Clipped by Love
Page 3
“You’re excused,” I decide before pulling my teal and black Bellevue Bullies ball cap down over my eyes to hide the sun. “I’m just saying.”
“No you aren’t saying anything; you’re bitching like a girl,” Jace says.
“At least I don’t look like one,” I throw back.
“He’s right about that,” Jude agrees with a grin. “But you’re right, I just miss her, okay? I’m sorry.”
“I get it. She’s special.”
“Yeah.” Jude grins. “I can’t wait to ask her to marry me.”
“It’s going to be great,” Jace agrees. We all love Claire, but it’s hard not to be jealous. She steals all of Jude’s attention. I used to be his best friend, but Claire took that spot. I want to say that I’m okay with it, but it’s just another thing that’s changed.
Everything is fucking changing.
Looking over at Jace, I give him an expectant look and he gives me one back.
“What? I’m not apologizing for wanting to get laid.”
Rolling my eyes, I look over at Jude and say, “See, he’s turning into a douche.”
“Yeah, maybe we should kick his ass?”
Jace scoffs and I shrug. “Or we could throw him into the ocean and drown him.”
“Mom might get mad. You know how much she loves the pretty boy,” Jude counters, and I nod as Jace glares.
“Y’all are just mad because I’m better looking, and you two are ugly.”
I scoff along with Jude as we both ignore him. “Yeah, but we can at least scare him out of his douchery.”
“This is true.” Jude nods, slowly removing his phone. I do the same. “He’s kinda fast.”
“I swear to God, I’ll kill you two,” Jace threatens, but we don’t hear him. It’s like old times.
Us two against the world.
“Yeah, but if you take his legs out, he can’t get far,” I suggest.
Nodding, Jude leans back and stretches his arms. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Jace on the edge of his seat. He isn’t as stupid as I make him out to be. We are always ganging up on him. He’s just waiting for the cue to run, but we won’t give it to him. He’s a novice compared to us.
“I don’t know. I’m kind of tired.” Jude yawns, crossing his arms.
“Cause you’re an old fart!” Jace teases, laughing. “You couldn’t catch me anyway. You may have that big ol’ contract with the Kings, but you can’t touch this.”
“Eh, he might be right,” I tease and Jude scoffs.
Then out of nowhere, he lunges over me, tackling Jace to the sand. It takes us a few minutes, but soon we have him, Jude with his torso and me with his legs as we drag him to the ocean. While he screams and calls us every cuss word in the book, we laugh, and I can honestly say, I’m finally relaxing.
My lungs are burning.
My legs feel like Jell-O.
Sweat is dripping in my eyes.
And I ache, but I know if I want to go to Florida with my friends, I’m going to have to show my dad that I can take off for four days without any worries.
“Again,” he yells from the little stool he sits on.
His hazel eyes are trained on me as I suck in deep breaths. His brown hair is hidden under his green Baylor University hat that he’s had since I was born. He wore it the day I was born and always told me that’s why he decided to name me Baylor. That’s also the day my mom decided she didn’t want to be a mom and left. For some reason, that dumb hat of his always reminds me that she left me. I know it shouldn’t—it should remind me of the prestigious school I am named after, but it never does.
It always reminds me that my mom didn’t want me.
Squeezing my eyes shut tightly, I shake away the thought as I suck in another deep breath before letting it out in a whoosh. My stick rests loosely in my hand as the puck taunts me from where it lays on the ice. It wants me to give it no mercy, and I don’t intend to. Moving it back and forth quickly with the blade of my stick, I dig into the ice and I’m off from the blue line. Sailing across the ice with ease, I move the puck through the hurdles as if they aren’t even there to give me a challenge, and really, they aren’t. Nothing is. I was born to do this. To make my daddy proud.
When I get through the last hurdle, I spin around, taking the puck with me before moving it back to my skate, hitting it back up to my blade before I shift on my back leg to shoot. Taking in the goal, I see that he’s blocked off a lot of the goal, only leaving me three spots at which to shoot. Left top shelf, bottom right-hand side, and five-hole. Thinking on my feet, I adjust my shoulders as my stick comes down quickly, cracking against the puck. All my strength and hope that I impress him are the driving forces behind my shot before it rockets into the goal. Top shelf. My favorite place to shoot.
I want to throw my hands up, cheer for the flawless shot I just achieved, but my dad doesn’t like that. He believes in celebrating inside, not to showboat. So instead, I rest my stick up against my shoulders as I skate toward him, looking at him for any sign that he is proud of me. He doesn’t give it to me, and slowly I doubt that I’ll be able to go to Clearwater Beach with my friends.
We want to go for one last hurrah before we start back at school. They’ve been begging me to ask him, but I’ve been too scared to. During the summer, I train and I train hard. I’ve been on skates since I was a baby. My dad jokes that I skated before I walked, and since no one can object to that, I’ve always believed him. There isn’t a day that passes that he doesn’t tell me I’m going places. And while it’s a whole lot of pressure, I believe him.
Because I’m the only female hockey player to play on a male college team in the United States.
I mean, not to toot my own horn, but I can hold my own, and I’m damn awesome. It’s been said that I am better than most of the boys, and because of that, my dad fought for me to be on a team where I would be challenged. Since he coaches, it only made sense, despite the hatred that goes along with it. A lot of people doubt me, and the guys on the team tend to be dicks, but once I get on that ice, they soon shut up. Jealously rings loudly, but I ignore it. I have to. Because no matter what, I’m a force to be reckoned with, and no one can touch my skill level.
My career thus far speaks for itself.
“No you aren’t saying anything; you’re bitching like a girl,” Jace says.
“At least I don’t look like one,” I throw back.
“He’s right about that,” Jude agrees with a grin. “But you’re right, I just miss her, okay? I’m sorry.”
“I get it. She’s special.”
“Yeah.” Jude grins. “I can’t wait to ask her to marry me.”
“It’s going to be great,” Jace agrees. We all love Claire, but it’s hard not to be jealous. She steals all of Jude’s attention. I used to be his best friend, but Claire took that spot. I want to say that I’m okay with it, but it’s just another thing that’s changed.
Everything is fucking changing.
Looking over at Jace, I give him an expectant look and he gives me one back.
“What? I’m not apologizing for wanting to get laid.”
Rolling my eyes, I look over at Jude and say, “See, he’s turning into a douche.”
“Yeah, maybe we should kick his ass?”
Jace scoffs and I shrug. “Or we could throw him into the ocean and drown him.”
“Mom might get mad. You know how much she loves the pretty boy,” Jude counters, and I nod as Jace glares.
“Y’all are just mad because I’m better looking, and you two are ugly.”
I scoff along with Jude as we both ignore him. “Yeah, but we can at least scare him out of his douchery.”
“This is true.” Jude nods, slowly removing his phone. I do the same. “He’s kinda fast.”
“I swear to God, I’ll kill you two,” Jace threatens, but we don’t hear him. It’s like old times.
Us two against the world.
“Yeah, but if you take his legs out, he can’t get far,” I suggest.
Nodding, Jude leans back and stretches his arms. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Jace on the edge of his seat. He isn’t as stupid as I make him out to be. We are always ganging up on him. He’s just waiting for the cue to run, but we won’t give it to him. He’s a novice compared to us.
“I don’t know. I’m kind of tired.” Jude yawns, crossing his arms.
“Cause you’re an old fart!” Jace teases, laughing. “You couldn’t catch me anyway. You may have that big ol’ contract with the Kings, but you can’t touch this.”
“Eh, he might be right,” I tease and Jude scoffs.
Then out of nowhere, he lunges over me, tackling Jace to the sand. It takes us a few minutes, but soon we have him, Jude with his torso and me with his legs as we drag him to the ocean. While he screams and calls us every cuss word in the book, we laugh, and I can honestly say, I’m finally relaxing.
My lungs are burning.
My legs feel like Jell-O.
Sweat is dripping in my eyes.
And I ache, but I know if I want to go to Florida with my friends, I’m going to have to show my dad that I can take off for four days without any worries.
“Again,” he yells from the little stool he sits on.
His hazel eyes are trained on me as I suck in deep breaths. His brown hair is hidden under his green Baylor University hat that he’s had since I was born. He wore it the day I was born and always told me that’s why he decided to name me Baylor. That’s also the day my mom decided she didn’t want to be a mom and left. For some reason, that dumb hat of his always reminds me that she left me. I know it shouldn’t—it should remind me of the prestigious school I am named after, but it never does.
It always reminds me that my mom didn’t want me.
Squeezing my eyes shut tightly, I shake away the thought as I suck in another deep breath before letting it out in a whoosh. My stick rests loosely in my hand as the puck taunts me from where it lays on the ice. It wants me to give it no mercy, and I don’t intend to. Moving it back and forth quickly with the blade of my stick, I dig into the ice and I’m off from the blue line. Sailing across the ice with ease, I move the puck through the hurdles as if they aren’t even there to give me a challenge, and really, they aren’t. Nothing is. I was born to do this. To make my daddy proud.
When I get through the last hurdle, I spin around, taking the puck with me before moving it back to my skate, hitting it back up to my blade before I shift on my back leg to shoot. Taking in the goal, I see that he’s blocked off a lot of the goal, only leaving me three spots at which to shoot. Left top shelf, bottom right-hand side, and five-hole. Thinking on my feet, I adjust my shoulders as my stick comes down quickly, cracking against the puck. All my strength and hope that I impress him are the driving forces behind my shot before it rockets into the goal. Top shelf. My favorite place to shoot.
I want to throw my hands up, cheer for the flawless shot I just achieved, but my dad doesn’t like that. He believes in celebrating inside, not to showboat. So instead, I rest my stick up against my shoulders as I skate toward him, looking at him for any sign that he is proud of me. He doesn’t give it to me, and slowly I doubt that I’ll be able to go to Clearwater Beach with my friends.
We want to go for one last hurrah before we start back at school. They’ve been begging me to ask him, but I’ve been too scared to. During the summer, I train and I train hard. I’ve been on skates since I was a baby. My dad jokes that I skated before I walked, and since no one can object to that, I’ve always believed him. There isn’t a day that passes that he doesn’t tell me I’m going places. And while it’s a whole lot of pressure, I believe him.
Because I’m the only female hockey player to play on a male college team in the United States.
I mean, not to toot my own horn, but I can hold my own, and I’m damn awesome. It’s been said that I am better than most of the boys, and because of that, my dad fought for me to be on a team where I would be challenged. Since he coaches, it only made sense, despite the hatred that goes along with it. A lot of people doubt me, and the guys on the team tend to be dicks, but once I get on that ice, they soon shut up. Jealously rings loudly, but I ignore it. I have to. Because no matter what, I’m a force to be reckoned with, and no one can touch my skill level.
My career thus far speaks for itself.
