Page 2 of What If I Knew You

Oh well. That’s the least of my worries now. It’s time to show off my skills once again to prove to these guys that I’m just as much of a player as they are. I’ve been busting my ass during our preseason to show these guys what I’m made of and that I can live up to my hot-shot reputation. I can be a monster on the ice, but every time I go for something flashy or try something they’re not used to doing, they roll their eyes or give me a tough time about it. They don’t seem too interested in Bodhi Roche the superstar hockey player.

Maybe the joke’s on them because that’s who they hired.

I’ve spent years refining my strengths and eliminating most of my weaknesses. I’m bringing notoriety to the Anaheim Stars. They’re lucky to have me.

When I was in Boston, if we won it was because Bodi Roche scored or assisted in more goals than anyone else. If we lostit was because Bodhi Roche had a bad night. Why they put so much pressure on me as the new guy when there were older, more experienced players on the team I’ll never know. But when you come onto a team as a college superstar, and the franchise expects a lot from you, you do what you’re told. When I started in Boston I was told to skate fast and score goals and that’s what I did.

I won.

Because I’m a winner.

These Anaheim guys though, they don’t seem to give a shit about that.

They have no interest in my stats as a player.

And none of them seem to give two shits that I’m out here on the ice with them trying everything I can think of to show them what I can do. I’m showing off all my skills during this morning’s practice, but it’s almost like I’m not even here.

Maybe they’re all jealous of my pickle pants.

“Hit the break, Roche! Hit the break!” Coach Hicks shouts as I speed down the ice. “Be the double threat. Give yourself the opens.”

“Ugh, I don’t need to be a double threat when I can fucking sink the puck right now.”

Harrison Meers swings up behind me and caps my shoulder with his gloved hand. “We don’t give a damn how fast you can skate, kid.”

“Well, you should because I’m faster than a lot of you.”

Oliver chuckles from a few feet away. “Mmkay.”

“Fast is nice,” Barrett says from the net, irritated. “But it doesn’t get the job done when you end up missing the pass or worse, you miss nine out of the ten shots you take.”

Fuck.

He’s not wrong, I suppose.

I have missed almost every shot I’ve taken today.

I’m blaming the damn pickle pants.

“We don’t need a superstar out here, Bodhi!” Hicks shouts when he sees I’m talking to Harrison and Barrett. “The guys need a reliable teammate. Someone who can shoot when he knows he can and pass when it’s best for the team.”

And here lies the difference between the Boston Brews and the Anaheim Stars. Boston didn’t stress much about being a team. They wanted to breed star players and that’s what I was for them. I’m not going to lie, it’s a little aggravating that these guys don’t seem to appreciate my competence on the ice. I worked my ass off in Boston in hopes that when my contract was up, I could finally find a team that would accept me for who I am and what I can bring to the franchise.

Anaheim was one of my top five dream teams, so when my agent called and told me I received an offer from the Stars, I was stoked. They’ve had a winning record and haven’t traded a player in the past four seasons. That has to mean something in terms of how this team functions on and off the ice and over the past few weeks I’ve seen it firsthand. These guys aren’t just a team.

They’re a family.

Walking into a team that is as tightly bonded as these guys are though, that’s a hard door to step through. They’ve been welcoming, yes, but I can tell I’m not really part of their family just yet. I’m like their annoying little brother that they’re forced to play with. They’ve set their bar high and I know it’s my job to do all I can to reach it.

“Run it again,” Hicks commands.

“Nice job out there, Pickle Pants,”Griffin says to me when we enter the locker room after practice.

I toss my glove on the bench in front of me not sure if Ollenberg is being sincere or sarcastic. “Could’ve fooled me.”

Griffin cocks his head, pursing his lips. “Aww is someone a little butthurt that he didn’t get to be the super star out there?”

I stand a little taller and puff my chest. “I’m damn good on the ice. You know it and I know it.”

---