Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 107453 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 537(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107453 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 537(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
I take a second to gather my thoughts, but Dev’s faster. “It’s been everything,” he says.
Ledger’s quiet at first, but then he nods. “You’re everything.”
My heart thumps harder and heavier. “I wish this had happened at another time,” I say, resigned to our fate—right guys, wrong time.
At the door, Dev leans in to press a poignant kiss to my lips. It tastes like salt and goodbye.
He lets go, and Ledger brushes his mouth against mine. I taste all the what-ifs, chased with regret.
Then, we go, ending the trip far too soon.
Maybe that’s better—one less day to fall harder.
Because I’m just not ready to fail again at love.
47
MISTER CUDDLES
Dev
I take off across the ice, catching up with my team as they start drills at one end of the rink. My feet feel like lead as we skate in a speed drill. My mind keeps drifting back to a few days ago, when we left Vancouver, when Aubrey opened her heart but closed the door.
I get it. I fucking get it. I understand why she said what she said. But goddammit, my hopes soared and crashed in the same damn second.
I’ve got to shove it out of my mind.
It’s time to take my place in the net, so I set up camp where I belong. This is my home. Me, and the goal, my stick and my pads. But mostly, my body blocking the other team from doing their job.
There’s something very lone wolf about being a goalie. Your job is the opposite to most of the other guys. They move around the ice. I move around the net as they attack during practice.
Like right now. Half the shooters are lined up in one corner. The rest at the other end. After each shot, the shooter camps out on the other side to be a rebounder for the next guys. Keeps me from being lazy.
Like that’d happen.
Stefan comes at me first, taking a shot on goal.
Then he rebounds to Hayes, who makes his move.
Next Hollis.
Then Fisher’s coming at me.
I make save after save against some of the best shooters on the team. A cold thrill rushes through my veins when no puck gets past me. I need to just keep up this focus for the rest of training camp, the pre-season, the long season, and into the next year.
Without Aubrey.
I blink away that thought as the drill ends, and Coach moves into the next one, mixing it up so my teammates are coming out of the corner, from behind the net, or across the zone.
Coach barks out commands, but my concentration is shot this time. It’s back in the hotel suite with Aubrey. It’s on the streets of Vancouver with her. It’s in the woods with her. It’s in the ghost town saloon when she asked who are you, then proceeded to show how well she knew me.
I really wanted her to know me.
She saw me for who I am just like I saw her.
And I fucking miss her. Hell, I practically miss the splinters she removed from my hand. My palm tingles with the memory of shards of wood as a puck whips past and lodges cleanly in the net behind me.
“Fuck me,” I mutter, then slam my stick into the ice.
Rookie move.
“Ryland, take five,” Coach Riley shouts.
I rip off my helmet and skate away, jaw clenched, irritation coursing through me as our backup goalie comes in.
I’m on the bench knocking back some water when Coach comes over. “What’s going on out there?”
“Nothing,” I grumble.
“I’m not sure about that,” he says.
“It’s nothing.”
“Then get back out there and let’s get these plays down.”
Yup. That’s the key.
That’s all that matters.
This is my year, my chance, my time. Garrett and I have plans. Lock up a long-term contract and play my ass off till we win the big one.
With that in mind, I hit the ice again. Nothing will get past me.
Except everything does, and I’m so fucking pissed as I stomp to the locker room at the end of practice, tossing my helmet in my stall, ripping off my jersey, and yanking off my skates.
“Brick.”
The nickname comes from Stefan, the first one in the locker room.
I don’t even look his way. Don’t want him to see me so angry. “What?”
“It’s just practice. It’s just training camp.”
I shake my head. “It’s not.”
“It is,” he says.
“I don’t want to play like that,” I mutter.
“Everyone has bad practices. Everyone has bad games.”
“No.”
He laughs. “What? Just no? You can’t say no.”
Finally, I turn to him, feeling vulnerable and hating it as I drag a hand through my hair. “I can’t have a bad practice. Don’t you get it?”
Hockey doesn’t disappoint me. Hockey doesn’t break my heart. Hockey is always here. Hockey is dependable when nothing else is.
“Dude. This is not like you,” he says.
“I need to play well. All the time,” I bite out, building up a new head of steam.