Page 14 of Neo

“If that Neo guy is supposedly so good, then why doesn’t he ever try taking a shot?” I lean in, asking Kennedy. “He keeps giving it to the nice one, Shane, or that other guy.”

“Neo’s a center. It’s literally his job to set up his teammates to make goals, but he makes them too. He’s just taking it easy tonight. Remember, this is not a real game, it’s just an exhibition.”

My chin begs to differ.

“Gotcha.”

“And let me be clear before you get the wrong idea. There are no nice ones on the team.”

The crowd stands to their feet and watches with bated breath as Neo gently maneuvers the puck between his opponent’s legs, sliding it to Shane, who then hits the puck powerfully into the net.

GOAL!

The crowd erupts, and I stand as well, clapping my hands for their success, the energy infectious.

“The Valencia ice mafia triad strikes again!” the announcer says.

I watch closely as the three boys on the ice hug each other and then celebrate with the rest of their teammates. At the moment, they don’t seem like a group of bad boys at all. Right now all they seem to be are three thrilled, oversized kids who have apparently won the local Santa Fest exhibition game for the third year in a row.

But I have to remember.

Looks can be deceiving.

“Well, I guess we better get back to the apartment and change,” Kennedy says.

“Change for what?”

“I always honor my bets.”

“Have a good time at the kickback then; there’s a large suitcase full of clothes to unpack and a cup of English Breakfast tea waiting for me back at the apartment.”

“Then they’ll have to wait a little longer.”

“Kennedy–”

I don’t remember her being this bossy in high school. Then again, I have to remember that I didn’t know her very well.

“I told you, roomie. I honor my bets and I don’t go anywhere alone, so you’ve got to tag along, too.”

I’m trying to think of what else I can say to talk my way out of this when her phone receives an incoming text that makes her smirk.

“What?” I ask, curious about her reaction.

“Our ride just texted me to be ready by eight.”

neo

I rarely bother talking tospectators at our games because I’m not here at VCU to make friends. I’m here to win hockey games and nothing else. If I had my way, I wouldn’t be at this university at all. I would have gone straight to the NHL from high school and skipped the entire college experience. But a successful fast track like that is only for a talented few players like my brother Jake, not guys like me.

Already scouted by the time he was sixteen years old. My older brother Jake had a sweet NHL contract waiting for him while he finished high school. The plan was, once he graduated, he’d go straight to the New York Rangers, my dad’s favorite team.

But I don’t have it so sweet.

Players like me have to take the long road to success, especially if you’re from the states, because there are so many international players who are light years ahead of us in skill and experience.

I have to stay in the gym longer, practice on the ice harder, and strategize differently than everyone else to prove that I’m worthy of a pro contract. Like my father has told me many times, “Nobody owes you anything, Neo. You’re the type of player who will always have to prove his mettle in the league.”

That’s why I lead my team with an iron fist. I don’t celebrate when we win. It’s expected. We’re not out there playing for penny bets, we’re playing for keeps. Do we blow off steam from time to time with a kickback at the ice house or a night out at the local bar? Hell, yeah. That’s how you keep morale up. But spending too much energy on a class, a girl, or on anything other than hockey for more than twenty-four hours is not recommended.

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