Chapter one
Luka
Nothingscreamsrookielouderthan falling on your ass day one of pre-season camp. To be fair, I tripped over Henry Colt’s leg after he dropped into a split wearing full gear, so it wasn’t entirely my fault.
“Shit, sorry, rook. You good?” he asks, sweeping his legs around to kneel into a frog stretch, bouncing up and down like he’s humping the ice.
I push up and feel a slight twinge in my wrist.
“Yeah, sorry, I should watch where I’m going.”
Reid Raines skids to a stop in front of us.
“Watch it, kid. We need our star goalie out there in peak condition this season.”
“I’m good,” Colt says, changing up his stretch, sweeping his legs back and then pulling his knees up again like he’s doing the breaststroke.
“See, he’s good, I’m good, we’re all good,” I say, and Reid narrows his eyes slightly before turning and skating back up to the other end. “Well, I guess I can cross him off my Christmas card list,” I laugh, but in reality, I am totally freaking out. My heart is pounding, my palms are getting sweaty, and the realization that the fucking captain of the team just looked at me like gum on the bottom of his shoe sets in.
I’m not used to people not liking me. In college, fuck, even as far back as middle school, I’d gotten along with pretty much everyone. I like to think I’m actually a really nice guy too, so when I catch Reid glancing back at me, helmet in hand, jaw tight, and eyes narrowed in what I can only describe as a fucking death stare, I nearly fall over again.
“He’s alright once you get to know him,” Colt says.
“I’ll have to take your word for it.”
“Seriously, he’s not as scary as he looks. Fuck, except right now. Dude, did you John Wick him or something?”
“Did I what?”
“Did you kill his dog or something?”
“No. I didn’t do anything,” I reply, turning my back to Reid and dropping to the ice to join Colt in stretching. “Is he still looking at me?”
Henry cranes his neck to look over me and then shakes his head.
“You’re good. The guys are starting to get together, though, so you should probably join them.”
“I guess,” I say, climbing to my feet.
“You’re a rookie about to attend your first training camp session. Smile, kid, this is what you’ve always wanted,” Colt says, and his words actually hit hard.
“You’re right. Thanks.”
“No worries, now go on, get out there and show them what you got.”
Coach Dennings waves everyone into the middle to give us the rundown of today’s plan. All the while, I’m sure I can feel Reid’s eyes on me, judging, questioning why I’m here, and probably plotting how he can replace me.
When I was signed to Philly, I couldn’t wait to play with some of the guys I’d grown up idolizing, and Reid was one of them. I guess they were right, you should never meet your idols, because any aspirations I had of being best friends with the veteran defenseman vanished the second his steely gaze landed on me. I guess now I’ll have to focus on trying to at least prove to him that I belong.
I push hard through wind sprints, controlling my breath and giving each sprint up the ice everything I have. My muscles warm, then burn and ache, but I don’t let it slow me down. I can’t. Raines is in my line, and he’s still powering ahead of the pack on every count. I have to give it to the old guy; he’s got mad endurance.
“Okay, nice work, boys. Let’s see if your shooting is as on point as your stamina. Four corners, starting with the top left. Colt, you’reup,” Coach Dennings calls out, and as Henry readies himself in the box, I take my place in the lineup, trying to pretend I’m not hurting. My lungs burn as the cool air fills them with every heaving breath.
“You okay, kid?” Dawes, one of the best power forwards in the game, asks from behind me.
“Fine,” I wheeze as the line moves along quickly. Each player scoops a puck from the pile and shoots it toward the top left corner of the net. Colt’s blocked every one of the shots so far. Not surprisingly. He knows where they’re headed. But he’s preparing for each shot like he’s not so certain. Shifting his weight from side to side, his gaze locked on the player with the puck, completely locked in. I guess he has to be. I don’t know how he does it. I can’t say I’ve ever wanted to be a goalie in my life. Standing in the one place that every guy out here is pegging rubber pucks at? No thanks. But he taps the posts in celebration with every save. I swear I can see his smile through his helmet, wide and happy, fucking elated at being the target of every shot we’ll make for the next half hour.
After we each try for the four corners, Coach Dennings calls, “Okay, now it’s free shooting. Let’s see who can score on Colt. You each get three shots, make them count.”
