Page 55 of On the Breakaway

Grayson

The rink echoes with the sharp crack of pucks and Wyatt’s increasingly irritated yelling while Drew Barrett misses the top corner for the fourth time in a row. The puck ricochets hard off the glass behind the net, rattling through the otherwise empty arena.

“Jesus Christ,” Liam mutters beside me from the bench. “At this point, just hit the net. Let’s start there.”

“I heard that,” Drew shouts from the circle before firing another shot directly into Wyatt’s glove.

Wyatt points his blocker at him. “And stop shooting glove side every damn time. You’re predictable.”

“You’re trying to do everything at once,” I call from the boards, hands braced against the rail.

“I am doing everything at once,” the rookie shoots back, breathing hard as he circles toward center ice again.

Fair enough.

Losing Nathan this close to the playoffs screwed our lines harder than anyone wants to admit, and Barrett knows it. The kid went from sheltered third-line minutes to skating next to Liam against top defensive pairings almost overnight.

The talent is there. It’s the panic that’s the problem, which is the exact reason I arranged extra ice time. It’s better to have more chances to screw up now before seventeen thousand people are crowded in the stands watching him do it live.

Nathan snorts beside me, adjusting the sling around his neck. “He looks like he’s about three missed shots away from a breakdown.”

“That’s because he’s currently trying to replicate you,” I say, eyes focused on the ice.

Drew cuts toward the slot too late, and Wyatt knocks the puck away easily before slamming his stick once against the post.

“Earlier!” Wyatt barks. “If you do that in a real game, Shaw’s going to scream at you until you develop trauma.”

“I don’t scream,” I cut in.

All four of them look at me.

Liam raises an eyebrow. “You absolutely scream.”

“I motivate aggressively.”

Nathan laughs just as another puck ricochets off the glass behind us.

Drew skates by looking sweaty and frustrated while Wyatt chirps him the entire way.

“Your release is slower than my grandmother’s Wi-Fi.”

Drew glares. “Your grandmother’s dead.”

“I’m aware. Embarrassing for you.”

Liam chokes laughing, but I just shake my head.

“Again,” I call out, tapping my stick once against the boards. Then I glance at Liam. “Are you going to help the kid or did you come here to sit on your ass?”

Liam pushes off the bench with exaggerated offense. “I’m the only reason your power play functions.”

“That confidence would mean more if you’d backchecked this week.”

He flips me off before hopping over the boards and skating into position, muttering a smartass comment under his breath.

This is why I love being captain of the Blades. Veterans staying late for the kid drowning under pressure while pretending not to notice he’s drowning in the first place. There aren’t as many teams in the league with this kind of chemistry as people think.

I glance toward Nathan, who’s sprawled across the bench beside me in a hoodie and sling, one leg stretched across the rubber flooring while he watches practice with the intensity of a man being tortured.