Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 74956 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 375(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74956 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 375(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
“Yes, sir. Then the door locked behind us, and neither of us had our phones. So, we were out of luck until someone came down that way to check on us.”
He nods for a long beat before sucking in a breath and offering a dismissive shrug. “All right. Maybe one of these days, management will finally take this issue seriously and address the problem. In the meantime, get your ass on the ice, Stone. And next time you see a box that needs moving, find maintenance.”
“Yes, sir.”
I head back into the locker room, thoughtful but grateful that the worst is over. Something felt off about that conversation, but Coach thankfully seems to have more important things to worry about right now than why his star forward was helping his daughter reach high shelves.
So, do I. Like our chances at the cup this year, my last year to get to the finals and bring that bad boy home to Portland.
When I walk in, the locker room is already buzzing with pre-practice energy. Tank’s in his usual spot, methodically taping his stick, not far from my locker.
“You survive the boss man?” he asks without looking up.
“Barely.” I drop onto the bench beside him. “Thanks for the save this morning.”
“That’s what friends are for.” He finishes with the tape, examining his handiwork with a critical eye. “Though I’d appreciate fewer ghost-themed rescue missions in the future.”
“You’re the one who had the ‘feeling’ someone was trapped down there.”
“Don’t remind me.” He shudders. “That place gives me the creeps.”
I grin, remembering how spooked he was the first time he got locked in the haunted wing. Not much ruffles this man, but he’s not a fan of enclosed places. “At least no one had to pee in a water bottle this time.”
“Small mercies.” He stands, and we head for the ice. “Now, I know you’ve had an exciting morning, but try to keep your head in the game.”
“Always do,” I say, earning myself a dubious grunt.
But then, as my closest friend on the team, Tank knows exactly what a big deal it is that he caught Remy and me sleeping in together. I’ve been pining for this woman for a long time. It’s probably getting pathological at this point, but I can’t bring myself to regret a second of it.
Especially not when Remy looked about ten seconds away from admitting she was catching feelings, too, right before Tank opened the door.
If he hadn’t interrupted when he did…
I mean, I’m obviously glad we aren’t still trapped in there, but I’d give a kidney to know what was on the tip of her tongue.
* * *
Out on the ice, Tank continues to keep me on my toes, our years of playing together here and in Seattle showing in the way he reads my every move, anticipating exactly how I’m going to try to score on him.
It makes practice a delicious challenge.
When I fake left but shoot right, he’s already there, deflecting my shot with a satisfied smirk.
“Getting predictable in your old age, pretty boy,” he taunts as I circle back for another attempt.
“Just warming up, big guy.” I gather speed for my next attack. Tank’s the best goalie I’ve ever played with or against, the kind of netminder who makes you work for every goal, who pushes you to be better just by virtue of his own excellence. “Let’s see if you can stop this one.”
He does stop it, but just barely, and the way his eyes narrow tells me I’ve got his full attention now.
There’s nothing quite like the chess match of forward versus goalie when two players know each other this well. It’s made us both better over the years, this ongoing dance of challenge and counter-challenge, support and competition.
We’re still chirping away at each other when Grammercy joins us. The guy might believe in ghosts, but his instincts on the ice are supernatural in the best way, a fact he proves as we move into the next drill.
Coach puts us through our paces for another hour, but there’s an energy in the arena today, a sense of possibility that has nothing to do with haunted storage rooms.
This team is special. We all feel it.
The new guys like Grammercy are slotting right in, the veterans are playing some of their best hockey, and even Coach seems lighter these days. Well, as light as Lauder ever gets.
But still. Something’s different. Better.
Maybe it’s because this is my last season, and I’m determined to go out with a bang. Maybe it’s because Tank’s impending fatherhood has him playing like a man possessed to secure his family’s future. Or maybe it’s just that rare magic that happens sometimes in sports, when all the pieces come together at exactly the right moment.
Whatever it is, I can’t help feeling like this could be our year. The year we finally bring the cup home to Portland.