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)
I’m finishing up getting ready for the game when Dom wanders over, wearing nothing but his pants, his gaze on a book in his hand.
“I need a three-letter word that’s the Latin meaning of peace,” he says.
“It’s pax.”
He rolls his eyes. “Whatever man. I need a three-letter word that’s the Latin meaning of peace, Pax.”
“No, dumbass, that’s the word. Pax.”
Looking up at me with a furrowed brow, he says, “Stop dicking with me, man. I only have a pen and I can’t erase whatever I write.”
“Don’t use it, then.” I shrug. “I don’t give a shit. But you can google it if you want; the answer is pax. That’s the Latin word for peace.”
“Googling answers is cheating,” he mutters.
I exchange a look with Dane, who’s changing nearby and trying to smother a laugh. Really? Google is cheating, but asking other people is okay? Dom is one guy on this team I’ll never figure out.
“Hey, it tracks,” he says, writing the answer in his book. “I think you’re right.”
Jesus. “Yeah, I’m right. You need any more help?”
A rolled-up pair of socks hits Dom on the side of his head and we both look over. Maverick is glaring at him from ten feet away.
“Get your ass moving!” he gripes. “Everyone else is dressed.”
“Okay, jeez.” Dom looks up at me. “Do you think your parents knew what Pax meant when they named you that?”
“No idea, man.”
“Huh. Pretty cool that you’re an enforcer whose name means peace.”
Dane chuckles from nearby. “Deep thoughts by Dom Berry.”
“You assholes have five minutes to finish getting ready,” Maverick warns. “Anyone who’s late is getting punched in the face.”
He’s a good captain. Standing up to Alexander Croft has made him a more confident leader. It’s also increased everyone’s belief in him. Maverick chooses his battles, and that’s a big reason he’s such a strong captain.
“Believe, boys,” he reminds us all in his pregame pep talk. “Leave all your emotions and baggage in this room. Mentally store it in your locker. When we’re on the ice, our minds stay focused on getting the next goal. Stopping their offense. None of us can get there alone; we have to work together and we have to believe.” He looks at the faces gathered around him. “One shift at a time. One goal at a time. Let’s get this fucking done!”
Everyone yells, elevating the energy in the room. I was worried when I came here, to a brand-new team with so many unknowns. These guys are my family now, though.
When we skate onto the ice, I look up at the Saints’ family suite, grinning. Kylie and Jasmine are there. It’s the first time I’ve ever had anyone in the suite that has come to support me, and it feels damn good.
It’s hard to turn my focus to the game knowing they’re up there, but I have to, though. When the clock starts, my mind shifts entirely to hockey.
The 1960s diner we’re sitting in a few hours later is busy, because this city never sleeps. I know that’s true in New York, too, but here, many tourists start their days when the sun sets and end it when it’s rising.
Nolan’s eyes get as big as saucers when the server brings him an enormous chocolate milkshake, piled high with whipped cream and decorated with cookies and pieces of candy bars. Jasmine’s birthday cake milkshake arrives next, and she applauds when the server sets it down.
That’s one of my favorite things about those two; the smallest things can make them so happy they look like they’re about to burst. It reminds me to appreciate the small stuff in life more.
After our win tonight, the rest of the team went out to a bar to celebrate. They were planning to play some poker after that, so Pike and I took our crew to a more kid-friendly destination. And as I look over at Kylie, wearing a Saints T-shirt and laughing, there’s no place in the world I’d rather be.
“Try it, Mom,” Jasmine says, filling a spoon with the first bite of her milkshake and stretching across the table to feed it to her.
“Oh.” Kylie lunges forward in an effort to reach the massive bite before it slides off of Jasmine’s spoon.
Jasmine stretches as far as she can but her hand wavers at the last second and she flings the food onto Kylie’s dark-gray T-shirt. Her joyful expression vanishes.
“I’m sorry, Mom.”
Kylie smiles at her, grabbing a napkin to try to clean it off. Of course, it’s on one of her boobs, making me wonder if she’ll taste like birthday cake shake later. Not that I’ll have a chance to find out. Our sex life still consists of stolen quickies—for now.
Poor Jasmine. She sets the spoon down, crestfallen over her mistake.
“Hey, it’s okay,” Kylie tells her. “I spill food on my shirt all the time.”