Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
NATHAN
The next day, I wake before the crack of dawn, drag myself out of bed and hit the shower.
Hair wet and coffee brewing in the background, I pick up my laptop and load the Lucky Strikers game footage.
“Alright,” I mumble to the darkness and rub my bleary eyes, “let’s get this show on the road.”
The keyboard makes a clacking sound as my finger connects with the ‘play’ button.
“It’s the Lucky Strikers against the Iron Bay Polars…” the announcer booms in my earbuds while the crowd in the video cheers.
I throttle a yawn and lean forward with my pen handy.
Yesterday, I promised Riley that I wouldn’t give up on hockey. But it seems more likely that hockey plans to give up on me. The team’s response to my fall on the ice made one thing clear—if I don’t change something, I might lose my spot in the Lucky Strikers training camp.
I have to convince Max and Coach that I’m not as weak as they all think I am.
On the screen, McLanely maneuvers the puck and Kinsey’s right there, ready for the pass. Renthrow glides past a defender and McLanely pivots on a dime faking a pass to Kinsey while sending it to Renthrow.
It’s a seamless play, and I can see why Max pre-drafted them for the team. McLanely is pure lightning on the ice and Renthrow and Kinsey are skilled players too. Even more than that, they share incredible synergy.
Smoothing out a page of my large, blank sketchbook, I draw circles and jot down the names of each of the players.
McLanely, Kinsey and Renthrow.
I keep watching.
There’s one other guy that’s constantly put into rotation—Theilan.
My coffee maker beeps.
I shuffle over to the brew and pour a cup, stopping to inhale the rich fragrance before I take a sip.
Ah, that hits the spot.
Feeling more like a human and less like a zombie, I return to the video and observe some more.
If Theilan had joined the training camp, he would have been tough competition. He’s got great synergy with McLanely and Kinsey. Plus, he’s fast.
But the more I watch, the more I see why the team leader didn’t pick him for the new team. Theilan is cocky on the ice, and I can tell by the way he keeps missing the puck, that he’s undisciplined too.
If he got over those two things, he’d be a serious threat in the game and serious competition for the limited slots on the team.
Thankfully, Theilan’s absence has created a prime opportunity for me.
“Max needs a strong winger.” I circle Theilan’s name twice. “That’s where I should strike.”
I check my watch and notice that it’s six o’clock.
Time to go.
I chug the rest of my coffee, grab my gear and hit the road.
Lucky Falls is surprisingly bustling at this hour.
Phil’s, the donut shop April insisted I should try, is already open.
There’s a bread bakery a few blocks away that’s shoveling trays into a small white van.
As I pass by, the smell of bread makes my stomach growl.
I’ll definitely swing by later to grab a bite to eat.
When I arrive at the stadium, there’s no one else around except for Bobby, the Zamboni driver.
He does a double take when he sees me striding in with my duffel bag and a bucket of tennis balls. “Campbell? What are you doing here so early?”
“Wanted to get in some practice.”
“At this hour? Not even McLanely trains this early.”
“I can’t beat McLanely if I train the same time he does. I need to work twice as hard to be half as good.”
Bobby laughs from atop the Zamboni and speaks in a laidback drawl. “I just started so it’ll take about ten minutes, if you don’t mind waiting.”
“That’s okay. I was planning on stretching first anyway.”
“Alright then,” Bobby says. The Zamboni chugs along as he gets to work.
I pop my ear buds in and navigate to Riley’s playlist as I always do. The title is right there at the top of my Spotify.
‘From Riley, To Nat’.
I stop and stare at Riley’s name on the screen.
I’ve seen that title a million times before so why is it making my heart beat faster now?
Should I be feeling like this?
It’s so confusing.
Riley sent me the link to the playlist right before I went off to college. She was twelve and I was eighteen, so of course I didn’t take it any other way than innocently. I also didn’t listen to the playlist for a year and even forgot it existed.
But after my twentieth birthday, I went through my phone, reading all the birthday wishes from friends and fans. The playlist link was right above Riley’s ‘happy birthday’ text that she sent me that year.
I clicked on the link and knew instinctually that I’d have the playlist on repeat.
The songs flowed into each other, going from upbeat and motivational to soulful and pensive.
All of them spoke to me and I listened to the tracks constantly, reaching for them over the course of my three surgeries and all the painful months of physiotherapy.
From Riley, To Nat.
What if, I don’t know… what if this playlist was a love letter to me? Many of the songs didn’t seem like Riley’s music taste, and I often wondered how a munchkin like Riley would know me and my favorite genres of music so well.
Nat, she was a kid. Chris probably helped her. Don’t be a weirdo.
Wincing, I tap away from the playlist and play some generic hip hop instead.
Riley has been ‘family zoned’.
She doesn’t like me like that.
And I don’t…
Liar.
Fine, I can’t like her like that.
As a new-to-me rapper fills my ears, I lift my knee and tuck it against my chest in a deep stretch. My ligaments pinch a bit, protesting the movement, but it’s a discomfort that I’ve gotten used to. I press even further into the pain.
After stretching, I take out my jump rope and start skipping. My physical therapist recommended it as a lightweight workout before getting on the ice.
My thoughts, without permission, turn to Riley. She seemed annoyed with me when I dropped her back yesterday. Is it because she wanted to be set up on a blind date?
I could see how she would be upset that I cut the conversation short. I overstepped my bounds. If Riley wants to be set up on a date, it’s none of my business.
But, as her brother, I should protect her from jerks, shouldn’t I?
Exactly. Cordelia seems nice enough, but who knows what her friends are like?
Would they appreciate Riley’s sense of humor?
Or her quick comebacks? Or her kindness?
Or her ambition and intelligence? Would they judge her for working in a male-dominated industry and try to force her to change to please them?
The thought angers me. Riley is perfect as she is. She doesn’t need to change a thing and I will fight anyone who dares to say otherwise.
Twat, twat, twat.
The skip rope whips the ground faster and faster until it becomes a blur around me.
Suddenly, I see a figure in my peripheral.
It’s Bobby.
I didn’t even notice that he put up the Zamboni.
Breathing hard, I pause the music so I can hear him.
“Should you be pushing yourself that hard?” The handyman points to my leg. “I got wind of what happened yesterday. Heard Max was worried.”
I cringe. Well, there’s the confirmation I need that the team manager sees me as unfit to play.
“The leg is fine.” It’s my head and my heart that’s messed up, not my body.
I uncap my water bottle and stare at the rink as I drink deeply. Thanks to Bobby and the Zamboni, the surface is smooth and flawless, like freshly blown glass. If only I could erase all my improper thoughts of Riley as easily as that Zamboni erased every nick and scratch from the ice.
“Need me to set up the cones?” Bobby offers.
“I can do it.”
Bobby nods. “What’s with the tennis balls?”
“I’m trying something,” I say vaguely. It’s possible that my plan crashes and burns and I waste a ton of time, but training for speed isn’t all that I’m working towards. I need to find a way to see more of the ice while the world is moving around me.
I want to improve my peripheral vision.
I lace up, skate onto the ice and set up the cones used for drills. After some stretching, I drop the puck and maneuver it around the cones with my stick. I start at a slow speed and then build up to move as fast as I can.
A whistle pierces the darkness around the rink and I peer to my right, realizing that Bobby is still there.
“That was amazing!” Bobby cheers. “How come you don’t play that aggressive on Friday nights? You’re obviously holding back, Campbell.”
I skate closer to the boards, grinning.
Early on, Coach and the manager were cutting the showboats left and right. I didn’t want to be next so I tamped it down in the hopes that they’d consider me a team player. I didn’t want anyone accusing me of acting like I was ‘better than’ because I had league experience.
Bobby scrubs his chin. “And here we all thought you were holding back because your leg was still hurting.”
“Is that what everyone thinks?”
“I can’t speak for anyone else, but I know that was a thought in my mind.”
Dazed, I skate backward.
In one moment, my strategy for the training camp blows up in smoke. How could I have been so stupid? Easing up on the gas was the wrong call. The entire team thinks I’m as fragile as glass and I’m the one who started the misunderstanding.
Bobby sees my expression and assures me, “Don’t overthink it. Consider this your secret weapon. When they least expect it, you go all out. Really take ‘em by surprise.”
It’s too late for that.
To earn my spot in the Lucky Strikers, I need to do more than just go all out.
I need to prove that the accident that everyone thought would permanently break me actually made me stronger.