Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 114951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 575(@200wpm)___ 460(@250wpm)___ 383(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 575(@200wpm)___ 460(@250wpm)___ 383(@300wpm)
Professor Reid nodded. “I see. Can you explain your reasoning?”
“Resilience is about the fight inside you — even when no one else is there to help or bail you out. It’s born out of necessity, out of circumstance, and out of a will to survive. You can put two people in the exact same situation with the same community around them and they’ll respond differently.”
Professor Reid jutted his lip out in thought, bobbing his head side to side as he considered.
“Support systems are nice, but they’re not what gets you through. You get you through,” she finished.
A ripple of murmurs echoed through the classroom.
Before I knew what I was doing, my own hand was in the air.
Professor Reid’s brows shot up, and he nodded to me. “Go ahead, Mr…?”
“Shane McCabe, sir.”
I didn’t miss the flutter of noise at my name. The students sitting in my section had already noticed me, but now the whole class knew they had Boston College’s star winger in their class.
“I disagree with Miss Ridley.”
As soon as I said it, she turned around, balancing her forearm on the back of her chair as she looked up at me.
And once again, I felt my world tilt.
She was a knockout. There was just no other way to describe her. She had the kind of beauty that robbed a man of common sense — smooth, alabaster skin, golden hair, heart-shaped, rose-colored lips.
But it was her eyes that had me speechless for so long it was embarrassing.
They were piercing, a shocking bright blue like two glowing pools of spring water.
And they were haunted the way only a survivor’s can be.
“Go on,” Professor Reid said with a smirk when I didn’t elaborate.
I thought I heard a few chuckles near me, but I blinked, swallowing and tearing my gaze from Ariana and back to Reid.
“I don’t disagree that survival comes down to what’s inside you,” I said slowly. “But I’ve lived enough to know sometimes what’s inside isn’t enough. Sometimes, you’re standing in the wreckage with everything you thought you could count on gone.”
I paused; the weight of those words heavy on my ribcage.
“And the difference between drowning and making it to the surface isn’t how hard you struggle in the waves.” I leaned forward, tapping my desk for emphasis. “It’s how graciously you accept the hand that reaches for you. It’s the steady voice of a coach, the encouragement from a brother on the ice.” I shrugged, sitting back again. “It’s your team — whatever that may look like.”
The room went quiet, and my eyes flitted back to Ariana’s. She was frowning at me, and I wasn’t sure if it was because she was annoyed I was arguing with her, or because she understood the point I was making.
“But hey, maybe it’s a bit of both,” I conceded, and really, I was speaking only to her then. “Maybe, sometimes, resilience is what you carry inside. And sometimes…it’s who carries it with you.”
“Very good points, Mr. McCabe,” Professor Reid said, and then he tapped the white board and transitioned into his lecture.
But I was still looking at Ariana.
She was still looking at me.
And when her lips melted into a soft, breathtaking smile; I knew I was a goner.
This Is It
Shane
Present
At forty-one years old, I was having my patience tested as a coach in a way I imagined it might have been tested had I ever been a parent.
It was mid-September in the most chaotic opening of a season I’d yet to experience. As head coach for the Tampa Bay Ospreys, I’d seen a lot over the years — suspensions from offseason debauchery, rookies who just never showed up to camp, rookies who did show up and then underperformed in a way that had us all wondering why they were ever drafted.
But this season felt like my own personal hell.
Our goalie, Will Perry, affectionately known as Daddy P, was the best in the league. There was no debate. Irrefutably, he was the best — and all summer, he had been sitting on the Ospreys’ offer for a contract extension next season. He’d promised me he’d seriously consider it, but I had a feeling he was leaning toward retirement.
And I couldn’t blame him.
He’d put his body through hell for decades, won himself a Stanley Cup with the team a few seasons ago, and had played one hell of a career, in general. He was married now to his former nanny, Chloe, and they were ready to give his daughter a sibling.
But just because I could understand his choice didn’t mean I had to love it.
Perry had his struggles — the same hip that had carried him through two decades of saves now protesting every drop to the ice, his stamina fading with it. But all in all, he was still incredible. He was a powerhouse and a team favorite. He was the heart and soul of the team.