Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 72589 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 363(@200wpm)___ 290(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72589 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 363(@200wpm)___ 290(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
But tomorrow will be here soon enough.
We’ll talk then, and I’ll know where we stand.
Until then, all I can do is breathe.
And hope this love we’ve been building is as precious to Tank as it’s quickly becoming to me…
CHAPTER 14
TANK
It’s day two of my second chance at the NHL, and I wake up with my jaw already clenched.
I barely slept. My mind was too busy spinning like a hamster on a wheel, replaying every garbage moment from yesterday’s shit show on my mental screen. From Coach Lauder’s announcement that the starting position was “especially up for grabs,” to Garcia’s smirk every time I had to share the ice with him, to the pitying glances from the other veteran players.
Not to mention rolling into yoga class late after taking too long to purge my demons with the punching bag in the weight room and pushing Steph away, when I knew she was only trying to help.
I’m not as shitty at accepting support as I used to be, but I’m still not great at letting my guard down. Not when I’m as worked up as I was yesterday. I know I must have hurt her feelings, taking so long to check in, which only adds to the weight on my shoulders.
Guilt gnaws at me as I drag myself out of bed and into the shower. This woman who’s been nothing but good to me, there for me, who’s given me more reason to feel hopeful in a few weeks than most people have in my entire life, deserves better than that. A hell of a lot better.
Promising myself I’ll make it up to her somehow, make it right, I do my best to push my boyfriend failure aside and focus on the job ahead.
It’s time to put the past in the past and turn this shit around.
But that sure would be a lot easier without a certain shit turd rookie fucking with me every chance he gets…
I’ve barely set my gear bag down when Garcia chuckles from the opposite end of the long bench between the lockers. “Moving a little slow this morning, LiBassi.” His voice carries enough for the nearby players to hear, but not so loud that it might draw attention from the coaching staff prepping for the morning meeting on the other side of the room.
This kid is a pain in the ass, but he isn’t stupid.
“Late night?” he adds. “Or just feeling your age, old man?”
“I’m twenty-nine,” I say flatly, not bothering to glance his way.
He snorts. “Wow. Really? Could have fooled me. I thought you were pushing forty, dude.”
I ignore him, focusing on my laces, my routine.
Routine is good. Routine will keep me centered.
I breathe in through my nose for three, then out through slightly parted lips for four, the way Steph taught me. I will not let this guy get to me…no matter how much I’d like to show him how quickly this “old man” could have his jersey shoved up his ass and plugged with a practice puck.
Stone catches my gaze as he drops his bag on my other side, rolling his eyes in a way that makes it clear he agrees engaging would only feed the troll.
I’m halfway to achieving a bit of inner peace, releasing the tension in my jaw and focusing on slowing my heartrate, when Garcia adds, “Is that because of the pills? Did you like…look younger before?”
The air goes dead silent.
Even the rookies who were chuckling at Garcia’s shit a moment ago don’t make a fucking sound.
I go still, my hands frozen on my laces. I feel every eye on our bench on me, waiting to see how I’ll react. This isn’t just normal competitive trash talk—Garcia crossed an ugly line, and everyone knows it.
Now, I have to handle it.
Before I can decide if it’s time to teach Garcia a lesson, or if I really am Zen enough to let even shit like that go, Stone stands beside me, calling over my head in a deceptively light voice, “Hey Garcia. Shouldn’t you be in a stall taking that pre-practice shit you were so proud of yesterday? Seems like a better use of your time than flirting with Tank while he’s trying to get dressed.”
Garcia snorts. “What the fuck. I wasn’t flirting with anyone, least of—”
“Right, right,” Stone cuts in with a knowing laugh. “It’s okay, buddy. Tank’s a sexy guy. I get it. I mean, look at those shoulders. They’re nice shoulders.”
I nod, my attention still fixed on my skates as I add, “And I’m flattered, man. I really am. But I’ve got a girlfriend, so…”
“Fuck you guys,” Garcia grumbles, storming away as he calls loud enough for the entire complex to hear, “I’m not gay!”
Stone tsks his tongue. “I don’t know about you guys, but I think he protests too much.”