Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 79319 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79319 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
“That’s awesome.”
“I could teach you. This will work on La Marche. Hi-yah!”
I chuckled as my stepdad slipped into parental mode.
“Settle down, buddy. We’re not doing karate on anyone. You’re up for a bath next, so—”
“I don’t need a bath,” Nathan groaned as only a truly put-upon fourth-grader could.
Smitty sniffed the air around his son and widened his eyes comically. “Yeah, you do. No sass. Get to it. Papa’s in charge.”
Nathan looked as if he were about to argue, but Smitty’s stern dad energy must have been on point. “Fine. I’ll go, but I don’t want to.”
“Understood. Say good-bye to Jake.”
“Bye, Jake. Love you!”
I swallowed hard and waved. “I love you, buddy.”
“That kid cracks me up.” Smitty grinned like a besotted idiot, stifling a yawn as he focused on me. “Sorry. I was up all night with Ella.”
I frowned. “What’s wrong with Ells?”
“She’s doing better today, but she’s had the flu. Fever, chills, the whole nine yards. I was trying to give your dad a break ’cause he’s been getting up with her and…fuck, I’m tired. He said to tell you he’ll call you back in fifteen minutes.”
By the way, my dad married Elmwood High’s hockey coach and former AHL defensive star, Smitty Paluchek, soon after I’d signed on with Boston, and they’d since adopted three children, Nathan, Charlotte, and Ella. My siblings were nine, seven, and four years old. Kind of strange but super cool.
I’d grown up an only child who’d been shuffled between my divorced parents’ houses every week, so even though I was in my thirties now, this whole “big happy family with oodles of kids” situation was the greatest thing ever.
My mom and dad had been amazing, supportive parents who’d thankfully stayed friends and had gone out of their way to put me first. I had no complaints, but I had to admit, it had been lonely sometimes. I’d always wanted a brother or a sister. Now I had three, and I loved it.
I was the human jungle gym and the adult in the room who always said yes. I brought home treats from the road. Little things like T-shirts, stuffed animals, and coloring books that somehow made me look like a hero. Dad assured me that I was the main draw and that there was no need to ply them with gifts. Maybe so, but I didn’t have anyone else to do things for and…I liked spoiling them rotten.
“Okay, that’s cool. Give Ells a kiss for me and tell her I said I hope she feels better. I’m gonna watch sports highlights and—” I squinted at my screen. “What’s up? You just made a weird face.”
Smitty scrubbed his hand over his mouth and shrugged. “I take it you didn’t see Trinsky’s postgame interview yet.”
“Grr. What did he say?” I reached for the remote and scrolled to ESPN. I muted the commercial and refocused on Smitty.
“Don’t get worked up,” he cautioned. “It’s a little of that rivalry soundbite the press loves and the fans eat up like chicken dinos dipped in ketchup.”
I snorted in spite of the edgy gnawing sensation in my gut. “Chicken dinos?”
“Don’t knock ’em. Those things are tasty.”
“I remember loving them when I was…five. Aren’t you kind of old to be snacking on kid food?”
Smitty snickered. “Nope. I’m a dad. It’s my ticket to reacquaint myself with all the classics in the frozen section. Corn dogs, ice cream sandwiches, Lucky Charms…”
I scoffed. “No way does my dad allow Lucky Charms in the house. Way too much sugar and a—oh, hang on. Trinsky’s mug just popped up.”
Smitty sobered into serious-stepdad-slash-coach mode. “Hey, Jake, let it go. No stewing in negative energy.”
“Yeah, I won’t,” I agreed, averting my gaze to the irritating fucker on the hotel television screen. “Later, Smitty. Tell Dad to call me when he can.”
I disconnected the FaceTime call and adjusted the volume on the TV just as the reporter tipped her mic toward the grinning tattooed asshole rocking a postgame designer suit and slicked-back hair.
“Congratulations on your win tonight. It was a tight game in the second period, but you managed to keep Boston’s scorers contained.”
Trinsky nodded. “We did. I’m proud of our guys. It was a tough game.”
The reporter inclined her chin, her expression dead serious as she continued. “Boston struggled to get through your defense, Jake Milligan in particular. You two had a few terse moments on the ice. Can you tell us about it?”
“Meh, nothing out of the ordinary. He got in my lane, and I removed him.”
“It looked as if Milligan was injured or—”
“Or maybe he’s slowing down. He had a tough time keeping up tonight, eh?” Trinsky flashed a cocky smile and oh, my God—did he really just tell the whole damn country I was slow?
That absolute, total piece of shit.
The reporter’s eyes gleamed. She’d gotten what she’d been looking for without having to dig too deep to get it. “I know you’re rivals with an interesting history, but what do you think about—”