Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 87364 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 437(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87364 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 437(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
“Think you could arrange to look at them with me?” he asks. “I can go on Sunday afternoon.”
I blink at him in surprise but readily accept. “Of course. I’d be glad to.”
“I don’t have an eye for stuff like that, but you clearly do,” he adds.
I try not to preen under the praise.
“Just let me know what time, and I’ll be ready,” I assure him.
“Good.” Baden smiles, but then his eyes darken, somber for a moment. “But I have a more important favor to ask.”
“What’s that?”
“Would you come to our first game Friday? It would be nice to have a friend there. My parents were going to come, but my father has the flu, so they’re going to try for the next home game.”
I’m shocked and touched, because he’s not inviting me to be polite but because he wants support. His family can’t be there, so he wants me. This is his big debut in his new career, and it doesn’t take a genius to understand he’s probably nervous beyond belief.
“And I can get extra tickets for you so you can bring someone,” he adds quickly, a very pointed allowance due to my fears. “Your parents or maybe Frankie.”
“Frankie,” I say without hesitation. “She knows nothing about hockey, but she’d come just for the excitement of getting me out of the house.”
“And after the game, maybe we can go out and get a drink or something.”
“You’re really pushing me out of my comfort zone, aren’t you?” I tease.
“Frankie and I would be with you, so it should hardly be uncomfortable,” he counters.
“Point taken.” I laugh and pick up my utensils again, cutting into the prime rib. “You’ll love Frankie. She’s one of those people you can’t help but love, and she’s been so supportive since the attack.”
“I can’t wait to meet her.” Baden pauses to sip his water.
My utensils halt, and I look across the table at him. “Do you have someone else like that… since Wes died, I mean?”
Baden nods and smiles fondly. “Riggs Nadeau. We became close the last few weeks I was with the Vengeance.”
Without hesitation, I drop my utensils and reach out to rest my hand on his. His gaze drops to where we’re touching and then lifts back up to me.
“I’m so sorry about Wes.” I squeeze his hand, holding it tight. I know I’ve told him that before, but I want to say it again. “I’ve never lost anyone like that, so I don’t know the right words to say. I’m just really sorry.”
Something sparks in Baden’s eyes, and the lustrous warmth returns. His other hand covers mine. “Those are the exact right words. Thank you.”
Our eyes lock, and for what seems like an eternity, we just stare at each other. But then, as if by silent agreement, our hands slide apart, and we pick up our utensils to continue eating.
“So, tell me about these houses you found for me,” Baden says. That’s a safe enough subject for us to discuss so we can finish the meal without further charged interruption.
CHAPTER 14
Baden
You are not a fraud.
I stare at Sophie’s text message, a response to my admission that I was feeling like a fraud because I’m truly not a goalie coach.
She says I’m not a fraud, and I decide to take her at her word. This last message from her is the tail end of a string of texts we’ve been exchanging all afternoon.
Tonight is the rebuilt Titans’ first game. Face-off is in less than an hour, and I’ve been here all afternoon with the team, preparing. The ritual is the same pretty much anywhere I’ve ever played.
Food is provided—professionally catered and nutritionally sound—and players spend the afternoon eating all the right stuff for energy, doing light warm-ups and stretches, meditating, or just hanging out.
The difference today is an underlying current of almost electric emotion that seems to be coating the words and actions of everyone in the locker room. The normal pregame banter isn’t happening. The players don’t know each other well enough to engage. On top of that, I’ve learned there are some men suffering with emotional issues that are manifesting into anger and frustration.
Coen Highsmith seems to have developed a shitty attitude and is not the easygoing guy I’ve been told to expect.
Stone Dumelin is withdrawn and barely acknowledges you if you try to make conversation.
Liam Nicholson, our youngest player to be brought up from the minors, has a nervous twitch in his eye and currently has an ice pack held to it.
The list goes on and on, but we all have our vulnerabilities.
In a life I had not so long ago, I would be getting into my gear, stretching, and listening to AC/DC in my earbuds to get me jacked up for the game. Instead, I’m not doing much of anything except having random conversations with players as I run into them.