Page 17 of Fear of Falling

“I agree with Bry,” Trevor piped up. “You could have tried to track her down. I mean, you live in the same apartment building, how hard can it be? How long’s it been?”

“Three days,” I muttered.

“See?” Bryton continued. “Now I bet she regrets helping you out. I would have thrown you to the wolves.” I punched him in the arm, but he and Trevor only laughed.

I didn’t want to admit it, but I knew they were right, and I was kicking myself for not doing something sooner.

“All we’re saying is do something about it soon before she slips through your fingers,” Bryton as he playfully returned my punch.

I will.

“Since when did the two of you become wise about women?” I joked, shoving past the two of them.

“We’ve always been wise, you've just never listened,” Bryton smirked. Since he was the only one of us with a girlfriend, maybe he was the wiser.

With fresh resolve I was determined to call the superintendent after practice, and find out what apartment she lived in.

“Thanks.” I didn’t need to say anything more than that—they were my best friends; they knew what I meant without me needing to say it.

We were almost done with our laps when I heard my name bellowed across the rink. Inwardly, I winced. I’d hoped Coach would let Friday slide.

“Oh, good luck,” Bryton patted my shoulder before he and Trevor took off, leaving me to deal with the wrath of Coach. Witha sigh, I skated towards him, knowing the sooner we got this conversation over, the better.

Coach stood behind the barrier; his arms crossed over his stocky chest. To say Coach Barnum was intimidating as hell was an understatement. He played in the League years ago and became coach of the Knights a few years before I joined the team. At 60, he was still in great shape. If his 6’2 frame wasn’t intimidating enough the scowl on his face was. I swear he could make a man want to bury himself with his expression. And right now, it was directed at me. It’s been a while since I was on the receiving end of it.

And I wanted to bury myself.

“Coach,” I greeted.

“Do we need to talk about what happened Friday?” I raised my eyebrows. I’d expected a roasting over the game, but something about his tone told me that wasn’t what he was talking about.

“Uh, what part?” I asked.

“How about the fact you left without a word to anyone. You know it’s a contractual obligation for the players to talk to reporters after a game. Instead, you left your teammates hanging.”

I knew I was in some pretty deep shit. After the game I was so caught up in my own head that I hadn’t considered the team.

“Sorry Coach I…”

“If you do it again you are benched for three games. Got it?” Coach cut me off.

I nodded—I knew better than to talk back. “Get your head out of your ass, Boone.”

“Yes, Coach.”

With that, he turned and stomped off towards the other end of the rink. With a long sigh, I leaned against the barrier, knowing it was no idle threat. Coach was a man of few words,but when he spoke, we all knew to pay attention. Besides, he was right. I needed to get my head out of my ass.

“Mathews, Perkins, Hall and Young you’re up!” Coach yelled. Beside me, Trevor and Bryton hopped over the boards and onto the ice. Because of our horrible losing streak, Coach decided that torture was the best method for today’s practice. We’d already sweated through an hour worth of drills, and by the looks of it, we were now about to have four on four scrimmages.

While I waited for my turn on the ice, I stretched out my knee and watched my teammates play. When I was younger, I thought I could play solo. That as long asIplayed well that’s all that mattered. I didn’t need to focus on my teammates—just the game. Thankfully, I soon realized how far from the truth that was.

You can be an incredible player but if you don’t learn your team, don’t learn how they move and play, you won’t win. The perfect time to do that was at practices. While sitting on the sidelines you can watch their feet work, how they move the puck, what side of their body they prefer when shooting. There’s something…magical when you click with your teammates.

On the ice, we had to be a close-knit group. We feed off each other. It was important to think like your teammates as you raced down the ice. We had to play as one, and if any player was off their game, then the whole team was too.

For thirty minutes, the first group of four played on the ice, Coach occasionally barking out names and plays. By time he called them off the ice they were all breathing hard.

When Coach turned and looked down at me, I knew I was in for it.

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