Page 75 of Released from the Sin Bin

I'm just as scared of stepping on the ice as I was the first time I played here at Drexton Hall.

Coach Renan must’ve warned the team. Either him or Carter, because I’m greeted with cheers from all the guys. I make a small curtsy with my boot and crutch for them.

The crutch is for extra support in case the boot slips.

“Alright,” the head coach shouts and blows his whistle. “Let’s get to work. You can move to the bench once they break off into a scrimmage.” He nods at my anti-slip shoe. “I can’t imagine you being able to move too fast in those.”

“They’re good, but they’re not that good.” I scan the ice, watching the guys warm up and stretch.

Carter winks at me as he switches to his left into a lunge.

For the most part, I observe their routine. I’ve seen it before, but I’m not comfortable enough to step in yet.

The skate coach lines half the guys up to run a drill. Timing each one from goal line to goal line.

“Finn,” I call out for him to come to me. He takes his helmet off and runs his hand through his curly orange hair while skating over. “You're bending too much.” I tap my crutch on his skate. His right ankle bends when he skates, causing him to slow down. “Do some strengthening exercises and keep it straight. You’ll get more speed that way and it’ll help prevent any injuries.”

“Aye. Thanks Will…I mean Coach.” He smiles before skating away.

“Is anyone giving you trouble?” I jump at the sound of Carter’s voice behind my back.

“No.”

“Good.” He scrutinizes his team while towering over me. “If they do, let me know. I’ll take care of it.” He keeps watching over them, nodding as if planning it out in his head.

“Shouldn’t you be running drills?” I give him my best strict coach face.

He squints down at me, ready for the challenge, but I push him away before I crack as an unsettling feeling grips my gut.

“Go. Get out of here.” I order him to leave me alone. He was making me nervous.

He laughs and skates away to work on blocking with Coach Greardon.

Coach Renan gives me a nod when I glance at him. I’m not sure what I’m supposed to be doing, but as long as I have his approval, I’ll keep doing it.

I’ve been giving tips here or there when I notice something. Calling the guys over to me, because it’s easier than trying to catch up with them.

“Bray,” I call out to Carter’s little brother. He ignores me. “Braydon.” He looks but doesn’t come over. He hears me.

Coach Renan peers over at me to see what I’m going to do.

I can’t back down.

“Pierce,” I shout louder, but he still ignores me. I didn’t get a whistle yet, and Coach Renan steps forward with his raised to save me, but that would be even more embarrassing.

Using my fingers, I raise them to my mouth and let out a loud, ear-piercing whistle. A very handy trick my dad taught me years ago.

Everyone stops. All the sound from sticks hitting pucks, guys joking with each other and skates scraping the ice stop.

“Braydon Pierce,” I shout so everyone can hear. “Your ice time is shit and you’re too slow to keep up with any of these guys.” He pushes away from the wall, ready to come at me. “Bend your knees through the glide. You’re giving up halfway down the ice and slowing down because you’re afraid of the stop.” He scoffs, but doesn’t dare say anything, not in front of everyone. His attitude is worse than Carter’s.

“Don’t listen to me if you don’t want to.” I keep going, because this goes to everyone. “But you’ll never get drafted if you aren’t getting enough time on the ice during a game. There are hundreds of guys out there that wish they could be where you are, and several of them are already here, ready to take your spot.”

There’s a moment of complete silence before someone claps, followed by the guys tapping their sticks on the ice and cheering to agree with me.

Their attention is making me blush, but I hold my hand up to accept their encouragement.

“Alright,” Coach Renan blows his whistle, “get back to those drills.”

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