Page 11 of They All Puck Me

“Pass it to your left!” Liam yells, frustration seeping into his voice.

I force myself to focus, sending the puck toward Noah. It’s too hard and too fast. He misses it by a mile.

“Damn it, Ethan,” Noah mutters under his breath, skating to retrieve the puck.

“Reynolds!” Coach Bergman’s voice booms across the ice.

“I fucking got it,” I snap back, trying to keep my cool. But inside, anger boils over.

We run through the drill again and again. My passes are off-target, my timing is shot. Each mistake feels like a knife twisting in my gut. The tension on the ice thickens with every missed opportunity.

"Alright practice is over. You're playing like a bunch of fucking amateurs out there and I can't stomach watching it anymore." Coach yells.

The ice is cold beneath my skates, but the tension in the air burns hot. We're cooling down, skating lazy laps around the rink. I try to shake off the frustration, but it's clinging to me like a second skin.

Liam skates up beside me, his eyes drilling into mine. "Look," he says in a low voice, "I don't know what kind of game you're playing, but it stops now. We're fighting for the Cup, and I won't let you jeopardize that."

I stop, my fists clenching at my sides. "You think I'm trying to mess this up? I'm here to win, just like you."

Noah joins us, his usually friendly face hard. "Yeah, man. You're here now, so either get with the program or get out."

I bristle at his tone. "It's been one fucking practice," I snap back. "Give me a damn chance?—"

Liam cuts me off, his voice sharp. "This isn't about chances. It's about results. We need you to play as part of the team, not a lone wolf."

"I'm not an idiot, I know how to be part of a team," I say through gritted teeth.

"Do you?" Noah challenges. "Because from where we're standing, it sure doesn't look like it."

Before I can retort, Coach Bergman's whistle pierces the air. He calls us in with a wave of his hand.

The confrontation ends abruptly as we skate over to him. The rest of the team gathers around, sweat glistening on their faces and determination burning in their eyes.

"To the locker room, NOW!" Bergman orders. I decide I'm going to leave my pads on, because I have a feeling we're about to get our asses chewed out.

The team meeting drags on forever, filled with Coach Bergman's gruff commands and my teammates' thinly veiled hostility. I'm exhausted and frustrated, the adrenaline from practice slowly ebbing away. As the others filter out, I linger, pretending to fuss with my gear. I need a moment alone.

Once the locker room empties, I grab my bag and head for the exit. My mind races with everything that went wrong today, each mistake replaying in my head like a bad highlight reel. I push through the exit doors, head down, not paying attention to where I'm going.

I nearly collide with someone in the hallway. Instinctively, I reach out to steady myself—and them—before stepping back.

"Watch where you're going," I growl, trying to sidestep whoever it is.

The woman doesn’t budge. She stands her ground, her bright green eyes locked onto mine.

“Ethan Reynolds, right? I’m Olivia from the Minneapolis Star Tribune. I was hoping to get a few words with you about joining the Wolves.”

I scowl, my instinct to push past her. “Not interested.”

I step to the side, but she mirrors my movement, blocking my path. “Look,” she says, her voice firm but not unkind, “I know you’ve had a rough transition. But this is your chance to tell your side of the story. Don’t you want the fans to see the real Ethan Reynolds?”

Her directness catches me off guard. I study her face, expecting judgment or disdain, but all I see is genuine interest. Something in her expression makes me hesitate.

“Fine,” I say gruffly. “Five minutes.”

Olivia's face lights up with a smile that catches me off guard. It's like the sun just broke through the clouds, and for a second, I forget where I am.

"Great! Actually, I'm here to do individual interviews with the first line. Why don't you join us? It might help smooth things over with your teammates."

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