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Read Ebook {PDF EPUB} Breakaway by Avon Gale Breakaway by Avon Gale. A Scoring Chances Novel. Drafted to play for the Jacksonville Sea Storm, an NHL affiliate, twenty-year-old Lane Courtnall’s future looks bright, apart from the awkwardness he feels as a gay man playing on a minor league hockey team. He’s put his foot in his mouth a few times and alienated his teammates. Then, during a rivalry game, Lane throws off his gloves against Jared Shore, enforcer for the Savannah Renegades. It’s a strange way to begin a relationship. Jared’s been playing minor league hockey for most of his career. He’s bisexual and doesn’t care if anyone knows. But he’s determined to avoid another love affair after the last one left him devastated. Out of nowhere a one-nighter with rookie Lane Courtnall gives him second thoughts. Lane reminds Jared why he loves the game and why love might be worth the risk. In turn Jared hopes to show Lane how to be comfortable with himself on and off the ice. But they’re at different points in their careers, and both men will have to decide what they value most. For my dad, who taught me the joy and heartache of overinvesting in sports—and why it was perfectly okay to shout at the television. And for Jen, who taught me to love hockey—despite being horrified at my taste in teams—and who patiently explained Canadian junior hockey to me on the best of all possible road trips. And, as always, for Eric, for the constant support and for taking me to my first-ever hockey game—and not laughing too hard when I asked about the swimming pool. I would like to thank Liz Fitzgerald, for being such an awesome editor, and Aaron Anderson for the lovely cover art. The structure of minor-league professional hockey in the States is a bit confusing and is constantly changing as teams open, fold, and relocate. I thought it might be a good idea to provide a quick-and-dirty rundown, at least as it pertains to the Scoring Chances series and the characters you’ll meet along the way. The National Hockey League (NHL) has thirty teams, and each team has an affiliate American Hockey League (AHL) team. The primary purpose of the AHL is to serve as a development league for the NHL, allowing promising players and recent acquisitions/draft picks to improve their hockey skills and physical conditioning. Teams can also “call up” players from their AHL affiliate when necessary, to replace injured players or to give valuable playing experience to potential prospects. Players on the NHL team can also be sent down to the AHL, if it is deemed a good idea for the player’s individual development. The ECHL, which is the league in which the Scoring Chances series takes place, is a double-minor league, or the league directly below the AHL. There are currently twenty-eight teams in the ECHL, and most are affiliated with an AHL team—with an eventual goal of adding two more teams so it is even in number with the NHL/AHL. There have been cases when one ECHL team is a shared affiliate between two NHL teams. Confusing? All you really need to know is that the ECHL is a feeder league for the AHL, which is a feeder league for the NHL. In the Scoring Chances series, all the NHL/AHL affiliates are correct as of time of publication, but it should be noted that these can change quite often in between seasons. All ECHL teams, their locations and their affiliates in the Scoring Chances series are fictional (with the exception of the Cincinnati Cyclones). Like the AHL, players can be “called up” and “sent down” as necessary. It’s important to note two main differences between the ECHL and the other two leagues. The ECHL is not dependent on a draft, so coaches are free to choose their own roster. Anyone can try out for a spot. The other difference is money. And this is a big one—ECHL players generally make about $12,000 per year (plus housing expenses), compared to about $40,000 a year for your average player in the AHL. Of course, the amount is much higher for an NHL player—but not quite, say, the level of your average NFL player. In the first book in this series, Breakaway, Jared refers to the ECHL as Easy Come, Hard to Leave, which is a moniker I learned from reading Sean Pronger’s excellent book, Journeyman: The Many Triumphs (and Even More Defeats) Of A Guy Who’s Seen Just About Everything In the Game of Hockey. I cannot recommend this book enough, and reading the hilarious and informative anecdotes of Sean Pronger’s career—played primarily in the ECHL—is what made me want to write about minor-league hockey players in the first place. The book also provided a lot of insight and ideas for the character that would become Jared Shore. Like Sean Pronger, Shore is a veteran “journeyman” who’s spent his long career playing for a multitude of teams and wearing a lot of terrible jerseys along the way. Breakaway by Avon Gale. There were a few moments of silence, and Lane thought he’d actually made things worse—which didn’t seem possible, but maybe it was. Then Reeder and Sparky started clapping, and the rest of the team followed suit. Lane flushed hot at their applause and the “It’s about time” and “We almost gave up on you, Courts” that were thrown his way. LANE WENT with his teammates to Cruisers after the game and had two cheeseburgers and fries with cheese on them, and basked in the warm glow of having a team that didn’t hate him. Ryan Sloan, a third-line winger, sat by Lane at the table. He was a nice guy, chatty. Before they’d finished eating, Lane knew everything about him. He was from Toronto, a Leafs fan like Lane, and came to Florida because he knew he’d never get drafted, but he loved playing, he really did. “It’s fun. Hockey is supposed to be fun, you know? I mean, sure, we don’t get a lot of money and fame or anything, but we get to play.” “Well, I haven’t been having very much fun, but I’ll take your word for it,” Lane said dryly. “Hey. Well, my first team? I asked if there was an age restriction because the guys all looked old enough to coach.” Ryan winced. “It wasn’t as bad as the stuff you said, but it still sucked. Sorry, dude. Want to be roommates?” And just like that, Lane had an out of the Econo Lodge, a dinner invitation… and a hockey team. He also had a buzz, because they kept buying him beer he wasn’t old enough to drink. But Lane didn’t think you turned down team bonding, no matter what form it took. Or foam it took, which was a thought that Lane kept giggling about even if he couldn’t explain it to anyone. Someone took him home to the Econo Lodge so he could sleep it off. He had two more nights there, and then he could move into the apartment with Sloan. Lane got a package of donuts from the vending machine, ate two, threw up everything in his stomach, and fell asleep on the bathroom floor. That was a lot more like what he expected playing professional hockey would be like. What he did not expect was waking up at eleven thirty at night, dry-mouthed, starving, and vaguely sickened by the thought of packaged donuts. He took a shower and brushed his teeth, which took a long time because he was dizzy. Drinking was dumb when you played a contact sport for a living. Lane eventually hauled his sorry ass down to the front desk, where he asked if there was a restaurant anywhere within walking distance. The man at the desk sucked his teeth for a few seconds—which Lane was starting to think might be secret code or some kind of weird Florida dialect—and then he shrugged. “Not really. Can go over to Bomber’s, though. It’s a bar, but sometimes they got pizza.” He pointed vaguely toward the front door. “S’across the street.” “Thanks,” Lane said, smiling weakly. He crossed “the street”—which was the interstate—and went into a dive bar with a plane painted on the side of it and a blinking red Budweiser sign in the window. He realized at the last second that he wasn’t old enough to be drinking in a bar, and he didn’t have his entire team there to vouch for him. It didn’t seem like anyone cared, though. No one said a word to him as he walked in and stupidly sat at a table for ten minutes before getting up and going to the bar. The bartender was a guy about his dad’s age, with white hair tied in a ponytail and a beard that made him look like a pirate. “Get you somethin’?” he asked, cleaning a glass. “Pizza?” Lane asked, hopefully. Damn. He was starving. “Nah. Oven’s broke. Got some peanuts. Oh, and a fry daddy. We still got some chicken things in the freezer, if you want those.” “That sounds great, thanks,” Lane said, his stomach growling.

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