Chapter 4 The Team
The Team
Pancek, the coaches, and Fletcher all headed next door to the practice facility. He went around the room and was introduced to each of his new teammates. They all exchanged niceties.
Finally, Fletcher spotted him. Taylor Piers was sliding a white athletic shirt over his head when Fletcher approached him.
The shirt clung to his body and Fletcher could still see the outline of his muscles and abs through the thin material.
He reached his hand out to shake Taylor’s, who grasped it and gave him a solid handshake.
His calloused hands were rough against Fletcher’s skin.
“Taylor Piers. Nice to see you again.” He flashed Taylor a charming grin.
Taylor offered him a kind, but guarded smirk back. “Couldn’t beat me so you had to join me, huh?”
Fletcher shrugged. “I saw an opportunity and had to seize it. I’m quite the opportunist.” His comment Taylor’s smile grow ever so slightly, though he still looked at Fletcher through his dark brown eyes with a solemn expression.
His angular facial features gave him a kind of a stoic face.
Very handsome, but very intimidating. It was originally what stood out the most to Fletcher.
He had never seen him smile. Piers was an intense guy who meant business.
Fletcher considered his own face to be softer.
Approachable looking. Oftentimes people had no problems coming up to chat with him, even strangers.
His piercing blue eyes popped against his curly, sandy brown hair.
He liked to keep his hair neatly framed around his face, the longest part just slightly curling below the bottom of his head.
Taylor had curly hair too, though his was a dark, nearly black, brown color. His curls were a lot looser and less defined than Fletcher’s, but Taylor kept his hair slightly longer. Kind of a Game of Thrones Jon Snow look.
Despite both men being nineteen, Fletcher felt like he looked a lot younger in comparison to Taylor.
Fletcher was a pretty tall kid, coming to about six feet on a good day.
He wasn’t the lankiest player, but he wasn’t as built as Taylor.
He wouldn’t consider himself to be very buff or anything.
He was lean and liked to keep fit, though he had more of a sleeper build.
Taylor was maybe six-three or six-four. One of the taller players in the league.
He was sculpted and had prominent outlines of his abs and biceps.
Fletcher hadn’t had the chance to see him without pants on yet, he assumed Taylor’s legs were equally built.
Was it weird to be thinking about what his teammate looked like without pants on? Fletcher didn’t mean any harm by it.
Fletcher’s cubby was next to Taylor’s. He quickly unpacked it and slipped into his gear. He bit back a smile as he pulled on his practice jersey. He’d kept his number 22, which had been his number his whole life. His dad had 21 and his grandfather wore 20.
Over to his right, Fletcher watched as Taylor slid on his jersey, donning the number 13.
Not many players played in that number. Like most athletes, NHL players were pretty superstitious, so many considered that number to be unlucky. Fletcher wondered if Taylor had chosen it on purpose to intimidate players. He would be sure to ask him about it later.
Fletcher had planned on asking Taylor a lot of questions. How many goals does he want to score this season? What’s his pregame ritual like? Who’s his favorite hockey player? Definitely not his dad, he’d for sure thought. Sean Armstrong was an acquired taste.
He had decided that the only way to get Taylor to divulge his secrets was by taking the time to get to know him. Normally he was good at reading other players, but Taylor had always been a locked vault. He didn’t know much about Taylor, and for some odd reason it drove him insane.
Somehow Taylor had always been able to get under his skin. Two years ago, at Nationals, Taylor’s team beat Fletcher’s 4-3. Since they were both team captains, they had both been interviewed together.
“Fletcher, you come from a long line of NHL legends. Your father is currently the captain of the Manatees, just like your grandfather was in the height of his NHL career. Do you feel a lot of pressure trying to live up to the Armstrong legacy?”
Obviously, Fletcher thought. Fletcher gave the interviewer the most confident look he could muster. Represent the family. Look your very best.
“I’ve been blessed to have such incredible role models growing up.
All I want to do is play hockey. My family has supported me unconditionally along the way.
I could be the worst player on my team or the best, and my family would still be just as proud.
If I am working hard and doing what I love, they support me and my dreams.”
Lie. It was all a lie. In reality, he had been called disappointing and a failure too many times to count.
“Taylor, you have proven yourself to be a dynamic player on the ice. There have been many eyes on you this weekend. Have you had many role models you could attribute to your success on the ice?”
Taylor held his cool composure, sounding completely indifferent as he answered.
“I guess I’ve always been a huge Bubba Armstrong fan,” Taylor playfully nudged his shoulder against Fletcher, who let out a chuckle in response.
Everyone behind the camera laughed. Everyone loves Taylor Piers.
Blah, blah, blah. “But I would say a lot of my passion and drive to be a good player comes from a place of respect for my teammates.”
He changed his tone, making himself sound more serious and genuine.
“Growing up I was never awarded any of the privileges that other players my age have received.”
Nice subtle dig, Dickhead. Fletcher should’ve seen it coming. This guy sounded like a walking Blindside reboot.
“I came from nothing. I was a nobody. But I found a team who took a chance on me. Every time I step out onto that ice is a chance for me to prove myself worthy of having such an incredible team. This sport is truly a team effort, and I am so blessed to play with a group of guys who respect me just as much as I respect them. It’s not my success—it’s my team’s success. ”
Great, Fletcher thought. Taylor Piers was a hardworking team player who clawed his way to the top while Fletcher Armstrong was handed everything on a silver platter. It was the truth, though, and he could tell Taylor meant every word he spoke.
Since then, Taylor Piers was always at the top of his radar. He had gotten under Fletcher’s skin. He and Taylor both wanted the same thing. They wanted to be the best. They wanted respect. But Taylor was already miles ahead of him in that race.
The moment he first stepped out onto the ice with his new team was surreal.
He had never felt so energetic. He had never loved hockey as much as he did right then and there.
And he had never felt as much chemistry as he did with Taylor.
The whole team, really. Any worries of not fitting in melted away almost instantaneously.
In their scrimmage, they first had Taylor and Fletcher on opposing sides.
As he took possession of the puck, Taylor appeared out of nowhere and rammed him straight into the boards.
Taylor snatched the puck and passed it to Garrick Douglas, who scored on their goal.
Ivans was a big guy, but somehow the puck hit the corner of the net at the perfect angle and slid in right between his legs.
Another time, Archer Bolving had the puck and passed it to Fletcher.
Fletcher made a clean shot, scoring on Emilio Sánchez’s goal.
Bolving and Leering body slammed Fletcher and patted him on the back.
“Beautiful shot!” Ivans shouted.
“Dammit Sánchez! You could’ve had it,” Taylor spat from across the ice. Fletcher turned his head to look at him, who chewed on his mouth guard angrily. He looked right at Fletcher, eyes full of disdain.
“Hermano, no. Little Armstrong is a beast. Un tiro perfecto. There was no way I would’ve blocked it in time,” Sánchez said in a strong Miami accent.
Fletcher found out through stalking his Instagram that Sánchez was raised there as a child before moving to Sacramento around the time he started high school.
He rose to his feet and skated to Fletcher and praisingly shook his shoulder.
“You’re playing on my team, compa. You switch with Douglas.
Let’s see how well you and my boy Piers play together. ”
They bumped gloved fists as Fletcher skated back to center ice. Taylor took his position behind him. He leaned down to faceoff against Douglas. “You’re cooked, buddy,” Douglas teased.
Fletcher let out a chuckle as he won the faceoff and hit the puck. It hit the boards and bounced off in the direction of Marco Roca. He sent the puck flying back to Fletcher, who gunned it toward the goal. Douglas caught up with Fletcher but was immediately body checked by Taylor.
“Fucker!” Douglas shouted at him.
“Suck a big one, Dougie,” Taylor shot back.
“Only if it’s yours,” Douglas replied, making a kissing noise to taunt him.
Coach blew her whistle. “That’s enough, boys.
None of that talk on the ice. Save it for the bedroom,” she chastised.
Fletcher laughed as he shot the puck towards the goal but missed.
Taylor took possession and passed it to Roca.
Fletcher sped to catch up with him, but he had Leering on his tail.
Roca made a clean pass to Fletcher, and he could feel Leering narrow in on him, putting him in a vulnerable position.
Taylor wedged himself between the two of them, which gave Fletcher enough space to make a shot and score.
“Beautiful, Armstrong! Now do that every time,” Taylor said, skating over to him. He looked at Fletcher with a genuine smile, patting his back. They tapped their sticks together before getting back into the ready position.
Fletcher faced off with Douglas again but ended up losing because he couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that for the first time ever, he had seen Taylor really smile. One way or another, Fletcher would chip away at the guy’s rock-hard exterior.