Bender

BENDER Vegas Venom: Book Four By Colleen Charles Table of Contents BENDER Vegas Venom Definition Key Foreword Prologue Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen Chapter Twenty Chapter Twenty-One Chapter Twenty-Two Chapter Twenty-Three Chapter Twenty-Four Chapter Twenty-Five Epilogue DANGLER SNEAK PEEK Chapter One Chapter Two Copyright Vegas Venom Definition Key Flopper: A goalie prone to going down on the ice to stop pucks. Wheeler: A player known for their fast, skilled skating. Grinder A player known for their work ethic on the ice. Bender: A player who is simply not good at hockey. Dangler: A player who is extremely skilled with stick-handling. Sniper A player who can often place the puck in a tiny space for a goal. Foreword Click Here to Subscribe to my Newsletter. Receive email notices about new book releases, sales, and special promotions. New subscribers receive an EXCLUSIVE FREE BOOK as a special gift. Prologue Marco The rink is mostly dark, except for the lights above the ice. There are no screaming fans, no announcer, and no video replay overhead. I blow out a breath that sounds louder than it is. As I continue to skate, my blades carve the frosty surface until my thighs burn with the effort. The rest of my team have all gone home to their wives and girlfriends and families. A few still live with their mothers and fathers. Sireno Lisi, our goaltender, cares for his grandfather and two younger sisters, but at least he has loved ones who worry about him. As for me? I have no one. I have not even a dog. One time, I considered getting a pet so that I could be greeted with enthusiasm at the end of a day filled with the hard labor of athletic pursuit, but then I think, Non, what happens to the dog if something happens to me? He will be all alone. So no dog. Not even a fish. For me? Only ice. When it is just me out here practicing, a thousand different thoughts echo through my mind. Around the world, many people are saying that the Italian Hockey League is not known for having any good players. It is not like America or Canada, where hockey is treated like a big deal. Other sports? Yes. Italia has won the FIFA cup four times, and we have a successful football league. We are serious about our basketball, but even then, the players who are best, they go to America for the most success. We are skilled with water polo. Our rugby is elite as well. But our hockey? Eh. It is okay. So to be one of the best Italian players, it is not that great a thing. Even so, there are bills to pay, and hockey helps to pay them. And if Italia is not so highly ranked, still, it means something to be good at skating. To achieve. To feel like there is a purpose for waking up each morning, for eating each meal, for living. For me, that purpose is hockey. I love it. Most days, it is the only thing that I love. Three days ago, I watched YouTube and saw an American defenseman make a play that left me breathless. I have spent three days trying to practice it. To perfect it. I do not have to. Nobody has demanded such a thing. Here is my thinking: when I am outside, breathing the summer air and walking in sunshine, I see happy people in love or walking with friends, and I am lonely. When I am in my apartment sitting at the table, with only my one spoon and one plate and one cup—one of everything, because only one is needed—I am lonely. On the ice, I am alone. Alone is not the same as lonely. There is a difference. I realize how much I have missed. How many memories I could have created with a special someone and now those moments are lost to me. One more time. I circle the rink again, building speed. Then I try to do it like the player in the video. The steps are in my memory now. Bend knee, lean forward, twist left, bank hard. This time, I do it almost without a flaw. Almost. Next time, I will do it right. I will be proud of myself, even if I am the only one who ever will be. I am one of those men who will do the right thing even when no one is watching him. When claps ring out from the edge of the rink, I jump. As I look up with surprise, I see Coach Iva Mazza clapping many times for me. “Buonissimo!” he exclaims. “So smooth.” He kisses his fingers, praising what is not perfect as if I have done it the same as in the video. Iva, he is a good coach, but he could ask for more. And if he did, I would give even more effort, for what makes a man great is not only his ultimate success but the strength in his pursuit of his goal. I believe in digging deep since most athletes only scratch the surface of what is possible. “Grazie.” I skate over to the edge of the rink and rest my elbows on the lip of the boards. Iva scratches his chin. “What are you still doing here?” he asks in Italian. “Everyone else left hours ago.” I shrug one shoulder. “I have time.” “I know you have time.” His smile droops and becomes sad. “You need friends, Marco. You need a girl. You need a hobby. You need a life.” “I will have time for that later,” I tell him. “For now, hockey is my life.” This is a lie. I am not planning for later. I am planning for