Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 83550 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 418(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83550 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 418(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
“I’m way too busy with school to date.” Or get tangled up with a biker.
“Sounds awfully boring.”
“Yup, that’s me. Boring.”
I press a kiss to her cheek before heading for the door, my chest already tight with the need to escape.
To breathe.
“I’ll let you know what the dentist says.”
“No worries.”
I almost snort. That’s Mom’s mantra. No worries. And somehow it always works out for her.
For me? Not so much.
Back in my car, I’m about to turn the key when my phone lights up with a notification from the college chat app.
ColdAsIce17
Thanks for your message the other night. It was exactly what I needed to hear. I don’t know how you knew, but... thanks.
Warmth blooms within me, pushing back against the cold weight of responsibility. Our connection might only exist through words on a screen, but it’s the one thing in my life that feels real.
Important.
This guy understands me like no one else.
And I get him too.
Me
I’m always here for you.
His reply comes instantly.
ColdAsIce17
Same. Just know that this thing between us matters to me.
A lump rises in my throat. My guard slips as I type back.
Me
I feel the same. Our relationship is one of the only things that keeps me sane.
There’s a pause before he responds.
ColdAsIce17
Good to know. We might not have much, but we have each other.
His understanding wraps around me like a blanket, making me feel safe and warm. He might be a stranger, but he sees me in ways no one else does. Between my mother’s chaos, Bridger’s threats, and the weight of everything I’m juggling, these conversations are sometimes the only thing that feels real.
The only place I can truly be myself.
Me
Life, family, relationships—they’ve never come easy. Remember when you asked if I wanted to walk away from it all? Today is definitely one of those days.
I start the car, grateful that at least one thing in my life makes sense, even if they’re just simple messages. As I pull away from the house, I try not to think about the dentist bill waiting in my future, or the project I’ll have to suffer through with Bridger.
One crisis at a time.
That’s all anyone can handle, right?
4
Bridger
The puck whizzes past my stick while my mind replays the last mass text and my father’s reaction. We haven’t spoken since that night.
The silence is blissful.
Out of all the possible suspects on this campus, one name keeps circling my thoughts like a shark in bloody water.
Holland Tate.
Her parting shot after class still burns.
Nothing about our sexual encounter was forgettable.
Not that I’d ever admit it, but I obsessed about that night for months. The way her body—
“Sanderson!” Coach’s whistle pierces the air. “What the hell was that? My grandmother has better hands, and she’s been dead ten years.” He jerks his head toward the bench. “Akeman, show him how it’s done.”
Perfect.
Garret fucking Akeman.
At the beginning of the season, he’d been gunning for Ryder McAdams’s spot before getting it through his thick head that he didn’t have a shot. Now he’s turned his attention to mine.
He glides onto the ice, all cocky attitude and unearned confidence. “Don’t worry, Coach. I got this.”
I clench my stick so hard, my fingers cramp. One punch. That’s all it would take to wipe that smirk off his face.
In the end, the few seconds of pleasure it’ll give me won’t be worth it.
Especially if my father catches wind of it.
I drop onto the bench and guzzle down some water before silently stewing. It’s a relief when Coach ends practice and everyone files off the ice.
My mind tumbles back to the beginning of the season and how epic I thought it would be to play the sport I’ve always enjoyed, with guys who’ve become more like brothers to me.
Fast forward six months, and my life feels more like a living hell I can’t see my way out of.
I push into the locker room and throw my stick in the holder near the door. The place is already thick with the scent of sweat along with humidity from the showers.
With a huff, I settle on the bench to unlace my skates before shoving them in my locker. Next comes the jersey and chest pad. Just as I’m peeling off my elbow pads, Garret saunters over with a white towel slung around his hips and a shit-eating grin quirking his lips.
“Rough practice, huh?” he says, leaning against the locker beside mine. “Better watch it, or I’ll be taking your place on the second line.”
I stiffen. There’s no way in hell I’ll allow that to happen.
“Fuck off, Akeman.”
His eyes light up as his smile broadens. “Nah, don’t think I will. It’s about time Coach realized the only reason you have a place on this team is because of your old man.”
I almost snort but rein it in at the last second.
This guy doesn’t know what he’s talking about. My father didn’t lift a finger or make any phone calls to get me on this team. I earned the position on my own. If Dick had his way, I wouldn’t be wasting my time playing college hockey.