Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 85387 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85387 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
He makes a sound of disgust, and Coach glares. “Start playing together, or moves will be made, Andrews.”
Coach walks toward the bench, and finally, I turn to look at Andrews. He’s my height, bulky, has shaggy blond hair and big blue eyes. He looks more like he belongs by the ocean instead of on a sheet of ice. I clear my throat as our gazes meet. I see nothing but pure hate for me in his eyes. “You don’t have to like me, don’t even have to respect me, but I need you to play with me.”
He scoffs. “Like I’d ever respect you, you vile fuck. The only reason you’re still on this team is because Coach wants to suck your dick or some shit. So, fuck right the fuck off.”
And with that, he skates off. That went just as well as I thought it would.
My shoulders fall as I start for the bench. I lean against it, untaping my blade because I didn’t like the way it felt when the puck was on it. I also want to give Andrews time to take a shower and leave without seeing my face. I get his hatred, but I can only handle so much of it. Even if I’m the reason for it.
I ball up the tape, throwing it in the trash before grabbing my water bottle. I take a long swig and then carry my stick to the stick bin. I place it with my three backup sticks and then head down the tunnel toward the locker room.
The way the arena is built, there is a three-way junction at the end of the tunnel from the ice. I always look left, for reasons unknown since it only holds conference rooms, before taking the right to the locker room. When I glance to the left, though, the hallway isn’t empty like it usually is. El, my PR chick, is coming down the corridor, her face as red as a tomato. On her heels is my wife, with the owner, Dan Davenport, behind her.
I’m not sure what is happening, but I smile brightly. Or like a complete idiot, before I say, “Hey, El. It’s good you’re here.”
“Oh yeah?” she snaps at me.
“Yeah,” I call to her as she closes the distance between us. “You can meet my new wife. She’s be—”
Before I can even finish my sentence, El pulls her fist back and slams it into my mouth. I fold over, covering my mouth before she hits me again, this time in my eye.
“You son of a bitch! I told you to get a wife, not marry my fucking sister!”
Fuck, she packs a punch. But wait. What did she say?
CHAPTER 18
Eliza
I always thought Elliot was the calm one, like me.
She’s not.
As I watch her hit Coleson twice, without hesitation, I realize she’s more like Clara. A fireball ready to explode. I wince when my younger sister’s fist connects with Coleson’s mouth, and I cry out when she pops him in the eye, her body shaking with fury. Before I can throw myself between them, Peepaw grabs Elliot by her bicep, pulling her away as I cry out, “Jesus Christ! Elliot!”
She flashes me an incredulous look as I rush to Coleson. He looks shocked, nothing but confusion in his fast-swelling eye. I wipe away the blood dripping from his split lip as his gaze meets mine. Before I can even say another word, Elliot is raging behind me.
“I’ve done nothing but believe in you and try to help you, and you repay me by using my sister. My flesh and blood. My best friend. You motherfucking idiot, I’m going to kill you and then kick your dead body.”
“Elliot!” I yell back at her. “Cut it out.”
Soon, players and staff start to gather, all wide-eyed and nosy as fuck. Damn it. “Wait, what?” Coleson says, looking between me and my sister. “That’s your sister?”
I nod. “Yes. My younger one. Elliot.”
He blinks. Well, one eye does. His other is red and blotchy. “Elliot? I thought her name was El?”
“Jesus Christ,” Peepaw groans. “Let’s continue this in private.”
Peepaw drags her down the hall, and I almost join them until I see that Coleson is struggling with his skates. As he shakes off his gloves, I bend down and undo his laces. He crouches down with me, undoing one while I work on the other. “I didn’t know.”
“I realize that now,” I say quickly. My heart is in my throat as I untie his skate as quickly as I can. Eyes are still on us, and I try to keep my voice down. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.” He brushes it off. “Dan Davenport is your grandpa, then?”
I nod. “Yes.”
“I’m a dead man.”
“That is a fair statement, for sure.”
“You don’t have his name. Doesn’t El have his name?”