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: You guys want to hear something funny?
Aiden: Always.
Mason: Please, tell me Hudson did something embarrassing.
Dane: Oh, he did. I saw him yesterday, driving down Main Street. In a SUIT.
Mason: A suit??? Hudson Wilde? The guy who wears joggers to team dinners??
Aiden: Was it even him? Maybe it was his evil twin.
Hudson: I don’t have an evil twin.
Mason: Nah, bro, YOU are the evil twin. What’s with the suit? Job interview? You finally going corporate?
Aiden: He’s certainly pissed Coach off enough to lose his job.
Hudson: Very funny. It’s none of your business.
Dane: Hudson in a suit is everyone’s business. You looked like you were heading to a wedding or something.
Mason: A wedding? Hold up. Is there something you’re not telling us?
Hudson: Relax. I wasn’t at a wedding.
Aiden: Were you late for it? Because that tracks.
Hudson: I hate all of you.
Mason: Suspicious silence. Bro’s definitely hiding something.
Dane: No doubt. Hudson Wilde wearing a suit on a random weekday? I don’t buy it.
Aiden: Dude probably spilled coffee on his joggers and panicked.
Mason: Or he’s secretly in the mob.
Hudson: I’m not in the mob. And I don’t panic.
Dane: The suit begs to differ.
Mason: Be honest, are you in trouble? Did Mommy and Daddy finally punish you for all those times you broke curfew?
Hudson: You guys need hobbies.
Aiden: Bullying you is my hobby.
Dane: Ditto.
Mason: Answer the question: WHY THE SUIT, WILDE?
Hudson: You’ll never know.
Dane: Sketchy.
Mason: Extremely sketchy. I’m googling “Hudson Wilde spotted in suit” to see if you made the news.
Hudson: Good luck with that. I’m not telling you anything.
Aiden: He’s hiding something.
Mason: 100%. I’m adding this to the list of Hudson Mysteries.
Dane: We’ll find out. We always do.
Hudson: Keep dreaming, boys.
Mason: Someone’s butt hurt.
Hudson: I’m muting this chat.
Aiden: 😂 Guilty as hell.
Mason: This isn’t over.
62
Hudson
The ice feels like home. It’s where I’m myself.
For me, it’s not about the fans. It’s the game.
The sound of the puck sliding across the ice.
The scrape of blades as I skate.
The way everything disappears.
It’s my therapy.
Especially when I’m just messing around with the guys, running drills.
We just laugh and fuck with each other.
There’s no pressure today. No Coach barking orders at us. Just a few friends having a good time.
Mason’s working on some sort of save that he’s convinced will “blow everyone’s mind” next season, but from where I’m standing, it mostly makes him look like a toddler learning how to walk. A drunk one at that.
I line up a puck at center ice, aiming for the top left corner of the net. I’m in the zone, my stick slicing the air as I prepare to take the shot, but then . . .
My attention drifts.
It’s her.
She’s up there, watching from the coaching box like she’s working, even though today’s session isn’t remotely official, so she doesn’t really need to be here.
Unless Dane asked her to take notes on Mason’s “walking on ice” performance, which is doubtful, her presence is definitely a surprise.
Molly Sinclair is dressed casually today in jeans and a long-sleeved black shirt. Her legs are crossed, and she has her tablet balanced on her lap. She looks like she’s analyzing every move we make, but I know better.
She’s not working. She doesn’t need to be here.
She’s here for me.
Watching me.
Or at least that’s what I hope.
“Hey, Wilde.” Mason skates out from the net and heads my way. He jabs his stick lightly against the back of my knee.
“What?” I mutter, shoving him off as he skates into my space.
“Your girl’s here.” He smirks.
“Shut up, Goodie. She’s not my girl.” My tone lacks any real conviction, and Mason knows it.
Mason raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed with my lie. “Right. And I’m not the best goalie in the league. So you want to tell me the reason you’re staring at her like a lovesick teen, then?”
I aim my stick to hit the puck, ignoring him. He skates back to the net, leaning on his stick, prepared to block my shot. “Seriously, just go talk to her. You’re not exactly subtle, dude.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The words come out too fast. I want to cringe at how defensive I sound.
Mason snorts, shoving off the ice and skating in the opposite direction. “Sure, you don’t.”
I let out a long breath. My heart’s pounding like I’ve been sprinting drills for an hour, but I know Mason’s right. I’m not doing myself any favors by pretending I’m not aware of Molly sitting up there.
I skate toward the boards.
By the time I reach the coaching box, my pulse is doing double time. I have no plan. No reason to be here. I’ve spent years thinking I’m good at improvising, but somehow, every time Molly’s involved, I feel like I’m seconds away from tripping over my own feet.
The door creaks as I step inside, and Molly looks up, startled.
“Hudson?” she says, her voice sharp with surprise. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be on the ice?”