I lean back on the couch, my right arm strapped in its sling. I turn a puck over in my hand, lost in thought – the movement beginning to soothe my irritation, though I’m still tense.
Letting my head roll over to the side, I glance to Evan Calloway, my right wing and one of my best friends, at the other end of the couch. He’s leaned back with his long legs stretched out and feet propped up on the coffee table, his phone in one hand and his fingers running through his dark hair with the other. I shift my eyes over to Bennett Steele, our goalie and another one of my closest friends, slouched over in the reclinerwith a bag of chips sitting on his stomach, which I can hear him chomping down on – So irritating. His dark hair mostly covered by a baseball cap, with the ends splaying out from underneath.
I toss the puck onto the coffee table and let out a sigh, breaking the silence. The two of them just let themselves in as they got here and hadn’t pressed me to open up.
“You know what they’ve got me doing now?” I roll my eyes before I continue, “Pilates.”
Steele lets out a snort as Calloway’s head snaps up from his phone, surprised. I already know some kind of interrogation is coming.
Steele speaks up first. “Wait – like, which one?”
“The one with the machine and the springs.”
“Oh, the reformer machines!” Calloway pipes in, “Those are intense. So good for your posture and mobility.”
“I don’t need any of that shit, man. I need to get back on the ice, they’ll just have me there breathing and pulling a couple of ropes. This won’t help me.”
The guys roll their eyes at me, obviously exasperated.
“That’s how you engage the necessary muscles, Genius. You have a sister, how do you not know about this shit, man?” Calloway sighs, clearly getting annoyed. “Just give it a chance, you might surprise yourself. Stop being so macho or whatever.”
“I’m an athlete,” I spit out, “Not a ballerina. I need to be doing some form of strength training to be even remotely ready for next season.”
Steele lets out a low whistle, softly shaking his head. “Man, be careful. I’ve seen a couple of guys try Pilates once – it looked harder than our off-ice drills, if I’m being honest.”
I scoff because there’s just no way. “Dude, you’re supposed to be on my side.”
Out of nowhere, Calloway bursts out laughing. We both look at him, perplexed.
“What?”
He’s still chuckling as he tries to get the words out, “I hope someone films this. Levi Carter, Captain of the Seattle Rainiers, getting humbled in Reformer Pilates.”
Steele joins in, laughing his ass off, “Oh, I need to see that.”
“Great, yeah. I can’t wait for that.” I deadpan.
“Honestly, man. If it gets you back on the ice, just put up with it.”
I contemplate it for a second, maybe they’re right. Regardless, no one can know this is my assignment. “If either of you tell anyone outside the team, you’re dead to me.” And I mean that.
Steele rolls his eyes, “Sure, big guy,” He laughs, “Whatever you say.”
I sit up in my seat. “Guys, I’m serious. No one can find out yet.”
Calloway scoffs, “Fine.”
I ignore him. “No, but seriously, is this really what’s going to get me back on the ice? Not skating, not weights, but Pilates?” I grimace, “This is a joke.”
Steele speaks up next, “Dude, seriously. My mom does Pilates. Shit’s not as easy as it looks, I’m sure of it.”
“This fucking shoulder.” I mutter. “One little hit, and this is what happens.”
“Dude, I know it’s frustrating.” Calloway says, smirking, “But everything is brute force with you. Maybe your body is just trying to tell you something. That you need to take it easier – and for the record, ballerinas are athletes.” He finishes with a pointed look.
“Yeah,” I roll my eyes, “My body is trying to tell me something. That it wants to get back on the ice, like, yesterday.”
Steele laughs, “Dude, it looks brutal. Trust me.”
