Endless sprints. Skating back and forth across the rink. My legs and lungs are on fire.
We’re only just getting started.
It’s my senior year. My last chance to try and win a championship with the San Diego University Sand Sharks. We made it to the Frozen Four last year, but failed to advance to the finals.
It fucking sucked. If I have anything to say about it this year, we’re making it all the way.
The last banner hanging in the rafters was from before my time here. SDU is one of the top division one hockey schools in the country. Names of Hall of Fame players line the walls in the rink. Pictures from championship eras in the past stare us down as we practice. The arena is rife with history from how good our school is.
It stings more than it should that I haven’t added a banner up there.
“Let’s change up the lines,” our coach calls out. I skate over the Sand Shark in the center of the ice and hit the bench.
He’s a man of few words. Someone you desperately want to impress, but never want that stern eye looking at you for too long.
Coach Morris has been with the Sand Sharks longer than I’ve been alive. Or at least it seems that way. With his fast graying hair, he’s looking that much closer to retirement.
But I know he wants to win a championship as much as I do.
The freshmen take the ice and I study them.
“Do you think we ever looked that green?” Marcus asks from beside me.
“Fuck no. They get younger every year.”
“Careful, boys,”—the assistant coach slaps us on the shoulder—“you’re starting to sound old.”
“Not that old,” Marcus mumbles next to me.
I go back to studying the new talent. Even if we haven’t won a championship in the last three years, we’re one of the top teams in the country. Top hockey players from all over want to come here and play for us. Everyone here is lucky to have made the cut.
“Change it up!” Coach shouts from behind us, and Marcus and I leap over the boards to get back on the ice.
We ease into our positions and take off down the ice. Between the two of us, we know where the other is going to be on instinct. We’ve played together long enough to know.
A winger comes in and grabs the puck before it can make it to Marcus. Sneaky bastard.
I take off after them to try and steal it back, but he’s a blur of red and black on the ice. He gets an easy goal on the backup goalie.
“Hell yeah!” Isaac cheers. He’s a sophomore who is hoping to move up to second line this year.
“Don’t get cocky, Isaac,” Marcus tells him.
“Getting one on you two?” He flips a gloved finger back and forth between the two of us. “I’m going to savor this.”
“Yeah, yeah.” I skate back to center ice to get ready to start the drill when Coach calls everyone to the bench.
“Alright, men.” Coach looks at each and every one of us. “I know it's been a long first month back. It’s early, but I like how we’re looking. We have our first game next week, and I don’t know about you, but I’m ready to get back out there and show everyone what we Sand Sharks can do. We got close last year, but this year? I want us to go all the way.”
“Hell yeah!” someone shouts from behind me.
“I want you to stick together as a team. Work hard,study harder, and we’ll do great things this season. Now hit the showers.”
“Great work, boys.” I hit the pads of a few guys as they head toward the locker room.
“Troy. A word?” Coach asks.
“What’s up?” I lean against my stick as he waits for the rink to empty around us.
