Chapter One August #2
When he looked up, still smiling, he caught Brady’s eye.
Brady raised an eyebrow in challenge, and Nick immediately turned away and focused on tying his skates.
He pretended not to feel his cheeks flush and hoped his helmet would do a good enough job hiding it.
It would only make things worse if Brady saw how easily rattled he was.
After they were all dressed, the team lined up to get on the ice, waiting for the Zamboni to finish its last lap. Benns nudged his way to the front of the line.
“All right guys. New season, clean slate, blah blah blah.” There were some chuckles at that; Benns ignored them.
“We’ve played these guys a million times.
We know their game. They’re physical, they’re loud, but they can’t skate half as fast as our worst guy, so let’s keep it clean and stick to our game, all right? ”
There were eye rolls and words of assent; Nick quietly hoped he hadn’t inherited the role of “our worst guy.”
“Do your best—that’s all I can ask—and let’s get this W, boys.” A pause. “And lady.”
“Fuck off,” grunted a petite woman near Nick. She was a full head shorter than him, her hair tied in a braid coming out the back of her helmet, and she looked more menacing in her gear than the teammates twice her size.
He liked her already.
A horn sounded and Benns opened the door, ushering the team onto the ice and giving each of them a word of encouragement as they headed to the bench.
Before it was his turn, Nick felt pressure on his back. He turned to find Brady staring down at him. The guy wasn’t that much taller than Nick (barely had two inches on him!), but in his gear he managed to tower over him.
“Hey, stick to the blue line on the backcheck. I can make up the difference in our zone, you just be ready for the breakout, okay?”
He stared up at Brady as his brain worked to process what he’d heard. “You’re defense?” he asked.
Brady looked like he could feel his soul leaving his body. “Yes,” he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world and Nick was an idiot for even asking.
Hell, maybe it was, and Nick had somehow missed it.
“Okay,” Nick said. He could manage focusing on scoring instead of balancing both offense and defense. One less thing, right? Then with slightly more composure, he added, “You gonna pass it up to me?”
If he’d been feeling braver, he might have added a wink. As it was, he figured he was better off leaving it at that.
Brady snorted, though with somewhat more warmth than before. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. First we gotta see how you skate and stickhandle.”
“Fair,” Nick said. He tried not to grin too widely.
This was happening. He was really going to do this.
This might actually be fun…
*
Jenna May (9:34 p.m.)
Cuz you suck bro
Lemme know your captain’s email so I can congratulate him for making a smart move
(I am assuming bottom line = bad thing)
Jenna May (11:42 p.m.)
How was the game? You score??
Jenna May (11:59 p.m.)
Dude????? You still alive???
Jenna May (12:04 a.m.)
OMG DID YOU GET IN A HOCKEY FIGHT!? TELLLLL MEEEEEE
Jenna May (12:17 a.m.)
Srsly tho you good? You have fun?
Nick (6:55 a.m.)
no goals, no fights, no career ending injuries to report
got an assist! i’ll pull up the live barn video and try to get it to you
ofc i fell flat on my face after i made the pass, but the guy got it and went end to end
more impressive since he’s defense and that’s like literally not even his job on the ice
Nick (7:06 a.m.)
also i only fell that one time, so i’m calling this game a total win for me
Jenna May (9:22 a.m.)
??????
I retract all earlier comments implying I didn’t have 100% faith in your hockey abilities
Wait did you guys win?? This “win for me” BS makes me feel like it wasn’t an actual for real legit win
Jennay May (9:35 a.m.)
Also who or what is a live barn??
Nick (11:44 a.m.)
it’s this thing where they record games on a webcam and put them online so you can see yourself play later
we won 5 to 3, so it was in fact legit
Jenna May (11:58 a.m.)
Hells yeah.
Way to contribute, way to team, way to hockey, etc.
Jenna May (12:03 p.m.)
We still on for movie night next weekend??
Nick (12:18 p.m.)
i assume so, can you check with terry?
Jenna May (12:22 p.m.)
?? Will do
Be prepared to give a shift by shift recap of every game you play in
Nick (12:30 p.m.)
ofc ??
*
Nick heaved and tried desperately not to throw up as he leaned forward on the bench.
He didn’t understand how he could possibly be so fucking tired—he was in shape!
Really!—but he’d been trapped on the ice for nearly three minutes because of a bad line change on a penalty kill.
Line changes weren’t easy during normal circumstances, and with only four people instead of five on the ice, it was a lot trickier than he’d expected.
He’d have to remember that the next time he yelled at his TV during a game.
As he was starting to learn, being in good running shape meant jack-shit on the ice.
“I want to die,” he groaned to the ground.
“You all right?”
Nick spared a half-turn of his head to see Gregg-with-Two-G’s (“Just call me GG. Everyone else does.”) looking at him with a frown.
He wore sports goggles beneath his visor, the effect making his eyes look comically large.
Greg-with-One-G (“That’s Young Greg or Kid—” “I am not a kid!”) peeked around his shoulder, though he pretended to not be interested.
“I’ll let you know on my next shift. We’ll see if I can even fucking stand up.” He experimentally moved his wobbly legs. They obeyed, reluctantly, but didn’t instill him with much confidence.
The Gregs laughed.
“What’s so funny?” Brady asked as he stepped off the ice and joined them on the bench.
The Gregs immediately stopped. Brady seemed to have that effect on people. He was silent, calm, and had an aura of general disapproval that the others respected… but maybe they wouldn’t have respected it quite so much if this no-nonsense man didn’t have half the team’s total points.
“Nicki here’s hurtin’,” Young Greg said and chewed on his mouth guard.
Brady made a face. “How’s that funny?” There wasn’t much bite to it, and he even spared a concerned look toward Nick. “You’re hurt?”
“Mostly regretting that I had Indian food for dinner.” With a great deal of effort, he suppressed a burp and another groan.
Brady’s ever-stoic face broke slightly, the barest trace of a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah, okay, it’s a little funny.”
“I’m so glad you all enjoy my suffering.” Honestly, Nick didn’t mind, since it was the first time he’d seen even that much of a smile from Brady.
He looked good when he smiled.
Brady opened his mouth to reply only to be interrupted by a shout from the ice.
“Jens!” a defenseman called out for a change, and the whole bench turned to see Mags rushing over. Brady jumped over the boards and raced down the ice, back in Game Mode so fast Nick almost got whiplash.
“He’s fast,” Nick muttered in awe. Even with the improvements he was making, Nick was in fact the worst skater on the team more often than not. And Brady was the best. He skated with the type of speed and ease Nick hadn’t seen in anyone but professionals.
“Jensie’s killer,” Young Greg agreed. “Think he used to play when he was a kid or something.”
“You’re a kid and you play; how come you skate like shit?” GG said.
“You chirping me, old man? I’m nineteen!”
“If I’m an old man at fifty-six, you’re a kid at nineteen.”
Nick had quickly learned that the Gregs chirping each other was a constant backdrop to games, one that had already become familiar and even welcome to Nick.
Once or twice a week, like clockwork, they went at it; game in, game out, the Gregs were the foundation of Nick’s game-time routine.
They were six games into the season, and Nick already knew to expect his linemates to never shut up.
Down a goal, up a goal, on the PK, or waiting for the Zamboni to clean the ice, their banter grounded the team.
Already he felt his stomach settle. If they could pull the same shifts as him and run their mouths, he could catch his breath and be ready when—
“Nicki!” Benns called, hustling to skate over.
Right, then. Up and at ’em.
It was only after the game (and after he’d had time to catch his breath), that Nick nudged GG in the locker room. The older forward paused in drinking his beer to give Nick his full attention, and Nick leaned in to ask, “What am I doing wrong, man?”
“Aside from spicy food before a game?” he asked wryly, then grew serious as he considered. “You’re a little too static. Nothing wrong with crashing the net, but if we can’t get the puck through, there ain’t much point in it.”
Nick nodded, making a mental note and reviewing his own play over the last few games.
“Okay, what else?”
Before GG could add anything, a loud voice from down the bench spoke up.
“New guy takes advice?”
GG’s jaw clicked, but he had an almost-smile when he turned around to address Mags. He appraised the defenseman, one of the guys Nick hadn’t really had a chance to talk, before he answered.
“Not from defensemen he doesn’t. This is just between linemates, trying to work out the kinks.”
Mags ignored him. “Send the puck back to the D, let us get a decent point shot. Get yourself some points and the team some goals.”
Young Greg and Donno, a forward from Benns’s line, booed together.
“This isn’t the NHL, bro,” Young Greg said while laughingly shaking his head. “Your shot’s too weak. They knock it down every time.”
“You’d be better off holding it and then passing it back to one of us,” Donno added. “We don’t pass it back for y’all to just lose it.”
Mags ignored them, too.
“It’s a team game, right?” he said, and looked Nick dead in the eye. “Passing it to your D is part of that teamwork.”
Nick had the feeling he’d waded into some sort of team drama that he wasn’t ready for.