Chapters (108)
- Dedication
- 1. Declan
- Declan
- 2. Hannah
- Hannah
- 3. Hannah
- Hannah
- 4. Hannah
- Hannah
- 5. Declan
- Declan
- 6. Hannah
- Hannah
- 7. Declan
- Declan
- 8. Declan
- Declan
- 9. Hannah
- Hannah
- 10. Declan
- Declan
- 11. Hannah
- Hannah
- 12. Declan
- Declan
- 13. Hannah
- Hannah
- 14. Declan
- Declan
- 15. Hannah
- Hannah
- 16. Hannah
- Hannah
- 17. Declan
- Declan
- 18. Hannah
- Hannah
- 19. Hannah
- Hannah
- 20. Hannah
- Hannah
- 21. Declan
- Declan
- 22. Hannah
- Hannah
- 23. Declan
- Declan
- 24. Hannah
- Hannah
- 25. Declan
- Declan
- 26. Hannah
- Hannah
- 27. Declan
- Declan
- 28. Hannah
- Hannah
- 29. Declan
- Declan
- 30. Hannah
- Hannah
- 31. Declan
- Declan
- 32. Hannah
- Hannah
- 33. Hannah
- Hannah
- 34. Declan
- Declan
- 35. Hannah
- Hannah
- 36. Declan
- Declan
- 37. Hannah
- Hannah
- 38. Declan
- Declan
- 39. Hannah
- Hannah
- 40. Declan
- Declan
- 41. Hannah
- Hannah
- 42. Declan
- Declan
- 43. Hannah
- Hannah
- 44. Declan
- Declan
- 45. Hannah
- Hannah
- 46. Hannah
- Hannah
- 47. Declan
- Declan
- 48. Hannah
- Hannah
- 49. Declan
- Declan
- 50. Hannah
- Hannah
- 51. Declan
- Declan
- Epilogue
- Hannah
- Epilogue Two
- Grant
- Books by Nikki Lawson
My body turns into a streak of controlled power as I hurtle across the ice, closing the distance between myself and the rightmost edge of the net as fast as my legs will let me. But just as I get to the line where a shot should be fired, I pivot hard to the left, spinning gracefully, and let the shot loose with a powerful backhand. The puck soars into the net so hard that if it wasn’t bolted down, it probably would’ve flipped over.
A whistle carries out over the ice, and when I glance over my shoulder, I find Dunaway in the stands with one of the assistant coaches.
“Nice shot, Murray!” Dunaway shouts, both hands cupped around his mouth. Then he waves me over. The assistant coach excuses himself while I’m making my way over, and Dunaway meets me at the boards.
“You don’t have to overdo it,” he says with a smile when I stop in front of him. “You’re already killing it. I don’t want you burning out.”
I nod. “I understand. I just want to do the best I can for the team.”
Dunaway chuckles at me. “I respect your work ethic, Murray, I really do. But you’ve got to live for yourself a little bit sometimes too. Your mind needs a break. It can’t be all hardcore hockey, all the time.”
“You’re right.” I nod. “I know that. I just have a hard time not giving things my all. If I’m in, I’m in, you know what I mean?”
“You’re preaching to the choir. I wouldn’t be heading a Cup-winning team if we didn’t have that in common.” Dunaway rubs a hand over his shiny bald head. “Now don’t get me wrong, the drills and practice are important, but it’s just as important to take care of yourself, especially in this line of work. You never know when your next game might be your last thanks to an injury or strain or something.”
A chill runs through me despite the sweat on my skin. I don’t even want to think about that happening.
Getting to this point has been a years-long, back-and-forth journey, so the last thing I want is for some random injury I could’ve prevented to steal the dream away from me now that it’s finally in my grasp. I have so much respect already for Dunaway, but I only respect him more for talking to me like this.