Chapter 3 #2
I head for my locker, number fifty-eight, just like I requested, and I start gearing up so I can stretch before we hit the ice.
I know my job—shooting goals and making sure my line is safe.
I’m not here to have a tea party and sing campfire songs in the dressing room. It shouldn’t matter that no one speaks to me. In fact, it will just make my life easier. I don’t have time to make friends.
Once we’re all dressed and out on the ice, I’m feeling back in the zone. We do some warmups and stretching, and then we run through some tactical drills and positional work before ending the day with a little scrimmage time.
I’m glad for a chance to get right to the heart of things. And I’m also glad Coach Nelson didn’t make a big thing of introducing me around or anything either. They all know my name. No point being cute about it. I’ll show them who I really am by putting in the work, just like I always have.
I’ve done my homework on the roster, so I know the starting line is made up of three players.
Jake Rivers is the right wing and captain. He seems like a decent guy, a hard worker and lightning fast.
Alex Sokolov is left wing. He’s fast too, and pretty creative on the ice from what I’ve seen.
Kyle Beaumont is first line center. Or at least he was until I got here.
The two of us go way back. He played center for the Grayloch Mountaingoats, our high school rivals back in the day.
Beaumont and I have had a hundred face-offs, most of which I won, and in my opinion, he’s always been kind of a tool.
I slide up between Rivers and Sokolov, ready to face off one more time against Beaumont, who is center for the second line now.
He doesn’t say a word, just gives me a nasty little smirk that makes me want to break my stick over his head.
Then comes the whistle, and I easily slash the puck out from under Beaumont’s stick and fling it back to my boys so we can start this off with a quick score.
I move back, getting distance from Beaumont as fast as I can, and cover a massive defenseman called Van Morgan who is in control of the puck.
Morgan passes to me and I take it in with support from Rivers, who is open. But there is only one defenseman for me to beat, and I want to put this one in myself.
Out of nowhere, someone slams me into the boards from behind, way too hard for a practice session.
Of course it’s Beaumont.
I restrain my urge to clock him, and throw my stick down in frustration, expecting a whistle from the coach for a hit like that.
Instead, the other side takes control of the puck and scores immediately.
My chest fills with fury, the edges of my vision go red, and I can hear my own pulse in my ears. All I want to do is lay into Beaumont once and definitively, so he doesn’t get cute with me again.
But a quick glance at the bench tells me Nelson is waiting for my reaction, so I can’t let my rage show.
“I was open at the wing,” Jake says quietly as we head back to the center. “Look for the pass if you’re in trouble.”
I ignore him, chewing my mouthguard and counting my breaths as I slide into the circle for another face-off.
This time, Beaumont is practically giddy.
I picture my stick smashing his face, but I don’t do it. I take the puck out from under him again instead.
Dropping back to the D-zone, I hear Nelson signaling for a line change on our side.
But my stick moves faster than my brain, and I’m taking the puck, dodging one of their bigger guys, knocking another one out of the way, and sailing for the goal again.
Beaumont plows toward me, his expression is grim now, which tickles me.
I slide the puck right between his legs and spin around him to grab it again before he can react.
No one manages to touch me as I carry the puck a little further into the offensive zone and then shoot it past their goalie and into the net so hard I swear it could bounce out and hit the moon.
I’m grinning ear-to-ear as I fly back to the bench. That was a nice bit of puck handling, and I got to fake Beaumont out of his skates along the way.
But no one’s impressed. Everyone’s looking someplace else again, and Jake Rivers is shaking his head.
I don’t know why they’ve all got their panties in a bunch. They’re lucky a little showboating is all I did when I would have loved Beaumont’s blood on the ice instead.
But that’s exactly why I’m not playing for the Bells anymore. And Beaumont’s lucky I know it and I’m determined not to lose this second chance, or he’d be missing a few more teeth from his smug maw.
Nelson doesn’t look happy, but he keeps his mouth shut about it, and I manage to get through the rest of practice without hitting anyone.
I stop to check my phone on the way back to the locker room, but there’s nothing from my mom, which I decide to take as a good sign.
When I join the others, they’re already talking about grabbing some food and helping each other move from the old apartment to the new place. There’s a friendly energy in the air, and that doesn’t cool this time when I come in.
But no one says one word to me.
Sokolov is going around taking orders for pizza and hoagies, and he walks right past me without asking what I want to eat. It’s like I’m invisible.
I’m moving in today too. I’m also going to be living in this so-called “mansion” they’re gossiping about like a flock of hens. But no one is offering to give me a hand, or spilt a large pepperoni with me.
Whatever.
With Daisy, I can’t really move my own stuff anyway. I’ve got professional movers coming, and I’ll have my hands full with my daughter. A lot of silly socializing would just make things too complicated.
I’m fine being on the outside, as usual. I didn’t get to where I was by being everyone’s best friend. And I won’t get back there that way either.
And I don’t want their stupid pizza anyway.
For some reason, I’m in the mood for pancakes.