Thankfully, his attention snapped back to the game.
I forced myself to reset, breathing slow and steady, zoning everything out except the rhythm of the game. My breathingevened out and I homed in on the sounds around me. The scrape of blades on ice, slapping of sticks, the steady pulse of the crowd calling out cheers and announcers echoing out.
“Get your head right,” Hayes muttered when I opened my eyes again.
“Yes, Coach,” I said, nodding once.
“Try using actual words next time, Abbot!” one of the rookies, Kota Mori called out, earning a round of laughter from the bench. Okay, maybe not a rookie still but he was young enough to be one.
“Keep running your mouth,” I shot back, “and you’ll be sharpening skates for a week.”
They laughed harder, this time at Kota while the corner of Hayes’s mouth twitched in amusement.
It was short-lived. Seconds later, we were over the boards again and back in the game.
The moment my blades hit the ice, everything faded away and I locked into the game, ready to prove myself yet again.
Cold air cut through my mask, biting at my lungs. My teeth clenched around my mouthguard as I tracked the play, blocking out the ache in my ribs from the earlier fight.
They were just as focused now as we were and their coach must have laid into Donaldson because he was playing like he wanted a win now, not a fight.
Between me, Kota, and our new star center, we were pushing hard. We’d worked through enough practices like this that we were cohesive, even if the younger delta liked to shit-talk off the ice.
Our side of the arena exploded, chanting our new center’s name as Lachlan practically danced through the rival team like he was showing off. He was always flashy on the ice, but no one called him on it since he actually had the follow through.
Lachlan Evans was a new trade along with Kota. I was the only veteran to the Narwhals on the first line. But we all had the same pressure and were trying to prove we deserved to be here.
That the Narwhals were better because of us.
Coach Hayes was relentless from the bench. He called out orders and adjustments, praising us when we earned it and tearing into us when we didn’t.
The difference from the old staff was night and day. It was clear that Hayes actually gave a shit. He held us accountable and this team needed a healthy dose of that.
At the end of the game, we’d pulled a win. Barely.
It didn’t make the post-game debrief any easier. Hayes was standing in front of us, arms crossed and eyes sharp as he studied us for a moment, letting the tension build.
“You played well,” he finally said. “But this is just the beginning. This isn’t a normal season. This is aredemptionrun. And by the end of it I expect us to be lifting up the AHA Cup.”
He didn’t say “or else” but it was implied. The consequences of letting down him or Jeremiah Kingsford would mean losing our reputation and our chances at a solid career.
For me? I didn’t want to go out in defeat.
After a few beats of silence he turned and walked into his office, leaving the room in a tense silence. Our win felt a hell of a lot heavier than it should have.
“Coach is a hard-ass,” Dale, our goalie, muttered under his breath.
No one disagreed. Coach had been pushing all of us equally. He was relentless, but fair. Still brutal as fuck, though.
I’d never felt as old as I did this season. My entire body protested and I hadn’t even tried to stand up yet.
By league standards, I was already pushing it. I’d had a good career. Great, even. One of the first deltas in the AHA andhad proven myself time and again. But this year… this year felt different.
It was the end and I knew it.
The doctors and physical therapists had warned me a few years ago it was coming. That didn’t make it any easier.
I had no fucking clue what came next, either.
