Back at the apartment, we set the bags on the island. I knew I needed to leave for practice, but I didn't want this to end.
She looked at the clock. “Liam, you need to leave for practice.”
I know.
I turned slowly and grabbed my coat.
I still smelled like basil from the market run with Claire. The guys noticed the second I stepped onto the ice.
“Cal’s been cooking,” Mac called out, grinning from the bench. “You seasoning your pads now?”
“Fresh basil,” Jax added, skating past. “Bold locker room choice.”
“Better than sweat and tape,” I said, skating past Mac, giving him a quick tap to his shin pads.
I tugged my mask down and took my first few warm-up shots. Warm-ups were routine. Edges felt good. Then coach set a blue-paint battle drill, two D in front, point shots coming through traffic.
First rep, I tried to peer around bodies. Lost the puck. Missed the save.
We reset. Another drill. Another miss. Jax cut across the slot, and I lost the puck behind his shoulder.
“Hold up,” Chappy, the other goalie, called out from the crease.
He skated over, tapping his stick once on the ice. “Can I grab you three?” he said, nodding at me, Nak, and Jax.
We coasted in.
“You’re getting screened,” he said to me. “Not just by the other squad. Your own guys are drifting into your sightlines.”
“I know.”
“Then call it,” he said. “You see a stick left, yell it. You see a screen, say ‘clear.’ You don’t have to eat every shot blind.”
Nak raised a brow. “You want us calling it too?”
“Yeah,” Chappy said. “If you see someone drifting into Liam’s lane, call it out. ‘Lane left,’ ‘stick high,’ whatever. Help him see it.”
Jax nodded. “We can do that.”
We broke. Reset the drill. This time, I tracked better. When Mac cut across the slot, Jax barked, “Lane left!” and Mac peeled off. Nak tapped his stick and shouted, “Stick high!” before I even saw the screen forming.
I made the save. Clean. No hesitation. Jax bumped the top of my helmet with his glove.
Next rep, I called it myself. “Clear!” Nak shifted. Sightline. The puck came in low. Easy glove. I kept it and slid the puck to the linesman.
By the end of the drill, the rhythm was different. Not just me reacting, my team adjusting, anticipating, helping.
During the break, I skated over to Chappy.
“Appreciate that,” I said.
He shrugged. “You don’t have to do it all solo.”
I nodded, watching Nak and Jax chirp at Mac across the ice.
“I know,” I said. “Still getting used to it.”
He smiled. “You’re not the only one out here, Cal.”
