’s a loaded question.” He puts the bottle in front of him, his hand shaking a bit. Making me really anxious about his answer.
“That’s a no.” I shake my head, not willing to put him through this if it’s going to be so hard on him. “You don’t have to answer that. I take it back. Let me ask you something else, then.” There is a reason I hate this game, and this is the top one. You ask something you shouldn’t or something that the person doesn’t want to share. My heart speeds up as I try to take it back.
He smiles at me, but it’s sort of a sad smile. “Those aren’t the rules,” he tries to joke, but his voice is monotone. There is no feeling in it, no nothing, which makes me feel even fucking worse.
“I don’t care,” I say, my heart speeding up, suddenly feeling like an asshole for asking the question. “You see? This is why I hate this game.” I throw my hands up. “It should never be played. Ever.”
He chuckles. “It’s fine,” he assures me, looking straight at the water. “To be honest, I never really told anyone my side of the story.” I swallow down the lump forming in my throat. “I don’t even know how the media spun it.” His eyes never leave the water. “I also didn’t go out of my way to find it.”
“Xavier.” I say his name softly, silently begging him not to do this.
“I got drafted at eighteen.” He smiles but like a real smile. “I thought I was a superstar even though I went like one hundred and ninety-three.” He looks at me. “I mean, your family goes like one or two. I can’t even wrap my head around that.”
“They’re all overachievers, so don’t feel bad for yourself. You still got drafted and played in the NHL.” I smile at him. “No one can take that away from you. There are kids out there who think you play in the NHL once you get drafted. The odds are not in their favor.”
He nods his head. “I played on the farm team for a while, then I got called up. I played one game, got a goal, and then was sent back down. I was just waiting for the call-up again, except it never came. Still, I was playing hockey for a living. How much better did it get?
“It took five seasons for me to make the official team. I trained harder than I ever had in my life. I was working out seven days a week, pushing myself to the edge and then coming back.” He stops talking. The sound of water hitting the boat makes it so peaceful, yet I know inside he’s struggling. I know he is reliving this. I can see it in his eyes. “I was at the top of my game at that point. I was putting goals in, assists, on the power play, on the penalty kill. I was on fucking point.” His voice trembles.
“I thought the team was behind me, but then I got traded.” He looks back at the water. “That stung. But I was excited that at least another team wanted me.” I don’t say anything. I just listen, letting him take his time. Afraid to say one word to make him feel that his story isn’t important. “The minute I got there, they gave me the ins and outs of the team. I had heard rumblings through the years. It was an old-school team run by old-fashioned guys. It took a week before they pulled me aside. In a friendly manner, of course.” He laughs, and the laughter is of anger and bitterness. “They just let me know that this was a clean-cut team. No mustache, beards, nothing. It had to be clean cut every single day.” He shrugs his shoulders and picks up his water bottle again. His hands shake less, but his lips quiver when he puts the bottle to his mouth.