Page 9 of The Comeback

Sebastian

Jacksonslidesthepuckto me, and I slam my stick into the ice when I’m a fraction of a second behind the pass, not quite getting to the place he needs me to be. I haven’t gotten my groove back, and it’s frustrating.

My teammates are eying me with concern and sympathy. They understand how hard it can be to come back from an injury, but they also need to prove themselves. We’re not going to get to championships if I’m not carrying my weight. Even the new guy, Cole, is looking at me with a speculative gleam in his eyes. He’s a transfer from Florida, and there are rumors going around that he beat up a teammate and that’s why he ended up transferring to Lakeview. He’s the right winger on the second line, though, and I can almost see his brain whirling at my lackluster performance. If I fail, he could get my spot on first line. That’s all the team needs. A loose cannon tossed out on the ice to blow up our chance at a championship run. I stare him down until he looks away.

I hop off the ice at the end of practice and pull my helmet off.

“Fleet! See me in my office after you clean up.” Coach’s words slice into me, and I flinch.

Getting called into his office rarely means anything good and obviously, with the way I’ve been playing, he’s not going to be offering me any of his rare praise.

***

Undeserved anger creeps in at Jax’s sympathetic look and pat on the back as I leave the loud joking and general sweat stank of the locker room behind to meet my fate. I’d rather shove my nose in Lucy’s shoe and take a deep drag than go see Coach.

Coach looks up from behind the scattered piles of paper littering his desk, piercing me with his critical gaze.

I shift from one foot to the other in the doorway.

“Well, get in here. Sit down.”

I slump into the chair across from him, splaying my legs out and running a hand through my damp hair.

“Look, son, I know you’re getting back from an injury. You’ve got the all clear, and the doc says everything looks good.”

I cross my arms over my chest and nod, not liking the direction this conversation is heading.

“But you’re all up in your head right now and it’s interfering with your focus. I put you back on the first line because you’ve proven your talent in the past and I know how well you mesh with Jackson, Aspen, and the rest of the line. But if you can’t get yourself together before the season starts, I’m going to have to reconsider.”

Bile burns the back of my throat, and I swallow hard. This is worse than I thought if he’s considering bumping me. I’ll never get drafted if I don’t get the ice time to prove myself. Not to mention if I keep playing like crap. “But Coach…”

He holds up his hand. “I know it’s your senior year. I know how talented you are, but I need you to show me you’ve still got it.” He jabs at his chest to emphasize the point. “I won’t be doing you any favors if I put you out there when your playing is lukewarm. Maybe find something outside of hockey to take your mind off things. Nothing that’s going to take up too much time, of course, but get out of your head.”

A hobby outside of hockey. I haven’t had one of those since before high school. For some reason, my mind trails off to memories of playing board games with Abby. Those and our movie marathons are some of our best memories and pretty much how I spent all my non hockey time before high school. After that, I had to focus. I didn’t have time for extracurriculars in high school, and I don’t have time for them now. How does Coach think spending less time on the ice is going to help me?

“Sure,” I say. It’s better to agree with him than argue.

He narrows his eyes at me as if he can zero in on my thoughts if he stares hard enough. “I mean it, son. You belong on my first line. I want to see you succeed and I know you’ve got it in you, but the team comes first. We can make championships this year with the strength of the team, but only if the entire team is operating at 110 percent.”

I only roll my eyes on the inside. Coach loves that line. He loves to tell us to work at 110 percent. It’s done us well so far, but we haven’t quite made it to the top. They made it all the way last year, and lost in finals, but I wasn’t there for the highs or the lows. Honestly, after missing most of last year, a more realistic goal for me is to hit 150%.

“I got it.”

“Good. Now go. Relax, refocus, and come back recharged.” He gives me a curt nod in dismissal, and I head back out.

Jackson, Beau, and Dev are waiting for me in the locker room when I go back to grab my bag.

“We thought we’d grab a coffee before class. Sound good?” Dev asks.

I’m not really in the mood to hang around and chat after that abysmal practice, but it’ll look weird if I avoid my team/roommates.

“Sure.”

All Capps isn’t too crowded when we get there. It’s still pretty early, so I’m sure a lot of students are still sleeping. Bed would be nice, but hockey doesn’t leave a lot of room for sleeping in. I’m not sure I’m even capable of it. I’ve been going to the rink for early morning practice since I was a kid. Really, there’s nothing like the crisp smell of ice and the sharp bite of the cold air to get me going in the morning. I don’t even need coffee, but that doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy it.

The girl at the counter has a big genuine smile for us, asking how we’re doing. It’s not in the “OMG you’re on the hockey team sort of way.” Just a friendly conversation. I realize it’s part of her job, but it’s always nice when someone isn’t all over the hockey stars. I was into that my freshman year, but it gets old fast when girls are fawning all over you.

“Which class have you got first?” Dev asks, tipping his chair back dangerously. Jackson reaches over and shoves, sending him and the chair crashing to the floor.

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