Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 95393 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 477(@200wpm)___ 382(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95393 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 477(@200wpm)___ 382(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
It takes me about five minutes to move my ass, take off my baseball hat, run my hands through my hair—which is longer than I usually keep it—before I walk over to the gym. I train with Cole, side by side. Neither of us says anything, and instead, we get lost in our own thoughts. I wonder if he is thinking that it feels fucking weird without Benji here working out with us. I wonder if he’s thinking we should have fucking done something. I wonder if he’s thinking maybe I could have changed it.
The only time I shut off my brain is when we are on the ice. It was instilled in me when I was a kid that whatever happens out there, happens out there. When you get on the ice, you focus on the game. Focus on helping everyone around you. Focus on the play. I’m one of the last ones on the ice after Andreas, who was working with the goalie coach in the corner.
Practically no one is left here once I get out of the shower. I get dressed, sliding my hat back on my head before picking up my phone and keys. I walk out with my head down, avoiding the picture on the wall.
The tightness in my chest starts as soon as I sit in the truck and back out, looking over to his spot. I’m driving out of the parking garage when my phone rings. Looking at the center console screen, I see Dad calling.
Reaching over, I press the green button. “Hey,” I say once it’s connected.
“Hey yourself.” He chuckles. “What’s up?”
“Not much, just left first day of practice,” I tell him even though I know he knows because we spoke last night before I went to bed. After the funeral, it took a week for everyone to stop watching me. It took Stone two weeks to get back to his life, and he only left because Ryleigh had to get back to work. It took three weeks for my father to leave, begrudgingly, because he had to attend his hockey camp for underprivileged players. Even though he said I wasn’t going, I got on the plane with him. I stayed at home for a couple of weeks and then came back alone.
“How was that?” he asks softly.
“Fucking horrible,” I admit. “They still have Benji’s parking spot and locker.”
“And you’re pissed about this?” I don’t know if he’s asking me a question. “How pissed would you be if you got there and his stuff was cleaned out?” Now I know he’s asking me the question, and the minute I think about it, my throat almost closes up. When I don’t say anything for a full minute, he continues, “That’s what I thought. What about Koda? Have you spoken to her?”
The minute he mentions her name, my hands grip the steering wheel so hard I feel like if I wasn’t driving, I would be able to break it off. The last time I spoke to her, she cried in my fucking arms, her tears soaked into two layers of clothing to penetrate my skin, telling me how bad it really fucking was. If Benji was alive, there is no doubt in my mind I would have beat the shit out of him. I would have hit him over and over until my knuckles broke. That is how furious I was at him. I carried her up to her bed, tucked her in, and walked out of her house, where my family carried me home. “Nope,” I say, my tone angry.
“Did you call her?” he asks, making the irritation now come out.
“Every day,” I reply. “She hasn’t answered one of my phone calls.”
“Have you tried to text her?” His voice is soft. “Sometimes it’s easier to talk to someone when you don’t have to talk.” He sighs. “If that makes sense.”
“I have not tried to text her. I figured if she needed me, she would have called. Considering I left her twenty-five voicemails.” Did I call her every single day since he died? Yes. Did I leave a message every single time? No, I stopped after the first twenty-five. I was sure she blocked me on her phone anyway since it went straight to voicemail.
“Have you thought about what I said?”
I try to chuckle. “I don’t know, Dad. You’ve said a lot of things.”
“About you talking to someone.” His voice goes really low as I pull into my driveway, hitting the button to open the garage door and driving in.
“There is no need,” I huff. “I’m fine.”
“Well, I don’t think you’re fine,” he snaps. “In fact, I know you’re not fine. So you have two choices.” Suddenly, I feel like I’m back in high school, and I’m about to get punished for something. “You can either call your uncle Viktor.” He mentions my uncle who is a recovering addict. He’s been sober and clean for over thirty years and makes no secret about it. “Or I call him, and he pays you a visit.”