Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 101505 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 508(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 338(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101505 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 508(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 338(@300wpm)
“This is my staff,” Zander says. “It’s your fucking credit card, but it’s my staff.”
“Unless I fire you,” Nolan warns.
“Guys, stop it,” I say. “Zander is a great chef. And it’s too late to hire somebody new without screwing up the grand opening next week.”
“Get his fucking name out of your mouth,” Nolan snaps.
Rage boils up in me. He’s being so insufferably stupid I could scream. I can sense the staff gathered behind the entrance to the kitchen and snooping around the corner. All I can think of is how Nolan is about to screw up everything I’ve spent two years working for. “You’re the problem, Nolan,” I say.
“What?” he asks. His hands are bunched into fists and he’s still squared up with Zander, but he looks at me now. “What did you say?”
“You pretend you have everything you want, but deep down, you know it’s not enough. So you punish the people who have the things you actually want.” The words rush out of me in a blur, and I realize I’ve had them bottled up for years. “You wish you were in Zander’s position right now. No hockey season about to pull you away from this place. No worries except making the restaurant the best it can be. That’s your real dream, even if you won’t admit it. And it’s not Zander’s fault, so stop taking it out on him.” I’m breathing hard even though I’m just standing still.
I’m only saying half of what I really want to say, though. I’m not saying how he wants me all to himself, too, but he’s too damn stubborn to admit it and do what it takes to have me. That he’s not willing to change a single thing to make it work. He expects the world to change for him, instead.
Now Zander is looking at me, too, and embarrassment rises up to join my anger.
Nolan walks away from his stand-off with Zander, coming just inches from me. His voice is low and full of grit. “You want me to stop picking on your boyfriend?” he asks. There’s barely concealed rage blazing in his eyes like cold fire.
“He’s not my boyfriend. I came here for this job, not boyfriends or relationships.”
Nolan’s jaw flexes and his eyes roam my face. Finally, he nods slightly, as if deciding something for himself. “Jesse said I can crash at his guest house, by the way. I’ll have my shit out of the cabin by the time you get home.”
“You guys were sharing a cabin?” Zander asks, sounding utterly confused, and I can’t say I blame him. “Wait. Were you two a couple? Shit. I didn’t realize, Nolan. But–”
“No,” I say, cutting him off. “It was just a stupid mistake.” I turn to look straight into Nolan’s eyes before I repeat my words. “It was all just a really big, really stupid mistake. Wasn’t it?”
He stares back for several long seconds. “Yeah,” he breathes, then turns and storms out of the kitchen.
Edgar shuffles past Nolan and waves. “My wife would’ve loved it here,” he says to himself. “She always loved those soap operas, you know? She used to say our life is like a soap opera, but without the soap. Then again, I ain’t never seen no soaps with ass-to-mouth, but maybe I was just watchin’ the wrong ones.” He shrugs, then continues his limping and waddling way past all of us, as if he’s oblivious to the tension in the room.
15
NOLAN
I’m decked out in my gear in front of the net, sweat running down my back despite the chill rolling off the ice. Jesse and Jake are taking turns slapping pucks my way while Carter works on trick passes to them.
I’m grateful for the distraction. The six of us have always made a habit of practicing and working out together during the offseason. Our sessions since arriving in Frosty Harbor have been a welcome excuse to take my mind away from… things.
Things like how it has been two weeks since Mia blew up at me in the restaurant. Two weeks since we’ve spoken in any way that wasn’t a robotic word or two. Since I moved into Jesse’s guest cabin, our only interactions have been when I show up at Taste, which has admittedly been less and less.
I see Jesse setting up for a shot and try to focus. My thoughts are drifting, though, and the puck zips past me faster than I can blink.
“You good?” Jesse asks. “That was a softball, dude. You normally block that in your sleep.”
I wave off his question. “It was a fluke. Just keep shooting.”
Jake pelts me with a puck that bounces off my shin pads. It’s a lucky block.
I spend the next several minutes trying desperately to push Mia out of my thoughts. If this was a live game, I would’ve already fucked up the entire match for my teammates.