Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 81635 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 408(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 272(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81635 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 408(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 272(@300wpm)
"Hynes," Wilson says, holding his hand out to Bill. "How're you doing?" He smiles at him. "It’s been a while."
"I was in retirement when this one called me up." He points at me with his thumb. "Was about to say no, but then she told me about the show, and I couldn’t wait." He smiles, putting his hands in his pockets. "Glad to see you on the list."
Wilson laughs at him. "Glad to be on the list."
"Okay." I look at both of them. "This is how it’s going to work. Bill will go through a series of questions. Don’t jump to answer them if you aren’t sure," I tell him. "We can always edit it down, so there is no rush. Take all the time you need."
"I always take my time," he says, and I ignore the pull to look back at him.
"Good to know," I say. "If at any time you need a break or you just want to stretch your legs, just say the word."
"So you’re the one in charge, then?" he asks, and I turn to look at him.
"This is my show," I finally say. "I’m the producer, so yes, I’m in charge." He just nods at me. "I’ll be sitting right there." I point at the chair behind one of the cameras. "I’ll have a headset on, so if you need anything, you just let me know."
"I will," he says, and I look over at Catherine, who comes in and starts putting his mic on.
"How do you think this one is going to go?" Dominic, my director, asks me.
"I mean, it’s a toss-up," I say, putting on my headset. "He had a list of do’s and don’ts, and we all know Bill gives zero fucks about any lists." I shrug. It was another reason I wanted Bill. He’s been in the business for so long, he doesn’t care if people blacklist him and never work with him again. He had his own segment during Saturday night hockey in Canada, and they fired him not once but twice. From what he said, he’s never going back again, so this got him a chance to get out there and do what he loves best.
"Stand by," David says from the middle of the room. I see Bill in his chair and Wilson in the chair next to him. He's adjusting his shirt, and I take him in. His hair is longer than it was when we were together. His eyes are a light blue, and his lips are full, his scruff a touch longer than at the wedding. “And take one.”
Bill looks into the camera. "Thank you all for joining us for the Bad Boys of Hockey," he says, and I look over at Wilson, who just rolls his eyes. "My next bad boy, Brad Wilson, plays for the Dallas Oilers. You must hate that nickname."
"I’m not a fan," Wilson says, and the crew chuckles, but I’m too busy watching him. His eyes are a darker color, and I can tell this is his guarded look. When he looks at me, or the couple of times that he did look at me, his eyes danced with lightness.
"What bothers you about the title?" Bill asks.
"Everything," he says. "What defines a bad boy?" He turns it around on Bill, waiting for the answer. "Is it the guy who gets too many penalty minutes?" he asks, and I sit back in my chair. "Is it the guy who is the team enforcer?" He looks at Bill now. "Or is it when the media gives him that name that he’s automatically pushed into the category?”
"I think it’s a mix of all those things," Bill says. "What age did you start playing hockey?"
I can tell right away he’s uncomfortable because his hands in his lap turn white when he wrings them together. "I started playing when I was seven or eight." He doesn’t give any more than that.
"You were drafted by Dallas." Bill smiles. "A while ago."
"You saying I’m old, Bill?" Wilson laughs with him. "I’m not that old."
"Out of all your seasons, which one do you think landed you in the bad-boy category?" Bill asks, looking at Wilson. "Or at least when the media started calling you the bad boy?"
"Probably about four seasons ago," he says, trying to remember. "Or maybe even before that." He shrugs. "I got suspended for twenty games." He looks at him, and his tone is very monotone.
"You fought them." Bill looks down at his notes. "It got brought down to …"
"Fourteen games." Wilson fills him in. "It took a third party to come in and bring it down."
"What memory stands out to you?” I watch the screen as Wilson smirks.
"It had to be game four of the playoffs. I think it was three years ago against Toronto," he says, and you can see his eyes getting lighter. "I scored two goals in that game, and in the third period, I dived across the crease to stop a goal from going in when our goaltender got tied up."