Chapter 26
“When we have the puck, their go-to is forechecking. That’s what these motherfuckers do, and they’re aggressive as hell with it, especially that Penn. Just be aware of that, and do not let it rattle you,” Coach said as our team prepared to enter the tunnel. “Rapp, you’re up,” he directed to me.
I nodded. “A’ight, Sires…I ain’t got shit to say that y’all don’t already know. We are the best team in this whole damn league. At any moment, the six men out on the ice from our side can outplay our opponents. Any line, any defense. That’s what makes us unique. Ain’t a motherfucker in this room who can’t pull out a W when we need him to. Keep your cool, keep your eyes on the puck, and let’s do this!”
My teammates roared in agreement, and then, we were off, KingofRock was blasting, and the fans were losing their shit. This was a home game, our specialty, and we were more than ready to kick some Stars ass. Them Dallas boys weren’t ready for us, especially me, Jones, and Ford, collectively known as SouthernComfort. We were too prepared for this battle.
When I play, I tend to see everything in slow motion, although in reality, ice hockey is an extremely fast-paced sport. In my opinion, it’s the fastest team sport, for sure. So, my ability to slow everything down in my mind, to analyze a play while keeping up with the real-time pace, was a gift, one I was evidently born with. Sometimes, it almost felt like I’d freeze time for a moment. As I watched the puck leave the official’s hand, I could sense everything around me—the sound of the crowd, my opposing center’s and my own skates and sticks as we tried to anticipate when and where the puck would fall, the anxiety-inducing music playing in the arena. Hell, I could hear the official breathing, and when the puck left his hand, I followed it, predicting in my mind when and where it would land. As usual, I was right, smacking it straight to Ford, who took off. The rest of the game was a blur of precision and speed, agility and skill. My team handled the expected pressure from the Stars like I knew we would and added another victory to our record. So far this season, we were undefeated.
Afterwards, I completed the post-game requirement of talking to the press and was putting the blade guards on my skates when Ford approached me.
“Check your email,” he stated. “Krystle says she sent you some properties to look at like three days ago.” His back was to me as he stood at his locker.
“My bad, man. I don’t be checking my email,” I replied.
“Then why the fuck you give her that as your point of contact? You want her to text you instead?”
“No, damn…I’ma check my email now. Calm your orange ass down!”
“I’m just saying, my wife is a professional with this real estate shit. Don’t be wasting her time.”
“I said mybad. I’m checking it now.”
I grabbed my phone, entered the email app, and scanned the new messages I’d received.
“Fuck,” I muttered.
“What? You don’t like them?” Ford asked.
I snatched my head up to see him staring at me. “Huh?”
“Rapp, you good? You look like you just got a message from the grim reaper or something.”
Dropping my eyes back to my phone, I mumbled. “Nah, I…uh…shit. I gotta go,” before grabbing my skates, my stick, my keys, and taking off toward the exit.
“Hey, where the fuck you going in full uniform?!” Ford yelled at my back.