Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 86052 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 430(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86052 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 430(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Shit. I should have known he would be checking up on that. “Yeah, about that,” I say, hitting him with a generic response. “I actually prefer not to train in campus gyms. Gets a bit crowded, you know. Too many personalities.”
“Right,” he says with a scoff, clearly knowing exactly what I mean before narrowing his gaze. “But the training is still getting done?”
“Yes, Coach,” I say with a firm nod, hoping he can see the honesty in my eyes. I may not love hockey as much as other things, but I’ve made a commitment to this team, and I won’t be the reason they fall behind.
I see the moment he decides to give me the benefit of the doubt. After all, he has no reason to doubt me. If only he knew. “Okay, that’s fine,” he tells me, letting me off the hook. “But if you start to slacken off on the ice, you’ll be back in the campus gym where the boys can keep an eye on you.”
“Yes, Coach,” I say, giving him a tight smile.
His lips press together as he continues studying me. “Alright, kid. Get out of here,” he says after a short pause, finally dismissing me.
With pleasure.
Tightening my hold on my bag, I turn around and get my ass out of there before anyone else decides they need a moment of my time. After tossing my bag into the back of my truck, I get in and hit the gas.
It’s a short drive back to the house my parents have rented from the University. I push through the door, thankful for Dad’s strict rules about not having roommates to distract me from my goals. Don’t get me wrong, it’s a boring as fuck life with not nearly enough social aspects, but I can’t completely blame my father for that. I like being alone and having my space respected. There’s a reason they call me the black sheep everywhere I go.
After collapsing on my couch and having a nap, I wake up a few hours later and fix myself some lunch. When I check the time, I realize I’m almost late for my business lecture.
Scrambling for my things, I grab what I need and race out the door, making it just in time. The lecture is long and boring, but I do what I can to concentrate on my professor and soak in his wisdom. After all, if I plan on opening my own business one day, this is exactly the type of shit I need to know.
I get through two lectures before finally returning home, and despite my exhaustion, I push through to the small home gym set up in the spare room with a heavy sigh. I need to get another two hours logged before the day is out.
Heading straight for the weights, I work through my sets before moving on to cardio. I’m only halfway through when my gaze locks onto the punching bag in the corner, and a desperate need pulses through my veins. There’s nothing quite like throwing a good punch, but I know I shouldn’t. I need to concentrate on hockey training.
I’ve always hated training by myself. Since my father set me up with a trainer as a kid, I’ve always relied on having that person there to push me harder. While I’ve gained enough discipline to not need that extra push anymore, I can’t deny how good it feels.
I clench my jaw, knowing I should ignore that nagging feeling within me, but fuck it. I’m done being my father’s puppet. If I’m going to be here working toward a hockey career that I don’t want, then it’s going to be on my terms.
Abandoning the rest of my cardio requirements, I walk out of my home gym, grabbing my wallet, phone, and keys on the way out the door. I hop back in my truck and head downtown.
My gaze scans up and down the streets, searching for a gym I overheard a bunch of freshmen raving about. I go down backstreets, turning left then right, and left again until I finally find it. An old run-down gym with nothing but a sign above the door with a pair of boxing gloves, declaring the place as Rebels Advocate.
I eye the place down. This isn’t exactly what I was expecting. But what the hell, I’m already here. I might as well check it out. Parking my truck in one of the few available spaces out front, I grab my shit and make my way to the door.
Pushing my way inside, I stand in the small foyer, looking completely dumbfounded as I take it all in. The gym is alive with activity. Punching bags swing under heavy fists while the sound of clashing metal reverberates loudly through the room. Weights clink along bars, and old-school boxing rings filled with fighters grunting and groaning line the back of the room.