Chapter One
HUGO BLADEN
I digin my skate and wait just in front of Winny in goal as one of our new centers—Mark Rigbe—comes quickly toward me. He sees me. I know he does. He picks his head up, meets my eyes, then hunkers down with the puck.
He thinks I’m going to move. In basketball, if you don’t move and the other player runs into you, it’s their foul. This isn’t quite the same thing, but the idea is similar. For me, anyway. I’m not moving.
Rigbe doesn’t catch the memo, so I lower my center of gravity, and he slams into me. Because I have my skates dug into the ice, I don’t move. I just absorb the impact as Rigbe crumples to the ground in front of me with a groan.
Winny—Winslow Oberlin—whistles. “Brick wall, Hugo.”
I look down at Rigbe. Maybe he’s hurt.
Noah Kain, one of our wingmen, skates to a stop on his other side and looks down too. “You gotta know when to turn, Rigs. You okay?”
“Not dead,” Rigbe grunts.
Coach Ajo glides to a stop beside Noah. “Injured?”
I don’t see Rigbe move. Maybe he’s taking internal inventory. Eventually, he shakes his head. “Nah. I think I’m all right.”
Coach nods. He turns to me and pats my helmet. “I’m going to tell you ‘nice block,’ but also don’t hurt yourteammates.”
Grinning, I nod. “Yes, Coach.”
“Both are equally important.”
“Yes, Coach,” I agree. “Sorry.”
Coach Ajo shakes his head. “Don’t be sorry. That was a superb block. You made Winslow’s job obsolete.”
“Not true,” Winny says. “He stopped the player, not the puck. Momentum kept the puck going.” He pushed the puck away from him with his stick. “I’m still very necessary.”
Coach smiles without comment. He turns to the other end of the ice where our second goalie and more of our team are working on different skills. I reach down and haul Rigbe up by his pads. He stretches and groans.
“I need to sit for a minute,” he says as he turns and slowly skates toward the bench.
“Think he’s really hurt?” I ask, worrying my lip.
“I think he’ll be okay,” Noah promises. “Egon’s right there.”
As we watch, Egon Aahnu, one of the team’s physical trainers, is already behind Rigbe with his hands on Rigbe’s neck, assessing. He doesn’t look concerned as he asks Rigbe questions.
“Come on,” Winny says, shoving at my shoulder. “Back to practice.”
Rigbe gets back on the ice ten minutes later, but he joins the players at the other end of the ice and Atty is sent our way. Coach always tries to split us into two groups with some of our veteran team mixed in with our new members. Even if those new members have been playing for years, like Miles Norton, who’s been in the NHL for a decade.
But he’s new to us, and every team is different.
L.A. is my fourth team and probably my favorite. Especially now that Coach Ajo is here. I have the best friends and we win games and shit. It’s been a lot of fun. I really hope to retire from L.A., though I don’t plan to retire soon. I’m pushing thirty but L.A. just signed me for another three years, so I’m confident that my game hasn’t slackened.
“Hustle, Wiliker,” Coach calls and I pull my thoughts back to practice. Rigbe is okay. That’s most important. Now I can focus on keeping the puck from Winny.
I stretchwith my hands over my head, using my stick for leverage as I stretch my spine. It’s time for another massage. My shoulders feel stiff and achy. I push off with my skate and head for the chute.
“Hugo,” Winny says and I change my trajectory to circle back around. “Can we talk a minute?”
Nodding, I move back toward him. He’s still in the crease, with his stick and gloves resting on top of the net with his helmet. He’s squirting water into his mouth as I slow in front of him. “What’s up?”
