Chloe’s nose scrunches up. “Wrestling? Eww.”
“No, literally. I hate it.” I drop the chair onto the table a little harder than I mean to. Technically, I have time before I need to either volunteer or have an internship with one of the university’s athletic departments. I assumed by trying to get ahead of it, I could gain an advantage and avoid ending up in a position with a sport that I could really give a shit less about—just to fulfill a class requirement.
“Maybe the threat of having to work with the wrestling team will be enough to get you to change your mind and call your dad. Hanging around the Lions hockey team for a semester has got to be better than the wrestling team. Or at the very least, he can get you in with a better team.”
“Chlo—” I urge her not to continue.
“I know.” She puts her hands up in defense. “I just thought I’d put it out there.”
“Message received, thanks.”
I know she means well, but the situation is difficult enough.
5
noah
First weekback to practice and I feel good. No. I feeldamngood. I’m in the best shape of my life, I’m the most confident I’ve ever been, and it showed out on the ice.
Silas drops his jersey in the laundry bag and twists his body side to side. I nod my chin at him. “What’s up?”
“That first week back is always so brutal. On top of that, you’ve got Mav out here serving bodychecks like his payday depends on it.”
“Awe, come on now. That was a love tap,” Maverick says, blowing a kiss at Silas.
“I got your love tap right here.” With a quick flick of his wrist, Silas snaps his towel against Maverick’s exposed thigh, leaving a bright red stripe in its wake.
“Mother fff—” Mav closes his eyes, stealing his breath, and when he opens them again, his expression is pure rage. “Run.”
The one-word syllable hasn’t even fully left his mouth before Silas shoots off, swiftly hopping over discarded gear and running across benches as Maverick chases him down.
I laugh, shaking my head, before I strip down and head to the showers. Besides the ice, these threewalls and a single sheet of vinyl are where I spend most of my time. I stay in here longer than anyone else, dissecting games, going over practices, making mental notes of anything that went well, but mostly everything that didn’t. And more importantly, how I can fix it for the next time to ensure I never have a repeat fuckup. I let myself have this time, however long it takes. As long as I’m in here, I can obsess over it until my skin is wrinkled and the hot water is gone. But once I leave this room, I have to let it go. It’s a technique I’ve found that works for me, ensuring that I don’t let the thoughts run rampant and ruin my life outside the arena. Once I’m out of here, I can focus my full attention on other things.
I feel a little extra pressure to perform this year considering I still haven’t signed a contract. My dad wanted me to enter the draft after Freshman year. That was the first time in my life that I went against his wishes. To say he was pissed would be an understatement. When I got picked up last summer without a contract, he was still mad.
“If you played better, you wouldn’t need another year of practice. They would have signed you immediately,”he said. I probably should have felt more guilty, but the truth is, I felt relieved. The NHL has always been the end goal, but finishing school is equally as important to me. My dad, who didn’t have anything to fall back on after his two-year stint, should understand that better than anyone.
“Coach!” Our goalie, AJ, calls out, pulling me from my thoughts.
“Alright boys, weight training with Coach Owens tomorrow and then you’ve got the rest of the weekend off.” Coach Alvarez’s deep voice echoes through the locker room, and I turn the water off, reaching behind the curtain for my towel. “That doesn’t mean you can act like a bunch of assholes. It means you rest, you recover, and next week we come back full force for training and our first game. You hear me?”
“Yes, Coach.”
I move to my cubby and grab a pair of clean sweats.
“Did you hear me kid?” Coach Alvarez’s voice is low enough for only me to hear.
“About weight training tomorrow?” I ask, throwing my hoodie on.
“About resting.” He gives me a pointed look. “I know your dad thinks that the more you practice, the better you’ll be, and I’m not here to tell you not to listen to him—but recovery is also important.”
Mark Alvarez is a championship-winning coach and an even better person. I had my pick of the litter for where I wanted to attend school, with full rides and offers from almost every single one that I applied to. I won’t lie and say Coach Alvarez wasn’t a part of my decision to choose LCU. Unfortunately, my dad was slightly—okay, a little more than slightly—concerned with my pick, stating that Alvarez isn’t as experienced because of his age. And yeah, I guess he’s fairly young for a uni coach—mid-forties I’m pretty sure. But the stats don’t lie. And Coach and I hit it off from our first meeting. From day one, he’s treated me like a person first, and a player second. I’ve always respected him and I never question whether it’s reciprocated.
I nod my head, feeling slightly embarrassed that he had to have a meeting with my dad about showing up at practice. Or, really, aboutnotshowing up to practice anymore.
“Good.” He gives my shoulder a pat before leaving.
“So, we going toRowdy’s?”Maverick hoists his duffle bag up his shoulder looking at Silas and me.
