Panting, I move back across the ice, and we start the play all over again. I get the puck and look toward Clay. When he’s clear and looking my way, I slap the puck toward him. He catches it with ease and pushes it down the ice further, toward the net. As soon as he can, he takes his shot, only for it to be deflected by Wyatt.
Again, the whistle blows, and Coach calls out another play. This time I’m the one with an opening. I line up my shot just right, and it skims over the top of Wyatt’s glove, falling into the back of the net.
“Fuck yeah!” one of the guys next to me mutters.
“Good job, Cooper,” Clay says as he skates by.
“Thanks.” I fight back my smile as I move back into position so we can start all over again.
Play after play, we do what we are supposed to. By the time Coach blows his whistle, signaling the end of practice, he’s got his arms crossed over his chest with a look of pride in his eyes.
“Now that’s what I’m talking about, boys,” he says as we circle up. “Just in time with the first game approaching too. I was worried I was going to have to go borrow some guys from the beer league in town so I would have some players who wouldn’t completely embarrass me on the ice.”
A few of the guys chuckle but quickly stop when they realize Coach isn’t joking. The dude would do whatever it takes to win a game as long as it’s legal. While Coach waxes poetic about how we played today and the game coming up, my mind drifts.
Today it felt good to be on the ice. It almost felt like early last year. Before everything with Grace went down. We were all working together, and we were making magic happen on the ice. Clay and I were working as a team, and it made me realize something.
Maybe Clay was never the problem, and it was me all along. Maybe my head was so far up my ass that I was the one who was ruining everything. I wanted what Clay had so badly that I let it cloud my judgment. Hell, I wanted to be him. He got the C on his chest, and he got the girl, both things I wanted when all along they weren’t meant to be mine, at least not right now. Once he leaves, I’ll toss my hat into the ring to be team captain, but until then it’s his job, not mine. I’m humble enough to accept it if it’s never my job. Coach knows what’s best for this team. I need to trust him.
Coach dismisses us, and we head toward the locker room. Even the atmosphere here feels different. It still smells like sweat, but it feels lighter.
I sit down on the bench and start undoing my laces.
“Hey, are you going to physical therapy with Brett?” Beckett asks Clay.
“Yeah, I want to see if there’s anything we need to be doing at home to help him between appointments,” Clay responds.
“Good. Have you noticed he’s been a little quiet lately?” Beckett asks.
“You would be too if you were him,” Wyatt says.
“True. I don’t know, I just worry,” Beckett tells them.
“Who would have known you would be a mother hen?” Clay teases him.
“Fuck you,” Beckett says, making them laugh.
I can’t help but be slightly envious of their easy banter. I don’t remember the last time I had that kind of friendship with another player.
“You were great out there today, Cooper. I could tell you’ve been busting your ass. Whatever you’re doing, keep it up,” Clay says as he sits down across from me, pulling me out of my head.
“Thanks. I appreciate you saying that.”
He looks at me funny for a second before he nods.
“Yo, did you guys hear about that party that’s happening this weekend?” one of the freshmen asks.
“Which one? There’s a million parties every weekend,” Beckett deadpans, making everyone laugh.
The guy, I think his name is Quinn, his face turns red. “I don’t know, I heard some babes talking about it after I came out of my math class.”
Clay winces. “First off, let’s not call any female a babe. Second, we are too close to the season to party now. You need to be at the top of your game.”
Beckett chuckles while some of the guys groan. “Yeah, for all you know, you could be calling James’s sister a babe.”
“You have a sister, and she goes here?” I ask.
Clay looks over at me and nods. “Yeah, she’s a freshman.”
