Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 55153 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 276(@200wpm)___ 221(@250wpm)___ 184(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55153 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 276(@200wpm)___ 221(@250wpm)___ 184(@300wpm)
“Well, I was hoping for more…enthusiasm,” Alexander Croft says, clearing his throat. “Cassidy and I will be having one-on-one meetings with each of you starting tomorrow, once we’ve both moved into our new offices.”
After a few more seconds of uncomfortable silence, Coach Bear nods and leads the way to the locker room door.
“Okay, thanks for that introduction, Alexander. We need to get started with today’s practice.”
“Actually, I prefer Mr. Croft, Coach.”
I press my lips together to hide my shock. He seriously just chastised our head coach in his own damn locker room. This guy is a piece of work.
“Absolutely, Mr. Croft,” Coach says, holding open the locker room door.
The Crofts see themselves out, and the room remains silent as we wait for them to walk far enough down the hall so they’re out of earshot. Eyes are rolled, arms are crossed, and scowls are formed, though.
“Not a word,” Coach says, his own scowl in place. “You’ve got five minutes to get your asses on the ice.”
“What the hell?” Eli says under his breath as we leave the locker room. “I can’t believe that just happened.”
“Don’t make waves,” I tell him.
I’ve been playing pro hockey for seven years, and I’ve seen guys get shitcanned when they didn’t deserve it. Rich guys like Croft get off on the control they’re able to buy. Money can’t buy respect, though, and I’ve got zero respect for anyone who treats people the way Croft does.
As I skate laps around the rink to warm up, I try to put him out of my mind, but instead I end up getting even more worked up. I know all too well how entitled pricks like him operate.
Coming to a stop, I close my eyes and take a moment to remember what Hector taught me during our sessions. No emotions should ever make it onto the ice. Not in practice. Not in games.
Together. To be the best teammate I can, I’ve got to leave all distractions behind and put all my energy into hockey. As I open my eyes and see our equipment manager bringing out buckets of pucks for practice, I do just that.
No matter how shitty Alexander and Cassidy Croft are likely to be at their new jobs, I have to make sure I’m completely focused on doing my part for this team. I’ve got something to prove, and a championship is the only way to do it.
Chapter Two
Kylie
* * *
“Batter up!”
I know that mischievous tone. I go from a brisk walk to sprinting down the hallway toward the common area. They may be old or partly incapacitated, but the patients at The Canyons usually keep me on my toes every minute of every shift.
Lyndon McDaniels is the patient ringleader here, and the scene he’s created in the main common area this afternoon makes me pause in absolute disbelief.
The chairs and tables have all been moved to the back of the room, and a makeshift baseball diamond has been created. One of our new residents, Bob, who has dementia, is pitching an inflated latex glove to Sam, a nine-year-old resident with cerebral palsy whose legs don’t fully function. Sam is swinging one of his crutches like a bat while Lyndon pulls back on a gait belt to keep him upright.
“Stee-rike two!” Kenny Zimmerman bellows from behind the empty urostomy bag on the floor that’s serving as home plate.
“That was a ball!” Lyndon cries, glaring at him. “Are you blind?”
“Well, I do have glaucoma in both eyes,” Kenny admits.
“Come on, give the kid a shot,” Lyndon barks.
It’s Sam’s expression that stops me short. His eyes shine with happiness and he’s grinning. This is a terrible idea, and someone could get hurt at any moment, but…Sam is holding that crutch up with every ounce of strength he has, determined to try again. For the first time ever, he’s not a boy confined to a nursing home, but a boy playing baseball.
I glance at the nurses’ station. Lydia, the charge nurse, isn’t there. And I’m not even supposed to be here. The CNA in charge of monitoring the common area, Andre, went out for an early smoke break. I only ran in here because of the commotion. If anything happens, though, it’s going to be on me for watching it go down. Still, I can’t seem to break it up just yet.
“This is the one, kid,” Bob tells Sam. “Make it count.”
He pitches the inflated glove again and Sam swings. As he finally makes contact, the glove bursts apart and water sprays everywhere. Of course they put water in the glove to make it heavy enough to pitch. This whole thing is a prospective what not to do training video for nursing home employees.
Lyndon whoops with joy, letting up on the gait belt so Sam can run to first base, which looks like a cafeteria tray from where I’m standing.