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)
Dane doesn’t look away from me, but his shoulders relax slightly at Mason’s interruption.
“Fine,” he mutters, his voice still laced with warning. I guess I don’t blame him. My little sister is annoying as shit, but I’d be the same way in his shoes. “But this isn’t over.”
With one final glare, he steps back and turns to Molly. Placing a protective hand on her shoulder, he leads her out the door as the rest of the team files toward the rink.
My new teammates snicker as Coach glowers at everyone with a pulse.
“Damn.” Mason grins at me, chucking my shoulder. “Sinclair didn’t hold back, huh?”
I don’t say anything, my eyes still on Molly’s retreating back.
“Don’t worry about it.” Mason pats my back before he leaves. “Dane is protective as hell over Molls. None of us are even allowed to sneeze in her direction.”
He’s being nice and trying to make me feel better about this mess. I appreciate it, but I can’t help my anger. It simmers within me, just below the surface.
You can’t afford to lose your cool, Wilde.
I feel like I’ve been suspended in time.
The weight of Molly’s lie bears down on me, heavier than the thick air in that closet we just escaped. I replay the past two hours in my head, searching for something I missed. A signal. A reason. Anything that explains why she didn’t back me up. But no matter how many times I try to make sense of it, the outcome doesn’t change.
She lied.
She lied, and there’s nothing I can do to undo the fallout.
This is not how I wanted to start my professional career. As the resident bad boy. Late, undisciplined, and prone to skirt chasing.
My reputation is fucked.
There’s no sweet-talking my way out of this. Not with Dane. Not with the team. And definitely not with Coach Robert. They’ve already written my story for me. The new guy who showed up late and caused a scene, probably thinking his talent is enough to carry him.
But that’s not me. Not really. Sure, I’m confident in my skills—I have to be—but I’ve spent years proving I’m more than just a kid with a quick stick. Now, with one mistake—one lie—all my hard work is slipping through my fingers.
It’s a hard pill to swallow.
It lodges in my throat, choking me with the bitter taste of frustration. I don’t just feel misunderstood. I feel betrayed.
I thought Molly and I had something.
I glance at the door Molly walked through, her silence still ringing louder than any accusation Dane threw at me. She left me to take the fall. And for what? To hide something? To protect herself? It’s not like we did anything wrong.
My jaw clenches as my mind spirals into questions I don’t have answers to.
“Rough first day, huh?”
The question startles me out of my reverie. It came from our center, Aiden Slate, which is almost as shocking as this whole debacle. The man has a reputation for being silent. One time, he managed to field questions at a press conference without a single word.
“Don’t worry about it.” Aiden wipes something off his laces, rubbing until his skates are shiny enough to reflect light. “Coach benched Wolfe three games for missing warm-ups last season. He starts now.”
I suit up as fast as I can, knowing there’s no chance in hell I’ll actually be allowed on the ice. “Three games?”
“Well, he missed warm-ups and called Coach ‘Gramps.’”
Coach barrels out of his office, where he dipped in to retrieve his clipboard, and stops just long enough to bark at me again.
“Enough of this. Don’t bother getting changed. You’re sitting this one out.” He pivots to the doorway, calling over his shoulder. “You better not make this a habit, or I might decide you’re more useful as a benchwarmer.”
4
Hudson
The air feels heavy with anticipation.
This isn’t just another game.
It’s my game.
My first as a Redville Saint. My first shot at proving I belong here.
I’ve spent the past few days replaying every moment of that disastrous first game in my head.
The closet fiasco. The late arrival. Molly’s silence. Dane’s anger. Coach’s barely concealed irritation.
It all circles back to one thing: I have something to prove.
Mason claps a hand on my shoulder, his grin easy. “You ready, Wilde?”
I glance at him, and for the first time since that disaster of a morning, I feel a flicker of something close to gratitude. Mason’s been in my corner since the second I stepped into this locker room, and he hasn’t stopped trying to lighten the load.
I force a smirk. “Born ready.” My answer might come off as cocky, but it’s better than admitting I’m not.
“Good.” He leans in. “Because if you fuck this up tonight, Coach will have your ass. The man is no joke. If you’re not careful, he’s liable to have you weeding the courtyard of Lancaster Arena. And when you pass out from the exertion, he’ll step over your body without a backward glance.”