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)
Justin is less upbeat after getting scored on twice last period, but the fire in his eyes leaves no doubt that he thinks we can still lock this series win down tonight.
“Listen up, Badger fam,” he shouts, shutting down the chatter from the benches. “I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking fuck, Cruise, we’re down by two, and those Seattle motherfuckers think they’re on a roll now. This sucks ass. But this is exactly where we want to be. You know why?”
“Because they’re going to get cocky now,” Grammercy says. “Hell, they’re already cocky. If we’d had fifteen more seconds, I would have scored on them again. They suffer from Premature Celebration Syndrome.”
Justin thrusts an approving finger at the rookie’s chest. “Bingo, and there’s only one thing worse than premature celebration.” His eyes glitter with mischief as he adds, “Not that I would know anything about that personally, but Nowicki’s wife told me it’s very upsetting.”
Nowicki laughs as he calls back, “Keep it up, Cruise, and I’ll tell Diana you’re bullying me again, and you know how scary she is.”
Justin mock-shudders. “No lies detected. God protect us all from her tiny blond wrath. Speaking of wrath, let’s keep that simmering nice and low. Don’t let them provoke you. We stay cool, we stay focused, and the second we see them counting their win before the final buzzer, we pounce.”
“But feel free to talk shit to Gauthier in French if you know any,” Tank rumbles from where he’s now leaning against one of the vintage lockers. I told him about how Remy’s team shit-talks in Portuguese, and we’ve been employing the strategy in various languages ever since. “Trips him up every time.”
“Je vais lui dire que c’est un hostie de bouetteux avec un gros front de freak,” Grammercy babbles in a rush, clarifying when we all turn wide-eyed looks his way. “What? I told you, I’m Cajun. Half my family speaks French. I said your ass is lame and you have a big, freaky forehead.”
Justin nods eagerly. “Yes, perfect. He does have a freakishly large forehead.”
“You could also call out his breath,” Coach Lauder says, breezing into the room from the tunnel. “It’s so foul, I could smell it through the glass during the last scrim.”
Grammercy nods. “On it, Coach.”
“Good.” A hint of a smile softens Coach’s stern expression. He’s still a hard-ass, but has mellowed out a lot this year. According to Remy, he’s finally in therapy, and working through all the emotional shit he’s been shoving down for years has been good for him.
“But I wouldn’t worry too much about head games,” he adds. “That last goal was pure luck. They’re already getting tired and sloppy, but we’ve got conditioning on our side. You’re still going strong as their reserves begin to flag. Just get back out there, keep applying pressure and working as a team, and we’ll make sure this series never sees a Game 7.”
“Because we’ll be taking that cup back to Portland tonight!” Justin shouts, summoning a cheer from the room.
I’m on my feet with the rest of them, riding the wave as our various battle cries vibrate the walls.
For a beat, Lauder meets my gaze. He shoots me a thumbs up, a small sign that if this turns out to be my last time on the ice as a pro, I’m having a game I can be proud of. We’ve come a long way since the start of the season. I don’t know if we’ll ever reach the “hugging goodbye after weekly family dinner” stage of our relationship, but he’s made it clear he’s decided I’m good enough for his daughter, after all.
I’m sure it helped that I made it clear that I intend to prioritize Remy’s career, moving forward. And that I put in an offer on a condo in Seattle to prove it, the moment we knew she’d landed the coaching job with the Seattle Sirens. The fact that I make her happier and more relaxed than she’s ever been doesn’t hurt, either.
And yes, Coach seemed to find it offensive that I pulled him aside to ask for his daughter’s hand in marriage a couple days back—correctly observing that Remy would kick us both in the nuts if she thought we were doing bogus patriarchal shit behind her back. But if I hadn’t done things the old-fashioned way, I wouldn’t have her mother’s engagement ring in my bag right now, something I know is going to mean so much to her.
I’m going to propose tonight, a fact that’s got me nearly as ramped up as this game.
I’m surer of the outcome of the proposal than of Game 6, but I’m also even more determined to not fuck up the second momentous event of the evening. Playing in the NHL has been one of the best parts of my past, but Remy’s my future, and I can’t wait to know she’s going to be mine.