Chapter 22 - Mason
Mason
Practice started like a punch to the gut.
There was no ‘good morning’ from Coach. No cursory nod or glance in my direction. Just the sharp blast of his whistle and a barked instruction to circle up.
Grayson side-eyed me as we fell in line for drills, his jaw tight, mouthguard sticking out from under his lip like he wanted to say something. Probably better that he didn’t, because I wasn't sure if I could handle an onslaught from him too.
We skated hard, harder than usual. Coach didn’t bother easing us into anything, and had us in full-speed breakout drills within ten minutes. It kinda felt personal.
Grayson fired the first puck cross-ice, high and fast. I barely managed to control it with my stick, and when I passed it back, it skipped over his blade and died near the blue line.
“Way to hang me out to dry, Calder,” he muttered.
I said nothing. My legs already burned, and the pressure in my shoulder was turning from dull to a potential problem.
Next drill. Defensive zone cycle with pressure.
Coach split us into two squads and had us rotate every thirty seconds.
Grayson’s squad came at us like they were gunning for blood.
In fact, Tucker looked a little too happy about charging me.
He lost out though, because it was Hunter who clipped me from behind and sent me into the boards.
Without time to brace, my shoulder ended up taking most of it.
The hit wasn’t called, and there was no whistle. Coach stood at center ice, stone-faced.
“Sure, whatever,” I mumbled under my breath as I pushed to my feet. “Let’s just pretend that was nothing.”
We kept moving, and I didn’t falter once. My shoulder screamed, but it wasn’t broken. Just angry.
Cross-ice sprint drills. Puck retrieval. Shooting on the rush.
I couldn’t breathe. My gloves were slick with sweat, and every time I took a shot, I felt the stab deep in my shoulder like something was tearing. I kept my mouth shut. Mostly because everyone seemed to be particularly pissed off with me.
“You’re falling behind when even Shawn’s lapping you, Calder,” Grayson said, skating beside me after a drill. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine.”
Coach blew the whistle again, and the guys rounded up like well-trained cattle on the world’s coldest ranch.
“I said I’m fine,” I grunted, and pushed off.
“Shooting lane work!” Coach called. “Grayson, Tucker, Mason—out front.”
We lined up. Coach tossed pucks from the blue line, calling for one-timers.
I nailed the first two although they were far from clean.
Hallie would call them gritty. I was just happy something went in.
The happiness didn’t last, because when I wound up for the third, the blinding pain took over.
My shot went wide and bounced off the boards with a dull thunk.
“Get off,” Coach’s voice rang out. Like he was just waiting for this moment.
I pulled off my helmet. “What? That was one shot. I—”
“Off my ice. Now.”
“I can keep going, Coach,” I said, feeling the team’s attention zeroed in on me. “Let me take that last one again.”
“Sure, keep going,” he said sternly. “And I’ll show you how I keep you on the bench until the next two games are over.”
The warning cracked like a whip.
“Coach—”
“You’re heading for wood, Calder. Sit down!”
The whole rink went silent. Even the sound of sticks tapping on the ice stopped. I clenched my jaw and skated toward the boards without another word. This time, nobody looked at me. Probably sensing the foul mood Coach was in, and wanting to avoid the same punishment.
I grabbed the water bottle from my gym bag just to hide the fact that I was sulking. I’d never hear the end of it if they noticed. That’s when my phone buzzed. We weren’t supposed to have our shit out here, so I kept it low where Coach couldn’t see.
Cass: Proposal: I’ll run your drills if you come down here and fix the gears on the vending machine.
I didn’t really register what she’d said, fingers frantic over the keypad.
Me: I think he knows.
Three dots, then nothing. No response.
I stared at my phone until the screen dimmed. Those three dots never came back.
I looked up and caught Coach staring at me. I took a long sip from my water bottle to hide the movement of me dropping my phone back in my bag. The buzz I wanted didn’t come, no matter how hard I trained my ears for it.
Shit.
Maybe it was paranoia. Coach could’ve been riding me this hard because he was depending on me to pull through for the team. Playoffs were around the corner, after all.
But maybe I wasn’t just being paranoid.
He’d told me to keep my hands off his daughter, and if the rumors had reached him—he was the man with all the power. He could bench me. Freeze me out of the game for good. He could single-handedly blow up everything I’d worked for.
The locker room was dead quiet after practice.
Skates clattered against tile, but that was it. Nobody said a word. They kept their heads down, focused on unlacing gear, packing up, getting out.
I peeled off my pads, arms burning from the effort. Sweat soaked through my shirt, and my shoulder throbbed like it had its own pulse.
Grayson slammed his helmet into his locker so hard the sound cracked through the silence.
“You done?” he barked.
I glared at him. “If you have something to say to me, just say it.”
“I want you to wake the fuck up, man,” he scoffed. “You think this shit just works itself out? You think you can half-ass your way to staying power?”
“I didn’t—”
“Do you know how many guys dream of getting drafted?” Even though Grayson was lecturing me, everyone in the room watched him. “Do you have any idea how many of them never even get close? They train their whole damn lives and still come up short.”
My face was hot, and not from the practice. I held his gaze, clenching my jaw so hard it hurt. And I said nothing. He was our captain, and it was my job to listen.
“You got the call,” he said. “You made it. Pissing it away is a slap in everyone’s face.”
“Pissing it away? I missed one game to go to a funeral.”
“You’re a waste,” he said then, voice heavier than before.
“You’ve got all the talent, but you’re choosing to flame out and throw away your whole career before it even has the chance to take off.
Don’t pretend this isn’t a choice, Calder.
This isn’t about the funeral, either. You know exactly what I’m talking about. ”
I stood up, fists balled at my side, but Grayson just shook his head.
“Get your shit together before you’re a name no one remembers.”
He grabbed his duffel and stormed out. The door swung shut behind him, louder than it needed to.
I sat back down, pulse spiking.
Hunter padded over a few minutes later when some more of the guys had left. He was still toweling off his hair, so didn’t say anything at first. Just dropped onto the bench beside me with a sigh.
“He’s not wrong,” he said finally. “But he’s not entirely right either.”
I gave him a sideways glance. “You’re gonna lecture me too?”
“No,” he said, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “I just think… you’re better than this. You’ve got something most guys don’t.”
“Talent?”
“Instinct,” he replied without missing a beat. “You’ve got a feel for the game that can’t be taught. That’s rare. You don’t belong on any bench, so quit getting in your own way.”
His tone wasn’t harsh, like Grayson, but it hit harder because of that.
“I just wanted to play hockey,” I said, sounding too much like my younger self.
“Then play.” Hunter pulled his clothes on, and left.
One by one, the rest of the lockers slammed shut, water bottles hit the trash, footsteps faded. Eventually, it was just me.
I leaned back, head resting against the cool metal of my locker, and pulled out my phone. Still nothing from Cass. My chest ached in a way that had nothing to do with skating drills.
I’d been thinking about this all wrong. I kept telling myself that staying away from her was the right thing. Doing as I was told… To risk going against Coach’s warning would be reckless. It could end everything.
But this felt more wrong than the lie. Pretending I could forget her at all.
Every time I looked at her, it became clearer. She was it for me. Not a distraction taking me away from the game, or a fuck-up waiting to happen. She was the real deal. I felt it, even now.
And if I let her go to protect a future I didn’t even want without her, what did that make me?
A noise cut through the quiet and I sat up.
Coach McAvoy stepped out from his back office, not saying anything. He stared at me like he was deciding whether I was worth the time or not.
“Sorry about today, Coach,” I said, feeling that was the best way to start.
“Get in here, Calder,” he grunted. “We need to talk.”