Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79564 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79564 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
We’re building something here—I can feel it in my bones. The crowd senses it too, their roar growing with every stride we take. Atlas crosses the red line and dishes the puck to Foster, who draws two defensemen toward him like a magnet. That’s my cue. I pivot hard, cutting toward the net and slipping into the open lane.
Foster doesn’t miss a beat. He feints a shot, selling it so well the goalie shifts, and the defenders commit. Then, with the precision only he has, he threads the puck right to my tape. It’s perfect, right there in my sweet spot.
I don’t think. I don’t hesitate. I fire.
The puck flies off my stick, a blur of black slicing through the air. The goalie drops into the butterfly, but it’s too late. The puck clanks off the bottom crossbar, it’s trajectory on point before slamming into the back of the net.
The arena erupts in a deafening roar, and a surge of adrenaline explodes through my veins. I let out a shout, pumping my fist hard as my teammates swarm me.
“Hell of a shot!” Atlas slaps me on the back, his grin wide and contagious. Camden skates in, laughing as he smacks his gloves against my helmet. Foster pulls me into a hug, pounding my shoulder pads. The energy is so intense my bones seem to rattle, and I let myself bask in it.
As we skate toward the bench, my gaze flicks up to the stands—an instinct I can’t seem to shake. My eyes find Farren instantly, and just like that, everything else fades into the background. She’s on her feet, clapping and cheering. Her smile is radiant, and even from here, I can feel it—the way she lights up, the way her energy seems to pulse through me like a live wire.
Damn, she’s beautiful.
I quickly snap my head forward, forcing myself to refocus as I reach the bench. The game isn’t over, and there’s no time to let my mind drift. But even as I sit down and take a swig from my water bottle, I can’t help the way my lips curve into a smile.
Scoring feels good.
Seeing her up there in the stands feels better.
CHAPTER 3
North
The post-game rush at Mario’s is already in full swing when I walk in. The bar is packed, sizzling with energy as Titans fans relive the highlights of our win over the Phantoms. The neon signs above the bar cast colorful reflections on the polished wood, and the scent of burgers and wings wafts through the air. This place is as familiar as the rink—both a sanctuary and a spectacle all at the same time. Of course, I have no clue what the atmosphere is like after games we lose since we only come here to celebrate our victories with the fans.
I glance toward the roped-off VIP section in the back, something the owners had set up for the team when it became the go-to hangout after many games. Wanting to encourage our attendance for the fans but provide us with a quiet spot to relax, we can have some privacy after making rounds for photos and autographs.
Most of the significant others and family members are here as the players start to trickle in. And there she is.
Farren.
She’s leaning against a small table, laughing at something Brittany, Willa’s sister, says. She looks sexy as hell in ripped jeans, knee-high boots and a small Titans jersey that I’m betting has her own last name but her brother’s number. She’s simply fucking stunning, an opinion I’ve had from the moment I met her on her first visit to see her brother play for his new team. That was three months ago, and I don’t know if absence makes the heart grow fonder, but it sure makes me even more attracted to her.
I tear my gaze away and head to the bar, ordering a beer from one of the bartenders slinging drinks as fast as they can for the post-game rush. I barely take a sip of my draft before a tap on my shoulder pulls me around.
“North! Can I grab a picture with you?”
The fan, a guy probably in his twenties, looks hopeful as he clutches his phone. Before I can even respond, his buddy is beside him, holding a Titans hat and a Sharpie.
“Make it out to Mike?”
I smile politely, keeping my tone light. “Sure thing.”
I sign the hat, pose for the photo, and am about to head toward the VIP section when two more fans approach. Then two more.
It’s like trying to skate uphill.
Every few moments, I glance toward Farren. She’s still chatting with Brittany and Willa, a casual confidence in her posture that’s hard to look away from.
A little girl tugs on my shirt sleeve, and I glance down to see dimples and missing front teeth. Her dad stands behind her, hand on her tiny shoulder clad in a Titans jersey that I see bears my number.