Total pages in book: 54
Estimated words: 53034 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 265(@200wpm)___ 212(@250wpm)___ 177(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 53034 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 265(@200wpm)___ 212(@250wpm)___ 177(@300wpm)
He opens the refrigerator and takes out a glass pitcher of what looks like unsweet tea. “Come on, try this lasagna. It’s fantastic.”
He dishes some of the cheesy, gooey pasta onto a plate and pours us both a glass of tea.
“So you wanted to run something by me when we were at Lucky’s, but you never did.”
I set my fork down, remembering what I wanted to ask him. “Right. So you know about my job working with physically and mentally disabled people. I was thinking ... what if I put together a thing where some of the guys on the team could play a game of wheelchair hockey against a team of wheelchair users who are also athletes? Maybe I could work with Special Olympics.”
“It’s a great idea. I can’t think of any of the guys who wouldn’t want to do it.”
“Yeah?” I’ve been knocking around the idea for a while now, and I like that he’s on board. “I thought it would be neat to spotlight what it’s like to play hockey as a wheelchair user.”
“We’re probably gonna get smoked.”
I laugh. “Longtime wheelchair users are really good at maneuvering them, so you might.”
“Do you know Briana? She runs the Crush Foundation and I think she’ll be able to help with whatever you need.”
“I guess I should check with the front office first.”
“Tell them the players want to do it.” He gestures at my plate. “Now eat, and I’ll grab my packing list.”
“Thanks for being my emotional support human.”
“Anytime.”
The lasagna is so damn good. I was planning to only eat a couple of bites and then say I’m full, but screw that. It’s delicious. And a nice thing about Lucien and me just being friends is that I don’t have to pretend I like girl dinners. A few crackers and a piece of cheese are not dinner.
Lucien passes me his list and I read it over. He has neat, blocky handwriting.
“I just want to make sure you know I fucking hate Macintire,” he says.
I look up from the paper. “I mean, same? Don’t tell me he got with your sister, too.”
He balks. “I wouldn’t let that fucker within ten feet of Calla. Macintire didn’t just fuck me over; he fucked over our entire team when we were teammates. He doesn’t even deserve to be called anyone’s teammate.”
“What did he do?”
Lucien’s gaze is on my lap, his lips quirking with a smile when his eyes flick up to mine. “Nice to see you back in leggings. I’m gonna need a beer for this conversation.”
He takes a bottled Guinness from his fridge and pops the top off with an opener, taking a long drink. Then he sets the bottle on the counter and leans back against it, crossing his arms.
“We had some concerns about our coach at the time. And when I say we, I mean the top five on the team. Macintire wasn’t in that group, that’s for goddamn sure. He’s always been second or third string, and he resented our first offensive line. Thought he was better than them.” He picks up the bottle and takes another drink. “So anyway, our captain decided we needed to bring the rest of the team in on the conversation about our coach. He was drinking a lot. Had alcohol on his breath at practices and games. We found him passed out in his office more than once. He wasn’t doing his job, and the team was suffering for it. We had to decide whether we were going to have an intervention and try to force him into rehab, or talk to the GM.”
“Max Gregory,” I say softly.
Anyone who follows hockey knows what happened to Max Gregory. It was a tragedy.
Lucien nods grimly. “It was a tough situation. We cared about him, of course, but also, our team was playing like shit because our coach was checked out. There was a group text that was for players only, and we discussed it there. Macintire leaked the texts to a reporter.”
My jaw drops. “It was him? I remember when that happened.”
“It ended Hartford’s career. No coach would touch him. And it fucked a lot of other guys over, too.”
I’m stunned. But now that I think about it ...
“Kyle moved up to the first line when Gregory quit.”
Lucien nods. “That’s why he did it. Looking out for number one, like always. And Gregory died of alcohol poisoning within a week of quitting. He didn’t deserve that—to have his shit blasted all over the internet, and to know—” He looks away. “It’s hard for me to talk about it. All of us feel partially responsible for Gregory’s death.”
I can’t stop myself from walking over and hugging him. He’s rock solid, and he smells amazing, his cologne carrying notes of pine and cedar.
“I’m so sorry.”
He holds me tightly. And when we finally pull apart a few seconds later, I’m not terrified anymore.