Page 27 of Forecasting the Forward

“It means he knows you’re jealous that he’s getting regular ass,” I explain.

Grant shrugs. “Thanks for the explanation, oh Captain, my Captain. But don’t you worry, Daws. I get it often enough. But Ifocus more on orgasms and less on stamina, so I can make that my focus from now on.”

I shake my head with a chuckle. I’m sure Grant fucks more than enough. He almost has a chip on his shoulder that he’s trying to erase by fucking it off. Even being a complete asshole to any woman he meets, they still line up ready to have their turn.

“Nally! Jax! On the ice in ten minutes!” Coach yells.

“Fuck,” Grant groans. “I forgot he wanted us in full gear today.”

A wave of nausea hits me. “I really think I might puke if he makes us do suicides.”

“Don’t even say that word out loud, man, or you’ll give him ideas,” Grant hisses. I’ve lost count on how many times suicides have made me puke.

They are miserable and every hockey player in the world hates them.

Quickly heading to the locker room, we put on our gear. It may look like we have a couple pads and two articles of clothing, but that’s not the case. We’ve got shoulder pads and a chest protector. A jock strap and elbow pads. Hockey shorts and socks are put on separately, but the shin guards go on first. Depending on what our schedule is, we have different jerseys, also called sweaters. Protective gloves and a helmet finish the ensemble. It’s a whole process, and every player has a routine for getting dressed. Some weirdos even go as far as putting their skates onbeforetheir pants. But don’t get me started on what goalies have to wear.

Grant and I are the last on the ice, and Coach glares at us menacingly. I hear Grant swear under his breath, and I put up a silent prayer that we don’t cause any more physical trauma to the entire team.

“You’re one minute late,” Gabe mutters.

“Alright, ladies,” Coach says loudly. “We’ve got our first pre-season game tomorrow. Gonna do a full scrimmage today to prepare.”

Multiple groans sound from my teammates, and Coach raises his eyebrows. “Oh? Is that a problem? I guess I could have you do a hundred suicides instead —”

“No!” Levi screams. “Scrimmage. We’re all excited for a full scrimmage.”

Coach mutters something quietly, then gestures for us to line up. Grant, Levi and I are the first line forwards, with me being the center. Coach warned me after our first pre-season game he will begin messing with the lines to see who I vibe with the best. I’m frustrated because I gel really well with Levi and Grant, but I know as Captain I need to be flexible, and aid where I’m needed.

The part I absolutely love about hockey is that I’m responsible for almost all of the face offs, and I love the anticipation of the puck dropping in front of me. I’m exceptionally quick getting the puck to my teammates.

I’ve always hated sports that take too long. You won’t catch me golfing, and I definitely don’t like baseball. Hockey is quick. We’re on the ice for less than a minute each shift. The puck is constantly getting batted around, and I love the speed at which things change.

Thrilled at not having to do any suicides, I skate my ass off during the scrimmage. I know how to work hard. It sets a good example for the rookies, and also lets them know that I’m not going anywhere. We’re still two players over roster, and my spot is secure. These guys must be nervous wrecks, this close to the start of the season, knowing two are going to be sent home.

After practice, I grab a quick shower, and once dressed, I get called into Coach’s office. “You wanted to see me, Coach?”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, typing something on his computer. When he finishes, he slams the laptop shut and turns to me.“You played harder today than most of last season. What’s the deal?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. Guess I was just happy for a scrimmage instead of suicides.”

A tiny smirk appears. “I’m sure everyone thought that, but you were on another level. You know your spot is secure, right?”

“I know. Maybe it felt like a real game today, and I’m excited to be back to the daily grind and the busy schedule.”

Coach studies me before sighing. “Who is she?”

“What?”

“The girl.”

“What girl?”

“Jax, no one looks forward to the busy hockey schedule unless they’re trying to get their mind off of a woman. Tell me who she is.”

I shake my head. “It doesn’t matter. She ghosted me, so it is what it is.”

Coach chuckles. “That’s the real issue. Someone didn’t fall at your feet.”

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