Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 124494 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 622(@200wpm)___ 498(@250wpm)___ 415(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 124494 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 622(@200wpm)___ 498(@250wpm)___ 415(@300wpm)
Every moment of my life I’m the one people look to for guidance and support. My job is to lead the team, to work with other leaders, to prove that I’m capable and that my emotions don’t govern me when I’m on the ice.
But with Roman everything is different. I don’t have to be in control. I can give it to him and trust that he’ll take care of my every need. With Roman I finally feel like I truly belong to someone, mind, body and soul. I can forget who I’m supposed to be to everyone else because I’m just his. His to tease, to pleasure, to take pleasure from. Three years ago he opened the door to the possibilities and now… I'm falling for every single part of him. Not just the man who can bring me limitless pleasure. I’m in love with his hard and soft sides. And especially the man who makes me feel seen and worshipped and cared for.
My time with him at Christmas was a reminder of all the things I’ve been missing—and gave me a glimpse of what we could be when the season is over.
However, reality remains the same. Christmas was a weak moment for both of us.
When he’s retired from the league, I’ll have to contend with the backlash of being in a relationship with one of my former players. But that will be manageable. And waiting has to become manageable, because I’ve worked too hard to throw it all away.
The team files out of the locker room. “We’ve got this. Don’t worry,” Roman murmurs as he passes.
I’m not sure if he’s talking about the game or us.
“What was that about?” Coach Thomas asks as we follow them out of the locker room.
“Just the line change.” My voice comes out more confident than I am.
Thomas’s lips thin. “Shouldn’t he be talking to his coach about that instead of you?”
“We’re all on the same team here,” I remind him.
He grunts but doesn’t respond otherwise.
I join Vander Zee behind the bench and Boxer and Thomas head up to the box to sit with Fielding and their families. I spot Richards and his boys up there, too, which happens often. I refocus on the ice and keep a close eye on Grace and Madden during the warm-up. This needs to work. I’m putting myself on the line here.
The game gets off to a rough start, with New York scoring a goal in the first three minutes of play, courtesy of Bowman. Grace rotates off the ice, his jaw set, lips in a line. New York came prepared. “He’s got new moves,” Grace grumbles as he takes a seat on the bench.
“He does,” I agree. “Watch for those changes. We’ll find the pattern.”
Madden evens the score halfway through the first period. Roman is doing his best, but Bowman is skating circles around everyone, including his former teammate. I’d be more impressed if it wasn’t my team he was shredding.
Grace rotates back in, and his frustration mounts with every shot on the Terror’s net. So does Madden’s. I am already rethinking strategy for the second period.
Madden chases the puck down as New York heads for Toronto’s net. Before Grace can intervene, Madden slams into Bowman. He ends up against the boards, and players converge on them as they fight for possession of the puck. Grace is in there, trying to regain control, but it’s almost impossible to see what’s going on from where we’re positioned, with sticks and arms and legs flying and flailing. Then three players go down, including Grace and Madden.
The refs jump in and clear the pileup, but the crowd is in a frenzy, especially with Madden and Grace shouting at each other while Madden struggles to his feet. He grips the boards, favoring his right leg.
“Fuck no,” Vander Zee mutters.
I can see Thomas and Richards shaking their heads while Boxer runs a hand through his salt and pepper hair. This is the last thing I want. Regardless of data, this makes my call a bad one.
Madden makes it to the bench, shrugging off help from Palaniappa. Vander Zee calls in the team doctor.
“I’m fine.” Madden winces as the doc palpates his ankle, then he shoots a glare at Grace. “This is your fucking fault.”
“When isn’t it?” Grace grouses.
“Enough,” Vander Zee snaps. “Madden, you need to be looked at.”
“This is bullshit.” Madden is forced to accept Doc’s help as he guides him to the locker room.
It’s a blow we don’t need. We’re tied and our star center is out with an injury.
Bowman scores another goal in the second period, and with Madden off the ice, we can’t recover the lead. We lose the game 2-1.
“It’s not your fault,” Vander Zee says as we head for the locker room for a post-game discussion. It doesn’t matter that Vander Zee calls the shots, I made the suggestion, so I’ll take the heat for this from the coaching side. Which is frustrating because Thomas isn’t creating solutions, and all these boys have done with Vander Zee is give him lip service.