Mac
Practice was intense, everyone channeling their anger into aggressive precision on the ice.
Coach Davies had them running power play drills, working on entries into the offensive zone, cycling the puck, creating scoring chances. The kind of repetitive fundamentals that normally made everyone groan, but today the team attacked them with focused fury.
"Blue line! Hold the blue line!" Coach barked from the bench. "Tyler, you're cheating in too early! Stay patient!"
Tyler adjusted his position, stick on the ice, reading the play.
Jamie carried the puck into the zone with speed, his edges cutting sharp as he deked around Luke's defensive pressure. He dropped a pass back to Mac at the point. Mac one-timed it toward the net, a blistering slap shot that caught the top corner, ringing off the post and in.
The satisfyingpingof puck on metal, then mesh.
"Beauty!" Luke called out, tapping his stick on the ice in appreciation.
Jamie skated by for a glove tap. "That's what I'm talkingabout! Keep that up for Sunday and we'll destroy Burlington in the training game."
"Sunday?" Mac asked, circling back to the blue line.
"Game day, remember? Burlington Blizzards. An expo game. Coach is a friend of their coach. Seven PM." Jamie grinned. "We're going to bury them. I can feel it."
"Speaking of Sunday," Mac called out loud enough for the team to hear. "Reminder that Saturday is moving day. Rachel's stuff. My place. You all promised to help."
A collective groan echoed across the ice.
"I didn't promise anything," Tyler said flatly. "I was volun-told."
"I'm excited," Luke announced. "I've never helped someone move in together before. It's like witnessing a milestone."
"It's lifting heavy boxes," Tyler countered. "That's not a milestone. That's manual labor."
"Manual labor for love!" Luke shot back.
"Manual labor is still manual labor regardless of motivation."
Jamie skated between them, pulling out his phone even though he was wearing gloves. "I have the spreadsheet ready. Color-coded. Categorized by weight, fragility, and priority. We'll be done in three hours max."
Coach blew his whistle. "Less talking, more skating! Let's run it again! This time, Luke, I want you pressuring the puck carrier harder at the blue line. Make them work for the entry!"
They reset. This time Cole joined the drill, his recovered shoulder holding up perfectly as he pivoted and drove the net. Jamie fed him a perfect saucer pass over Tyler's stick. Cole went backhand, top shelf.
Goal.
"THAT'S MY CAPTAIN!" Jamie shouted, rushing over for a celly. The team swarmed Cole, tapping helmets and gloves.
"Shoulder feels good?" Mac asked as they skated back to position.
"Feels perfect," Cole confirmed. "Which is exactly why Derek's article is such bullshit."
The energy on the ice shifted immediately, anger returning, focus sharpening.
"We're going to bury him Friday," Jamie said, his usual playfulness gone.
"And then we're going to bury Burlington on Sunday," Luke added. "Channel all this rage into goals."
They ran the drill six more times. Mac scored twice more, one wrist shot through traffic, one deflection off a Jamie feed. His hands felt good. His timing was sharp. Anger made him focused.
"MacKenzie!" Coach called. "Take five. Grab water."
