Page 58 of Melting the Ice

Elliott and Malcom were sort of like oil and water, which was why it was so odd that they’d ended up on the same lineandit was working out.

Mal took nothing more seriously than practice.

He always brought his A-game. He reminded Brody a little of Dean, with his single-mindedness.

But Mal didn’t say anything, just scuffed his skate on the ice and didn’t meet Elliott’s entreating gaze.

Coach had to know he was pushing them all, and pushing them hard.

But Brody wasn’t sure Coach cared how hard it was, not when he’d already said half a dozen times they shouldn’t just want to get better, theyneededto get better.

Same was true of most of the coaches in the NHL, too.

And that’s what you’re in for, a lifetime of this.

Brody knew he should’ve been enjoying the tough expectation that he play at a certain level, but instead, all he did was resent it.

This used to be fun.

The weird thing was that most everyone else seemed to be there. Even Ramsey, who Brody had never seen work so hard, was excelling.

He felt like the only one dragging his skates.

“Again,” Coach said, waving around the ice. “And this time, take the fucking shot, Elliott.”

Elliott made a face after Coach had turned, heading back to the boards to watch.

They ran the play again, but this time Brody made sure that Malcom couldn’t get the puck to Elliott in the same way, and then he stole it, passing it over to Ramsey, who cleared it easily.

Elliott made a frustrated noise, threw up his hands and his stick, and skated off, right as the buzzer sounded, indicating the end of practice.

Brody knew he should go after him—it had always seemingly fallen to him to counsel and mentor the younger guys, because he was good at it and before this year had actually enjoyed it—but this time, before he could, Ramsey grabbed his arm. “Let me,” he said.

Brody raised an eyebrow. “You’re gonna talk sense into him?”

“Better than Mal, who might kill him. Or Coach B, who doesn’t understand him. Or you.”

Brody didn’t ask Ramsey why he would be a bad choice, because obviously Ramsey had seen the change in him, he just hadn’t said anything about it.

Yet.

Trudging into the locker room, Brody shucked his gear, headed to the showers, and when he got out, Zach was leaning against the locker next to his. Ramsey’s unoccupied locker. He must still be talking to Elliott.

“Hey,” Zach said. “Coach wants to see you, if you’ve got a minute.”

If you’ve got a minutewas complete bullshit, because Brody couldn’t imagine blithely telling their assistant coach that he was too busy to see Coach Blackburn.

Well, hecouldimagine it, but he didn’t think it would go down well.

Or at all.

“Sure,” Brody said. He still had a few hours of homework he had to tackle, but he’d make time to see Coach first.

Not that he wanted to. A sick feeling bloomed at the base of his stomach, sudden worry that Ramsey wasn’t the only one who’d clocked his disinterest and subsequent forced interest.

You should be fucking grateful at how lucky you are. You know how many people would kill for this opportunity?

He knew. But it didn’t seem to convince him any better that he still wanted it.

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