Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 84065 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84065 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
I rein it in, though, suck air through my nostrils, and let it out in a growl. “I’d say the driving force is the fact that my brother was on the plane. His death gave me a shot at the big leagues. Fortuitous, some would say. Don’t you think?”
Tension sizzles through the room, and a few players murmur to one another. Keller’s face goes white, and I can tell he didn’t connect me to Brooks, despite the fact I know he knows my brother died in the crash. I think he had a major brain fart when he had this glorious idea for us to share our feelings.
“Fuck,” Keller mumbles, ducking his head sheepishly. “I’m so sorry. I got you confused with someone else, Stone.”
That’s even fucking worse. Jesus… did he not know the names of the players who died? Was he not told who I am?
Questions I’d probably have the right to ask this very minute, but for some of the men here, this is their shot at the big leagues, and I don’t want to ruin it for them. I want them to have faith in this man. But as of this moment, I’ve decided I hate the bastard.
I sink down into my chair, not accepting his apology. Keller stammers, looking around for another victim to call upon.
“Highsmith.” Keller looks at Coen Highsmith expectantly. “Stand up and tell the team about yourself.”
I don’t know much about this dude other than he’s really talented and brash, but that describes so many players in this league.
Coen shows the first signs of active rebellion and refuses to stand. In fact, he seems to slouch even more, as if he wants to be anywhere but here.
He stares at Keller, who swallows hard. His voice is lazy, almost nonplussed. “I think everyone here knows who I am. One of the Lucky Three.”
A pointed reminder that not everyone from the former team died in the plane disaster. And by the tone of his voice, I’m guessing he’s going to be battling some ghosts.
Keller stares at Coen, expecting him to say more. To do more. To perhaps validate him as our coach.
A monkey could figure out that Coen isn’t going to say another damn word, and if I had an ounce of sympathy for Keller, I might feel a little embarrassed for him.
But I don’t.
I hope he drowns in shame for destroying the good mood Brienne and Callum brought to the room.
“Coach.” All eyes in the room slide over to Gage Heyward, who stands from his chair. “I may just be speaking for myself, but I would personally rather get to know my teammates on a one-to-one basis. But more than that, I think I can safely say that everyone in this room is eager to show you what we can do. Am I right?”
I suspect everyone in the room feels the way I do at the moment… I want to kiss the fucking dude for rescuing us.
The men agree, yelling out their desire to get the hell out of here. Someone behind me says loud enough for all to hear, “I sure as shit don’t want to do all this kumbaya stuff.”
I look back down to Keller, and he is pissed, lips pressed flat and fury etched on his face. I can tell he’s going to take it out on Gage at some point for making him look like a fool, although personally, I think Gage was very diplomatic.
The point has been made, though. The only person who thought this was a good idea was Keller, and now he has the ability to release us from this suffering.
“Okay, men… it’s clear you want some action, and I’m ready to give it. Hit the locker rooms and suit up in practice gear. Everyone on the ice in fifteen minutes.”
It’s fairly quiet as we all stand, exiting from the bottom-level door, which is but a short walk to the locker rooms. Keller stands outside the door, smiling and slapping players on the shoulders as we walk by, as if we just had an amazing bonding moment. He tries to start up a conversation, and I dread having to talk to the dude right now. I’m still pissed he leveraged my tragedy to make himself try to look good.
Before I can reach Keller, though, Gage appears at my side and engages me in conversation, speaking loud enough for all around us to hear. “Hey, man… I don’t know if you remember, but we played against each other about four years ago, and after the game, you were telling me about some nutritional supplement. I used it for a while and then stopped, and now for the life of me, I can’t remember the name of it.”
My head twists his way and my eyebrows draw inward, showing my confusion. “I’m not sure—”