The Cruelest Kind of Hate (Riverside Reapers #3) by Celeste Briars EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Authors: Celeste Briars
- Language: English
- Genre: Sports Romance
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
HOPE YOU HAVE INSURANCE
CALISTA
I’m late. This week’s goal was to work on punctuality, but the universe is
conspiring against me.
My dance class went over time, so I had to cram a twenty-minute
drive into a measly eight minutes. I’m surprised my car even covered that
much distance within such a small time span since it’s on its last wheels.
I promised my little brother, Teague, that I’d be on time today. Another
broken promise to a little kid who deserves so much more. With my father
out of the picture and my mother bedridden, Teague is my responsibility.
An eight-year-old, adorable, bad-mouthed ball of responsibility. But I
wouldn’t trade that responsibility for anything in the world.
When I pull into the massive parking lot, somehow every spot in the
vicinity is occupied. Sure, Riverside is a big hockey city, and if you arrive
at the arena after three o’clock, you’re guaranteed to endure some traffic,
but this is preposterous. And my brother is inside that teeming sardine can,
where a simple “I’m here” text won’t be enough to compel him out of the
door.
If I’m going to get my brother home, cook him dinner, and get back to
the studio for my final dance class of the night, I’ll need to run in and get
him. Right now, that’s looking like the equivalent of voluntarily running
into crossfire. But I have no choice.
Whipping my head around, I try to search for the nearest “parking
space” that won’t get me a ticket or my car towed. I can’t park against the
sidewalk because there is no fucking sidewalk, and I can’t park in front of
the rink with my hazards on because I’d be blocking the mouth of the
parking lot entrance. I’m panicking. It’s a mild panic, but panic,
nonetheless.
And then, breaking through my figurative haze—and a literal foggy one
—is a single spot calling to me from the hockey team’s reserved parking
spaces. Home to the Riverside Reapers. One of the best professional hockey
teams in the league. And Riverside’s pride and joy. We got close to the
playoffs last season, and now everyone and their mother thinks we’re going
to win this season.
Look, I’m not blind, I know what the signage says—RESERVED
PARKING. But I’ll be out in less than five minutes. I highly doubt a team
member is going to arrive in the next five minutes, find that I’m in his
designated parking spot, and get me towed. Plus, this is the closest spot to
the arena.
Kiss my ass, time management class I should probably be attending! I’m
in control, and I’ve got this.
I pull haphazardly between the white-painted lines, kill the engine, and
jump out of the car quicker than I think I’ve ever moved in my twenty-two
years of life.
My threadbare shoes squelch in puddles of murky rainwater, and
crushed autumn leaves disintegrate into muted hues of fiery crimson against
the soaked pavement. The sky is the color of dragon’s breath, with nebulous
clouds shrouding the parking lot in a disquieting darkness—one that makes
the rink look a lot more foreboding than usual. Cold licks up my spine,
raising goose bumps on the exposed flesh of my arms as I try to circulate
some warmth with my palms.
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