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 laugh despite myself, shaking my head. “Wow. Um . . . thanks for the pep talk.”
Mason grins. “Anytime.”
Together, we make our way onto the ice.
It’s pure chaos. The crowd cheering is like nothing I have ever heard before.
It’s deafening, and I fucking love it.
This is what I’ve worked my whole life for.
The minors were nothing like this.
Even the lights here are more blinding, the energy in the arena more palpable. My heart pounds in my chest.
All the doubts creep back in.
Then the puck drops and everything else fades away.
From the second my stick touches the ice, I’m locked in. The Colts are fast, but I’m quicker. I push hard. My lungs tighten from the exertion, but I have too much to lose, so I push through the pain. My skates slice across the ice as I dart down the rink. The puck finds my stick, and instinct takes over.
I pass it to Aiden, who maneuvers around the defense with the ease of a veteran. Now I see that he lives up to the hype. He’s that good. He fakes left, then sends the puck back my way. I barely have time to think before I shoot it past the goalie and into the net.
The horn blares, and the crowd erupts.
One goal.
My first.
I don’t have time to celebrate. The Colts push hard after the face-off, and suddenly, I’m being crushed against the boards.
Before I can react, Dane is there, barreling into the guy like a freight train. He doesn’t even glance my way. He skates off like protecting me is just another part of his job, which I guess it technically is. It still pisses me off, but I don’t have time to dwell on it.
The puck’s back in play, and I’m moving again, faster this time, more aggressive. I force myself to play harder than I ever have, desperate to prove I belong here. Every pass, every shot, every stride feels like a test, and I. Will. Not. Fail.
I block a pass from one of the Colts forwards, stealing the puck and driving it up the ice.
Another pass. Another shot. Another goal.
Two goals.
By the end of the first period, I’m drenched in sweat but buzzing with adrenaline.
Mason nudges me as we head toward the locker room, his grin wider than I’ve ever seen. “Not bad, rookie.”
“Not bad?” I scoff. “I’m carrying this team already,” I joke, or at least attempt to, but seeing as Aiden scowls at me, I don’t think it hit the way I wanted. Oh, well. I can play the role of the cocky bastard.
“Easy there.” Aiden pushes past us. “You’re still a rookie, remember?” he says, confirming my suspicions. He’s not my greatest fan. Yet. I’ll win him over eventually.
I roll my eyes but can’t help the smile tugging at my lips. At least I’m starting to prove myself.
Before we leave the rink, I catch sight of Molly in the stands, and my stomach twists. She’s sitting near the glass, her face unreadable. Her silence in the hallway still stings, and the fact that she’s watching me now only adds fuel to the fire.
Fuck.
The second period is brutal.
The Colts are relentless. Their weak defense from the first period is tight now. They are trying to close the gap. That much is obvious.
At one point, I’m slammed into the boards again, harder this time. My vision blurs for a second, but before I can even process the hit, Dane is there. He grabs the guy who hit me and makes quick work of putting him in his place.
The penalty box door slams shut behind him, but not before he shoots me a look. I can’t tell if it’s a warning or an acknowledgment. I hope it’s the latter.
It’s bad enough that I already got off to a bad start with him. I intend to be with the team for a long time, and since Sinclair is a veteran of the Saints, I’d rather have him on my side than against me.
The whole period is a blur.
Must be the adrenaline.
Because the next thing I know, it’s time for the second intermission. Once in the locker room, Dane approaches me.
“Not bad.” His tone is dry. I wonder if he’s fucking with me.
I glance up to assess his mood. Even though he isn’t smiling, I can tell this is the real deal. He means it. “Thanks.”
He nods, crossing his arms. “You’re a good addition to the team.”
The compliment catches me off guard, and I’m not sure how to respond. I feel like I’m at a crossroads with him, and I don’t want to fuck this up.
“Thanks,” I say again, more sincerely this time.
He studies me for a beat longer before nodding. “Just . . . keep it together, Wilde. We don’t need drama.”
“I’m not the one causing drama.” Shit. It slips out before I can stop myself.