Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 95107 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95107 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
“You ready?” Garrett asks Tuck.
“Born ready,” he drawls.
Someone chuckles.
The moment Tucker pushes the bandanna down, leaving it wrapped around his neck, his breath hitches sharply. Gaping like a koi fish, he stares at the thirty-odd guys filling the locker room. Then he breaks out in the biggest, giddiest smile I’ve ever seen.
“Are you kidding me!” He slaps his knee and holds his hip like an old lady trying to hold herself upright, happiness rolling off him in waves. “How did you do this?” he demands as his amazed gaze sweeps over our former teammates from Briar.
Considering we played with dozens of guys over the years, it’s astounding we managed to get thirty of them to come to Boston. There’s Jake Bergeron, aka Birdie, our team captain before Garrett. Nate Rhodes, team captain after Garrett. Hunter Davenport, the current captain. There’s Simms, the goalie who won us three Frozen Four championships. Jesse Wilkes, Kelvin, Brodowski, Pierre. Our other goalie Corsen. Traynor, Niko, Danny. Colin Fitzgerald, who’s been dating my sister for the last few years. The list goes on and on.
“I can’t believe you’re all here.” A dazed Tucker begins to greet our old friends, some of whom we haven’t seen in years.
Like Mike Hollis, who’s back from India where he lived for a year with his wife, Rupi. They moved back to the States recently and live in New Hampshire now, so Boston wasn’t a far trek for him.
Tucker hugs every single guy. It’s time-consuming and probably unnecessary, but that’s just who John Tucker is. He can’t simply throw out a “hey” to everybody in a blanket greeting. He needs to personalize each one.
He ends with Fitzy, who helped Tuck renovate his bar here. I know the two of them are pretty close. “So good to see you, man. You don’t visit often enough.”
“Work’s crazy,” Fitzy says ruefully. “And Summer monopolizes all my free time.”
I glance over with a chuckle. “Hey, I warned you she was high maintenance.”
“Worth it,” is his easygoing response, which makes me nod in approval. My sister might be a crazy person, but I’d still die to protect her honor and beat up anyone who disparages her, even Fitz.
Beside me, Tucker is now looking around the cavernous room, as finally it dawns on him where we are. “Holy fuck. This is TD Garden.”
“Yup.” Garrett’s answering grin is smug, and not entirely unwarranted. This is an incredible feat.
“Look at the lockers,” I urge Tuck.
He follows my gaze, eyes widening when he notices the lockers are filled with equipment. Most guys are sharing a locker, but Tucker has his own, and every single one has a custom jersey hanging inside, with our names on the back. That was Summer’s doing. She designed the jerseys and got them done up.
“This is…” I swear his eyes appear a bit watery now. “This is the greatest gift, you guys. I didn’t expect to see y’all here and—” He suddenly tenses, guilt crossing his face. “Aw, shit. Are y’all staying for the reception tomorrow? You were all invited, but not everyone RSVP’d. Gonna have to call the caterer, and Sabrina, and…” He trails off, his mind clearly working a million miles a minute to troubleshoot this latest development.
A few guys snicker at his visible anxiety.
“It’s all taken care of,” I assure him. “We didn’t want you to know who was surprising you for the bachelor party, but don’t worry, Sabrina has all the RSVPs.”
“She knew all about it,” Garrett adds, so Tuck knows we didn’t just dump thirty extra guests on their wedding.
Relief loosens his broad shoulders.
“And now, no more wedding talk,” I say firmly. “Tonight is about the boys hitting the ice again.”
“Seriously? We’re going to play?” Tucker’s entire face lights up. “Here?”
I know exactly how he feels. The thought of skating on the same surface where the Bruins play gets my dick semi-hard. This is every hockey fan’s wet dream.
“We only have two hours,” Garrett tells the group. “So let’s gear up already and take advantage of every second before the overnight maintenance crew throws us out.”
Without delay, everyone marches to their lockers and clothes start hitting the floor. It’s chaotic and awesome, and I’m proud of myself for coming up with such a brilliant idea, which has been months in the planning. Garrett and Logan got us the rink, but I personally flew two-thirds of these guys out to Boston and put them up at a hotel. Not everybody could afford the weekend away, and although some guys protested about letting me pay their way, in the end I convinced them to swallow their pride for Tucker. Definitely doesn’t hurt having a trust fund, especially in situations like this.
Now I’m surrounded by old friends, teammates I skated with for four years, and I can’t imagine a better night. Forget naked strippers and cringey lap dances where one guy inevitably comes in front of everyone. This is the best bachelor party ever.