Flashing a wave to the security guard, I head toward the locker room. The vibe in this building is different from the Black Diamonds.
Back home, pictures of all the cups the team has won line the walls. Here? They’re painted a bright red—maybe to distract you from the fact that there aren’t any cup wins?—with our numbers in white over them.
I guess I should stop comparing this team to my old team. It’s certainly not going to win me any friends.
Changing into my gear, I head out onto the ice for a few quick warm-up laps before practice starts. A couple of the guys are already out here as I get my feet under me.
The first few days of practice are the hardest. Getting back into shape for the season, no matter how much I trained during the offseason, is always difficult. But it’s like learning to ride a bike.
And now, as Coach is calling everyone together for a scrimmage, it’s second nature to me.
“Easy game, gentlemen. I want to see how well you all work together so we can work on our lines for the season.”
Coach Mickey drops the puck as I take off, blowing past Graham who lined up opposite me.
Hell yeah.
I don’t know why he hates me so much, but it amps up the need to beat him that much more.
Accepting the pass from Marcus, I deke Graham out and put the puck in the back of the net.
“Great pass!” I clap Marcus on the helmet as the defensive guys all huddle together to see what they did wrong.
“Even better goal.”
Marcus was one of the first guys I gelled with since coming here, and it’s apparent. The two of us work on the ice like we’ve been playing together for years, anticipating where the other will be and always there to set up an assist.
It makes me excited for the season to start.
Once play starts again, it’s not as easy. The D line might have been caught with their pants down to start, but they’re cleaning up their mistakes.
Graham is pushing me as I grab the puck and send it across the ice.
“Think you can beat me?” I egg him on.
“You know I can.”
Bode shoots the puck back over to me and Graham is there to intercept it.
Fuck. I hate letting him get one over on me.
As we push back down the ice, our goalie blocks Graham’s shot and deflects the puck to Marcus.
Even though this is supposed to be a friendly game, I can’t help but want to beat Graham. To wipe that cocky expression off his face anytime he looks at me.
Marcus and I are moving down the ice in perfect synchronicity as Bode moves along the boards. I shoot the puck to Marcus, and he flips it to Bode who lets it fly past the goalie for another score.
“Can I call dibs on playing with you two?” Marcus laughs as he claps Bode and me on the helmet.
“We’d be a tough line to beat,” I tell them as I skate back over to center ice to take my position.
“Don’t get so cocky. We’ll stop you,” Graham points out.
“Maybe if you did a better job defending the puck, we might not have scored on you. Two-nothing now, right? I think that’s what the scoreboard says.”
It’s not what I should be saying, but damn, did it feel good. Until Graham’s fist connects with my jaw.
“What the fuck, man?”
