The way he wants everyone to treat him like a king.
The way he feeds off the attention of the crowd.
I hate it. I’ve hated it every minute since I started watching him play when he made it to the NHL. There’s a cockiness there that I could never get past.
Noah Fields isn’t the best player in the league. Not by a long shot, but with the way he carries himself, he thinks he is.
Asshole.
“You ready for a new season?” Dax asks him.
Noah shrugs, dropping his bag down into his locker on the other side of the room. Thank God for that at least.
“You know it. I’m ready for the season to start.”
“Just remember, we’re the red team,” Bode tells him before he leaves the locker room on a laugh.
“Ouch. Not like I can forget.”
Dax smacks him on the chest. “Ignore him. He probably didn’t get laid last night.”
“Is that common for him?” Noah asks, grabbing the back of his T-shirt and pulling it off and over his head.
Watching this exchange is mind-boggling to me. Noah wasn’t here long enough last season to adjust. It’s going to be weird having him here in my space now for the entire season.
My two worlds colliding.
It’s not like I can control who the team trades for, but really? Noah Fields? They had to pick him up.
“You coming?” Dax calls out to me.
Looking around, I realize I’m one of the last guys in the locker room. I grab my helmet and stick and follow them out to the ice.
Breathing in the cold air helps to push all thoughts of Noah from my head. He can be the cocky player if he wants. I don’t care.
Because stepping onto the ice is what I was born to do.
Looking up to the rafters, I take a minute to soak this feeling up. It’s still new since it’s only my third season with the Knights.
There’s not much in the way of accolades hanging from the ceiling. Other teams have championship banners and retired numbers gracing their stands.
Us? Banners from our sponsors are about the only thing there.
I want to change that. With Coach Andrews coming in midway through last season, he didn’t get a chance to make a lot of changes.
But he’s hungry. I can feel it in the way he coaches us. He doesn’t want the Knights to be a circled win anymore—a guaranteed victory for any team we might face.
The energy on the ice feels different as he calls everyone to center ice.
“Morning, gentlemen. I don’t know about you, but I’m fired up that today is day one for the Knights.”
A few guys break out into cheers and claps.
“I don’t have to tell you what the pundits are saying. We all know what everyone thinks about the Knights.”
“Rounding out the bottom of the league,” Mickey, our defensive coach starts, “the Knights will likely get the first pick in the draft next season. With a change in coaching last season, the Knights didn’t do much to show they are a contender for the playoffs. This season? Expect to see much of the same.”
“Fuckers!” Bode shouts next to me.
