Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 59464 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 297(@200wpm)___ 238(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59464 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 297(@200wpm)___ 238(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
“Fucking Dobbs,” my dad mutters.
He throws several pieces of popcorn at the TV, disgusted that the St. Louis goalie somehow blocked the shot. Our eight-year-old bulldog, Doc, slowly gets up from his bed beneath the coffee table to eat the popcorn.
We don’t see much of Doc anymore unless he’s hungry or has to go outside. He mostly sleeps near my dad, passing gas and snoring.
“Doc,” I call.
He waddles over and I feed him the uneaten crust from the pizza I just ate. I rub his back and he looks up at me, his dark eyes loaded with love and gratitude.
When I look up at the TV screen, Victor has the puck again. He passes it to Luca, who passes it to Anton. I’m expecting Anton to shoot it when he slides it to Victor instead. Victor slaps it again and this time…it gets past Matt Dobbs.
I cheer and pump my fist, jumping out of my chair. “Yeah! Hell yeah! Did you see that?” I point at the screen and turn to my dad.
He shrugs slightly like he’s unimpressed, but the corners of his lips quirk up in a smile. Victor celebrates with his team on the ice and I keep my eyes locked on him, my hands clasped in front of my mouth.
It takes me a couple minutes to relax enough that I can sit back down. I blink several times to clear away the unshed tears blurring my vision. When there’s a line change, the cameraman zooms in on Victor’s face and his relaxed, happy smile makes me smile, too.
My dad points the remote at the TV screen. “Sox have a playoff game tonight,” he says.
“No!” I give him a wild-eyed look. “Let’s watch the Blaze game.”
“I can switch back and forth, Lindy. I do it all the time.”
“I don’t want to miss any of the hockey game.” I start to get up from my chair. “It’s no big deal, I can go watch it in my room.”
Dad sets the remote down on the couch. “Nah, stay here. Doc and I like your company. We’ll watch hockey.”
“Okay, thanks.”
“Everything good at work?” he asks me.
“Yeah, it’s pretty good.”
“Good. That creepy guy still lookin’ at you funny?”
I shrug. “Manny looks at everyone funny.”
“Well, that asshole gets too close, you tell him your dad’s got a pipe wrench he’s not afraid to bash heads in with.”
“I’ll be okay, Dad. I’m sure Manny’s just desperate for attention from any woman, not specifically me.”
“He told your friend he likes you, though.”
I shrug off his comment. “He probably likes every woman at the Carson Center.”
The commentators start talking about Victor then, and I focus on the game again. One of them says Victor’s been in a slump of late, and asks whether the goal he just scored is a fluke or the start of a comeback.
It can’t be a fluke. Victor needs his resurgence to stick. And I want it for him, so badly. I’ll probably never talk to him again, but I’ll be rooting for him from afar even more so than before.
If I had anything at all to do with him turning things around on the ice—even a tiny little bit—it’s one of the best things that’s ever happened to me.
That conversation with Victor was the one thing I haven’t shared with my dad. I want to keep that just for myself right now. Maybe forever. There was something intimate about being alone with him. Instead of thousands of screaming fans, Victor was focused entirely on me.
Last night was enough to sustain my crush on him for a very long time. I may tell Ari about it, but I haven’t decided yet. I trust her completely, but I know her. She’ll prod me to find a way to run into him again and lecture me on the proper way to flirt. I’m comically bad at it.
Victor and I will never be a thing. I know that. But for a few magical moments, I got to see the side of him that his friends and teammates see. Maybe even his family. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to think about it and not feel warm and gooey inside.
On the TV screen, Knox Deveraux is throwing his gloves to the ice, about to fight with the St. Louis enforcer. The crowd goes wild, and Dad leans forward in his seat.
“This is gonna be good,” he says gleefully.
He watches the fight, but I watch Victor, standing off to the side. I’m glad he’s not an enforcer; those guys take hard, regular beatings. I couldn’t stand to see Victor knocked unconscious or watch his teeth fly out from a blow to the face.
The fight ends with no blood drawn, and we go back to watching the game. I get up to pee during a commercial break, but other than that, I’m riveted for the entire game.