Dex bends over his stick laughing.
"He can't help it, Coach," Dex manages. "Married life."
Coach pinches the bridge of his nose.
"I don't want to know," he mutters.
Practice resumes.
I laugh quietly in the stands, shaking my head.
The camaraderie between these men is ridiculous. Loud. Immature.
They chirp. They shove. They laugh like a pack of overgrown golden retrievers who just happen to be elite professional athletes.
And Gabriel is right in the middle of it.
A few minutes later the door at the back of the rink opens.
Mason steps inside carrying a stack of orange cones and a bag of pucks.
"About time," Dex calls from the ice. "We were starting to think you retired."
Mason doesn't even look at him as he walks across the rubber mat toward the bench.
"Set up the drill," Coach says.
Mason steps through the gate and skates onto the ice with the rest of them, dropping the cones in a line across the neutral zone.
"Try not to trip over those," Dex says helpfully. "Coordination is not your strong suit, Shelly."
Gabriel glides past him. "You tripped over your own stick last week."
"That was a bold tactical decision," Dex says.
Colby skates through the cones next. "Yeah. To fall on your ass."
Coach straightens and points at the line of cones. "All right, ladies. Tight turns. Quick passes. Try to look like professional athletes."
"Harsh," Bobby says.
The drill starts immediately. Players weave through the cones, passing pucks and cutting hard around the circles.
Dex chirps the entire time.
"Careful, Shelly," he calls. "Your wife is watching. Don't wipe out."
Gabriel fakes a pass at his skates.
"Focus on the drill," Mason says, skating past them.
Dex grins. "Coach Mason has entered the chat."
"Keep talking and you're skating laps," Mason replies.
Dex points at him. "See? Coach."
The guys laugh as they cycle through the drill again.
