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)
“What?”
“You heard me.” His tone is firm. “You’ve been living your life for my career, and it’s time to stop.”
“This isn’t about me,” I say, my voice trembling. “It’s about Hudson. He needs you.”
“And I’ll be there for him,” Dane says, stepping closer. “But only if you promise to let me do this. To let me fire you. For real this time.”
I shake my head. He can’t do this, can he? Yes, he can. “Seriously?”
“Yes, seriously. I’ve never been more serious,” he says, and panic rises in my chest. “Molly, I love you. But you deserve more than this. You deserve your own life.”
I look away, my hands clenching at my sides. “Dane, please.” Don’t cry.
“Promise me.” He won’t change his mind on this. This is the deal. The price to pay.
“Fine,” I whisper, the word barely audible. “If that’s what it takes to keep Hudson safe, I’ll agree.”
Dane nods. “Thank you, Molly. You’re doing the right thing,” he says quietly.
“Am I?” I ask, my voice cracking.
He nods, his eyes steady. “Hudson will be okay. And so will you. Trust me.”
I force a smile, though it feels hollow. I’m not sure he’s right.
Only time will tell.
89
Hudson
I’ve been dreading today.
Sure, I’m excited to be back on the ice, but I’m still not up to full speed.
My wrist still hurts, and if I take any hits, I’ll be fucked.
Hopefully, since it’s only a practice, I’ll be okay.
The whistle blows, sharp and demanding. I adjust my helmet, flexing my injured wrist as subtly as I can.
I hope nobody notices, especially Coach.
It’s still stiff, but it’s manageable. Hopefully, with the adrenaline coursing through me, the pain will be dulled. I’m a glass-half-full kind of guy.
Fifteen minutes later, practice is in full swing, and for the first time since my injury, I’m on the ice with the team.
I’ve been careful to hide the extent of my injury, but now if anything happens, I won’t be able to hide it. Which puts me on edge.
I already feel that my shot’s a little weaker and my stickhandling slower, but I’ve worked hard to make it look like nothing’s wrong.
At least, I think I have.
Here’s to hoping.
“Wilde, move your ass!” Coach shouts from the bench.
Maybe I spoke too soon.
I bite back a curse and push harder, forcing myself to close the gap as Aiden sends the puck flying toward me. I catch it on my blade and send it back, ignoring the twinge in my wrist as the vibrations from the pass ripple through my hand.
“Nice, Hudson!” Aiden calls, skating past me.
I nod, gritting my teeth as I adjust my grip on the stick. Every movement feels worse than the next, and if I don’t catch a break soon, Coach will for sure find out.
It’s not even a minute later that the puck is flying my way again, but this time, Dane is there, real close, blocking Wolfe, who’s coming after the puck and, in turn, me.
Dane’s been . . . different today.
Not off in the sense that he’s not doing his job—if anything, he’s playing harder than usual. But there’s something about the way he’s moving, the way he’s interacting with the team.
He’s everywhere.
Every time someone gets near me, Dane is there, his stick tapping the ice or his body shifting into their path. It’s subtle enough that no one else seems to notice, but I do.
He’s practically playing shadow, blocking anyone who even thinks about breathing in my direction.
At one point, Wolfe goes for a check, and Dane cuts in, bumping him just hard enough to redirect him.
“Chill, man,” Wolfe says with a laugh. “What’s up your ass?”
Dane shrugs. Not even bothering to answer him before skating away without a word.
I have to agree with Wolfe. Something is up with Dane, but since I’m benefiting from it, who am I to ask questions?
Every time he blocks someone from hitting me is another minute I have to heal.
Practice ends, thank fuck. I hit the locker room with the rest of the guys. However, my movements are much slower than theirs.
My wrist… and now my whole arm fucking kills.
When I was on the ice, it hurt, but not this bad.
I blame it on the adrenaline.
“Nice job.” Aiden nods at me. He’s not a man of many words.
“It’s good to be back. I missed you, man. How’s married life?” Mason grins as he heads toward the showers.
“It’s good.”
I need to get out of here, but before I head out, I catch Dane’s eyes.
He’s all the way across the room, but even from this distance, I can tell something is wrong with him. Or still wrong with him, maybe.
I nod, but he just turns away, heading out without another word.
By the time I get home, the house smells like chicken soup and fresh bread. My mom’s recipe. Molly is in the kitchen stirring something on the stove, her hair pulled back in a messy bun.