“Just testing the rafters,” Tucker shot back. “Gotta make sure those things are sturdy or our fans will bring the house down when we kick Dallas’s ass.”
Laughter carried across the ice, and Coach ignored them for the most part. This was how practice went, and as long as the team didn’t slack through drills, he let us get through it in whichever way we wanted.
Not me, though. I could never loosen up enough to carry on the way they did. Sometimes it made me feel like I was missing out, but mostly it was fine because I focused on my game. Nothing else.
“Next rep,” Coach said. “Keep it going, boys. You’ve got this.”
I grabbed the puck again.
Push off. Cut toward the boards. Shoulder into the turn. Pass through the lane before the defender closed the gap.
Repeat.
By the time Coach finally waved us off the drill, sweat ran down my neck under the collar of my gear.
Landon coasted past me on the way to the next station. “You practice like someone’s chasing you with a contract deadline.”
“Better than skating lazy.”
He snorted. “This is energy conservation. Saving it for that ass-kicking Tucker talked about.”
Grayson skated between us, puck balanced on his stick. “Both of you shut it and get to the blue line.”
We moved into the next setup while Coach dragged a crate of pucks onto the ice.
“Transition drill,” he called. “Three on two. Defense flips the puck out. First line attacks. I want pressure on the net.”
The defenders fired the puck into the neutral zone. Grayson grabbed it first and turned up ice, skating straight down the center lane.
“Left!”
I sprinted along the boards, stick out in front of me while Landon cut wide on the opposite side. Grayson sent the puck across to me as we crossed the blue line, but a defender closed the gap immediately, forcing me toward the boards.
Pulling the puck back, I circled behind the net and pushed it out front toward Landon charging into the slot. His shot rang off the post.
“Finish those,” Coach called, his scowl turning his face pink. “What the hell are you doing?”
We reset.
Another rush.
Another shot.
Every rep demanded more speed, more grit, more everything.
At one point Tucker drifted past and tapped my shin pad with his stick. “Relax your shoulders. You skate like the season depends on every pass.”
“Doesn’t it?”
He laughed and shoved off toward his group.
“The guy’s intense,” Landon muttered.
“You’re doing fine. They’re just giving you shit because they’re supposed to.” Grayson circled back beside me while we waited for the next puck.
“I can’t mess up.”
“You haven’t yet, and I don’t see it happening,” Grayson said with a shrug. “So why not try what Tucker said, and just chill out a little?”
