Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 92422 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92422 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
I’ve never been one to start shit, but I’ll damn well finish it.
He lands a punch that snaps my head back and we roll a few more times before I land on top of him. That’s when he throws his gloves to the ice before trying to rip the helmet from my head.
I’m seething inside as hands reach out to drag me away. All I want to do is tear Garret Akeman apart limb by fucking limb. I buck and fight the arms that lock around me, dragging me from my teammate who’s still sprawled out on the ice.
“Settle down,” Bridger hisses in my ear.
“Damn,” Hayes mutters loud enough for me to hear.
“McNichols!” Coach bellows from the benches, his deep voice echoing off the cavernous space. “Get off my ice until you can pull yourself together!”
Other than my own harsh breathing, a blanket of heavy silence falls over the arena.
“Fuck…you really screwed the pooch this time,” Bridger mumbles with a shake of his head.
Garret glares as a few teammates assist him to his skates. With a scowl, he wipes away a smear of blood. “You’re a talentless hack riding the coattails of your father,” he growls.
When I surge forward for a second time, Hayes and Bridger tighten their grip, dragging me away.
“Go cool off in the locker room, McNichols!”
“Why are you listening to one word Akeman has to say?” Hayes grumbles. “He’s the talentless hack. Not you.”
“Fuck off, Van Doren! You’re just a piece of trash here on scholarship!”
Hayes glares, his upper lip curling. “Right back at you, asswipe.”
It takes a full sixty seconds before the haze obscuring my vision begins to clear. Only then do I glance around to find everyone staring at me.
Including the coaching staff.
My muscles lose their rigidity as the last of my rage drains away, leaving me to feel worse than before.
“You good?” Bridger asks.
“Yeah,” I say with an embarrassed grunt.
He pats my shoulder. “Better move your ass before you get it chewed out again.”
Fuck…
I pick up my stick and force myself to skate toward the benches where the coaches are loitering before grinding to a halt in front of Reed Philips. I hate the disappointment that stares back at me.
“Go cool off and get yourself straight.”
“Sorry, Coach. It won’t happen again.”
I don’t bother waiting for a response.
What’s he going to say?
That it’s all good?
We both know it isn’t. I shouldn’t have acted like some hot-headed punk. It’s not who I am. Now that I’ve had a little time to think, I’m ashamed of my behavior. Garret Akeman runs his mouth all the time and normally, I let it roll off my back without a second thought. Sometimes, I give it right back to him.
What I don’t do is lose my shit.
Ever.
It only proves how much the situation with Britt is messing with my head.
I slam into the locker room and drop my stick in the holder before unsnapping my chin strap and yanking off the helmet. Then I drop onto the bench and plow my hands through the sweat-soaked strands.
My heart hammers against my ribcage as adrenalin drains from my body. In the silence of the locker room, I’m all too cognizant of the thoughts that circle through my brain.
I need to get all this shit off. The skates get unlaced before I toss them into my locker. The practice jersey, shoulder and elbow pads come next. Then the socks, shin pads, and pants. Once I’m standing in my cup, I rifle through my locker and find my phone.
I open the home screen and hit Mom’s number.
She picks up on the second ring. “Hey, hon. What’s up?” There’s a pause. “Aren’t you supposed to be at practice?”
I sink to the bench as emotion bubbles up inside me. It’s been a long time since I felt this overwhelmed. I hate how paralyzing it feels.
“Yeah.”
That one-worded response is enough for her to realize there’s been a disturbance in the force.
She says something to my brothers before there’s a soft click of the door. I can just imagine her shuttering herself away in Dad’s study. “Tell me what happened, Colby.”
My shoulders wilt as I admit, “I kind of lost it at practice.”
“Lost it?”
If I hate to disappoint Coach, it’s tenfold with my parents. But there’s no way I’m going to lie or withhold the truth. That’s not the kind of relationship we have. They’ve always been my number one supporters. Even when I fuck up. They’re there to help pick me up and get me moving again.
“I got into it with Garret Akeman on the ice.”
“How come?”
I drag a hand over my face and stare at the orange and black wildcat painted above the lockers.
“Stupid stuff,” I mutter.
“Well, it couldn’t have been that stupid if you got so upset.”
The woman knows me well. It’s the reason I called. When there’s too much mental crap for me to wade through, she’s the first person I reach out to.