Page 12 of Scoring Lessons

Three days ago, I’d been running this drill with Anderson and Donovan on the first line. The one I’d been playing in since I’d gotten traded.

Now here I was, trying to build chemistry with Kendall—who, honestly, for being in his second year, was looking stronger than ever—and a rookie who looked like he’d seen a ghost.

I tapped my stick against the ice. “All right,” I muttered. “Drive hard and make sure you pull the D back.”

Kendall nodded. “Got it.”

I looked at the rookie. “Stay wide until the blue line. Don’t be afraid of being defensive. Morgan will not be kind to you just because you’re a rookie. If anything, he’ll try even harder.”

He took a big gulp and gave me a quick nod.

When the puck slid out from the coach, Kendall scooped it up.

I stayed wide left, building speed, skates biting into the ice. Kendall pushed through the neutral zone while I crossed the red line and called for it.

When he slid the puck across, I caught it clean on my blade and crossed the blue line, cutting slightly toward the slot to pull Parker with me before sliding it across to the rookie.

Morgan was all over the kid, putting enough pressure to make him hesitate half a second too long. The shot went wide and slammed against the boards.

Coach’s whistle shrieked. “Reset!”

The rookie skated back toward the line, breathing hard.

“You gotta relax,” I said. “Don’t overthink your moves. There’s a reason you’re here, okay?”

He nodded, still breathing hard.

Behind us, another line took their turn.

I tried my damn best not to look but failed miserably.

We’d signed a new left winger for the upcoming season—Patrick Sullivan. He was a fresh, twenty-year-old who dropped out of college as soon as he was called up to the big leagues. A future legend in the making if I ever saw one.

He blew through the neutral zone like the ice belonged to him, cutting inside the defenseman before snapping the puck top shelf in one fluid motion.

He was the kind of player who made everything effortless—In a few years’ time, he would easily become a household name.

The worst part? He knew that. Based on his actions and cocky attitude, he knew damn well the future he had ahead of him.

My stomach twisted at the knowledge that the talent he had was enough to take a spot on the first line.

I shook my head and pushed the nauseating thought to the side. There was no time for dwelling. Being switched around during training camp was normal. Building chemistry between players in case of last-minute changes was necessary.

Or so I kept telling myself.

The whistle blew again, and we ran the drill two more times before the bench door opened.

The Head Athletic Trainer stepped in, then Olivia followed.

She had a tablet tucked under one arm, hair pulled back in a perfect low ponytail. The team’s polo fit her perfectly, as did her plain black leggings. The dark-blue fabric was a good contrast against her inked right arm.

My pulse kicked up a notch. And I hated myself for having that reaction.

Sullivan let out a low whistle when he noticed her.

Because, of course, he did.

The world was out to annoy me today.