Total pages in book: 55
Estimated words: 50801 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 254(@200wpm)___ 203(@250wpm)___ 169(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 50801 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 254(@200wpm)___ 203(@250wpm)___ 169(@300wpm)
The roar of the crowd beyond the ice has melted into a dull background noise as I sharpen my focus.
The Dallas Stars have certainly brought their A-game, making this feel more like a playoff game then the first one of the preseason. We're currently tied up one-one, and the Stars have the puck.
I soar across the ice, sticking close to the goal, but making sure I stay out of our goalie—Fender Strode’s—eyeline to the puck. My eyes track the black disc, watching for my opportunity to push forward and steal it. It has to be worth it. It has to be a clear shot for me to abandon my post where I help defend the goal.
There.
The puck glides across the ice, one Star passing it to another, but without as much kick as I assume he intended. In a heartbeat, I'm flying forward, my stick an extension of my hands as I reach out to steal the puck—
The Star gets there a microsecond before me, steering the puck away from me, gliding around me in a quick offensive maneuver that has him taking a shot at the goal.
I groan, frustration snapping out of me as I chase after the shot, sighing in relief when Strode effectively blocks it. He quickly scans Lawson, then me, and sends the puck toward me since I have less people around me.
I take off with it, passing it to Lawson when two Stars come down on me. The puck slides against Lawson’s stick like warm butter, and he takes off across the ice faster than I've ever seen him before.
Two Stars get in his way, so he sends the puck soaring toward Kiplin, who cracks the shot at the Stars’s goalie.
It hits the net, and the crowd goes wild.
The clock runs out. We won the game, but barely.
We have a mini celebration on the ice, and I glance to the staff section where I know Monroe is sitting with Blakely and Reese. I smile at the sight of her on her feet, cheering with her best friends and looking directly at me. My heart fills with warmth, pride making my chest stick out as I smile and point at her, as if at this entire game was for her enjoyment.
For me it might as well be, because that smile on her face and my name and number on her back means the entire fucking world to me.
I give her one last look before I head off the ice and into the locker room with the rest of my teammates.
“Now that's how you do a first preseason game,” Coach Hardin says after we've all gathered around him. “Were there a few things we could improve on?” he asks, tilting his head as he slides his hands into his Badger tracksuit pockets. “Absolutely. In the end, did we still pull out a win? Heck yes.”
The locker room erupts in cheers, the atmosphere crackling with adrenaline after the postgame win.
He's not wrong, we have a little bit to work on, but we’re much stronger than we were at the beginning of last season. Hope dances just along the edges of the team, teasing that this time we might actually be a contender.
I shuck off my skates and helmet and some more of my gear before heading over to Strode’s locker.
“Fucking great save, Fen,” I say, extending a hand toward him with an appreciative and apologetic look on my face. “I swore I had that guy when I left like that.”
Fender takes my hand, shaking it and waving me off. “I thought you had him too, man,” he says, shrugging. “Don't worry about it. That's what I'm here for.” He grabs a tie from his locker, gathering his shoulder-length blond hair up in a knot behind his head.
“You're even faster than you were last year,” I say, giving him a nod. “Your reflexes are on fire this season and we're only just getting started.”
He grins and nods at me. “They better be. I worked on them the entire off-season. I was almost here more than Baylor.” He waves toward Baylor as he walks toward the showers.
I laugh. “Did you two become best friends? Because no one is here as much as Baylor.”
Fender laughs, shrugging again. “He's right in that line of robotic when it comes to the gym,” he says. “But competing with him during training has upped my game. I'm just glad the guy isn't trying to be a goalie, or I'd be out of a job. He's a fucking machine.”
“Yeah, I'm grateful he's on our team,” I say.
“You heading over to The Queen’s Rum after this?” Fender asks.
“Most likely,” I say. “I've got to check in with Monroe.”
“Cool, well maybe I'll see you there.” He gives me a fist-bump before heading toward the showers.
I hurry through my shower, more than excited to celebrate the first preseason game win with my girl.