Page 6 of On the Power Play

Country knocked him into the boards, and Jack scrambled to catch back up. Probably not the best idea to get injured at practice before he signed an NHL contract in the morning. Jack paired up with Mike for passing drills, then wove with Brett and Tyler against Mike and Darcy in three-on-two.

"You find a new guy yet?" He asked Sean as they grabbed pinnies for a scrimmage.

"Nope. Especially not with your skillset."

“Well, impossible to match that."

Sean rolled his eyes, but before he could skate back to centre, Jack stopped him. "I'm sorry to leave you hanging, bud."

"Sorry? I'm not. You get to play for the Blizzard. Hell, I'd ditch every last one of you in a heartbeat to get that kind of opportunity."

When he was younger, that may have been true. Sean was now in his late thirties and probably hadn't considered a pro career since his first grey chest hair. Jack, on the other hand, hadn't ever stopped thinking about it. How he'd come so close, and the opportunity had slipped through his fingers. It was something every guy on the Snowballs probably went through at some point, but he hadn’t ever arrived at acceptance.

Jack jumped into the scrimmage, immediately receiving a pass from Sean and darting toward the goal. He was met by a solid check from Darcy, sending him flat on his butt.

"Just prepping you now for the big leagues." Darcy stole the puck and took off.

Minutes later, Jack fought for a breakaway and deked Darcy so hard, his knees buckled. He took Boyd in goal one on one, faking to the left followed by a quick shot to the right. The puck slammed into the back of the net with a satisfying thud. Darcy muttered something under his breath as he skated past the blue line, which was all the win Jack needed.

He couldn't wipe the grin off his face as they finished up practice an hour later and retreated to the dressing room. Jack stripped off his equipment and base layer that stuck to him like a second skin. His feet slapped against the tile as he found a spot against the wall and started the shower.

He tested the spray and waited for it to warm up before stepping into the water, then hunched and dropped his head to let the stream wash over him. He never understood why shower heads weren't higher on the wall at the arena. The only people who used them were athletes.

"Where is the ink going?" Country nodded toward his left arm.

Jack flipped his wrist to reveal a patch of bare skin on the inside of his bicep. He was covered from wrist to shoulder with tattoos he'd collected since his first year out of high school, but this spot had always been saved for his first NHL team. Last Christmas, his dad had asked if he was going to fill it with something else.

"It's going to hurt like hell," Brett called out from the next shower slot down.

Tyler scoffed. "He's got about two hundred percent more tattoos than you, bud. I think he's aware."

Brett filled his hand with foamed soap from the dispenser. "Don't call Bowen to hold your hand. He’s terrible with needles."

"I thought I'd call that girl from Curtis's party." Jack forced a smile, pretending he had the least bit of interest in some girl he’d met at a bonfire.

"Who? Rhonda?" Country asked.

Jack scrubbed soap into his scalp. "She was funny." That part was true. He’d met plenty of girls who were pretty and charming over the past three years. It didn’t matter. His heart had been sealed up, and he wasn’t planning to open it up to fresh air and sunlight anytime soon.

Country rinsed and shut off his water. "I think you're a little late. She's got a thing for this doctor who lives by Anne and Tina."

"But now I'm an NHL player. I think that trumps saving lives." He was good at playing the part. Making sure nobody worried about him. Even though the guys were solid, none of the Snowballs knew about his past. The desire to open up about his deepest, darkest wounds had never sparked at practice.

Country laughed as he wrapped a towel around his waist and stalked back to the benches. "Definitely lead with that."

Jack finished washing and stood under the hot water a minute more before turning off the shower and drying off. He inspected the uneven tiles with discoloured grout under his feet and inhaled the scent of the soap that was distinct to those dressing rooms. He searched for something else to laugh about.

That was his last practice with the Snowballs. His chest tightened as he walked back to his locker and started to dress.

André's voice lifted above the sound of splashing water and jostling of equipment. "Tu voulais quelqu'un de solide, Quelqu'un qui sait où elle réside. Mais de ce qui suivrait, nous ignorions le pacte. Je suis désolé. Je t'en prie, c'est un fait!" He whooped and swung a towel around his his head. "They never play the French version in Calgary, and listen!" He stood on the bench and pointed at the speaker buried in the ceiling tiles.

"Is that Delia Melise?" Ryan ran his towel over his long hair, then shook like a shaggy dog.

"Is it—?" André pursed his lips and planted his hands on his still-naked hips. "You ask like she's not the sexiest girl to come out of Quebec in a hundred years?"

"I thought she was from Toronto?" Boyd pulled on his shirt.

"She was born in Quebec City, and it counts." André stepped down off the bench, joining in at the chorus with abrasive volume and intermittent arm motions.

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