Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 139259 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 696(@200wpm)___ 557(@250wpm)___ 464(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 139259 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 696(@200wpm)___ 557(@250wpm)___ 464(@300wpm)
I tense, waiting to see how he’ll take it. If the olive branch he tossed my way is genuine enough to withstand a snarky comment or two.
Dane’s jaw tightens, but instead of snapping back, he exhales heavily and offers a reluctant nod. “Fair enough.”
It’s not exactly an apology, but it’s the closest thing to a truce we’ve had since I joined the team.
As he walks away, I can’t help but feel a flicker of relief. Maybe, just maybe, things are starting to look up.
By the time the final horn sounds, we’re up by two goals, and the arena erupts in cheers.
As I skate toward the bench, Mason greets me first, clapping me on the back. “Hell of a debut, Wilde.”
“Thanks.” I nod.
Dane is next, his expression unreadable but his nod of approval clear.
“Good game.” Note to self: Dane isn’t a talker. This is the best I’m going to get.
“I did kill it,” I tease. This is who I am and always have been. Hell, I was voted class clown for my high school superlatives. It’s best they know my personality now if we’re ever going to get along.
He doesn’t say or do anything for a second. Fuck, did I read this wrong?
Then he shakes his head, but I swear I see his lips twitch.
Good.
This can work.
Even with the rocky start, I can make a home here on the Saints.
For now, I’ll take that win.
SEASON TWO
5
Hudson
It’s not a good look for me that I’m running late. Again. It’s starting to be the story of my life, but this time, I had no choice.
Family shit.
And unfortunately, my family lives just far enough to cause problems if I ever have to jet off to see them.
The team is set to leave any minute now.
Shit.
Please tell me I didn’t fuck this up.
The light turns red. I pull to a stop and reach over the center console to grab my phone.
Dammit. It’s off.
I switched it off earlier when I was with my mother and never switched it back on.
The moment my phone powers to life, I know I’m in trouble.
It chimes a million times. Texts. Messages. Missed calls.
I mean, sure, I’m running late, but it’s not like we are leaving for another . . . I look at my phone. Well, fuck.
Now. We’re set to take off now. Shit. That doesn’t make sense.
The time change between Illinois and Ohio always messes me up.
I might have left at eleven, but the moment I crossed over the state line, I lost an hour.
Aiden: Where you at?
Then there’s Mason’s nonstop bombardment.
Mason: Bro, answer your phone.
Mason: Wilde. Fuck, dude. Where you at?
Mason: Seriously. Where the hell are you, Wilde?
And more texts from Aiden.
Aiden: Coach is about to freak out.
Aiden: You’ve got five minutes before Coach loses his mind.
And finally . . . Dane.
Dane: Call Coach. Now.
Dane isn’t one to message me, so I know shit is serious.
“Goddammit.”
I close the app and open my email instead.
Just as I suspected, there’s one from Coach. No question, he’s pissed.
While they haven’t technically left yet, I won’t be there before they take off. The light turns green. I flick on my turn signal, pull into a random parking lot, and park, dialing Coach’s number.
He answers on the first ring.
My back clenches in anticipation, bracing for impact.
“Where are you, Hudson?”
Shit. When he says my name like this, I feel like a schoolboy about to get scolded by my dad for coming home after curfew.
The only difference is the consequences are worse this time.
“Sorry, Coach.” I run a palm down my face. “I thought I’d be back in time.”
“Don’t give me that,” he barks, louder than anyone has a right to be on the phone. “You’re not on the plane, and we’re wheels up in two. This is a pattern with you, Wilde. Late for your first warm-up. Late for your first game. Hell, you were probably late being born.”
I was. Forty-three weeks. Mom harps about how difficult her post-term pregnancy was whenever she begs me to come back home for the holidays. Not that she needs much convincing. I love my family more than anything.
“I had a family emergency,” I try to explain, my voice tight.
“Yeah?” Coach snorts, clearly unimpressed. “What is it this time? A long-lost brother in need of a kidney? Your dog ate your skates?”
The man has never let me live down my first game.
It’s been one year. And still, he hasn’t let it go.
Will he ever take me seriously? Or am I always destined to be the class clown?
The big disappointment that he’d be happy to trade me if it weren’t for how good I am.
Since the owners are here to make money, trading me wouldn’t go easy for him. I bring in a crowd.
Which is most likely why he hates me.
“Coach, it’s not an excuse. I was needed at home. I’m on my way, but I won’t be there on time. Can you guys—”