Page 14 of Slap Shot Daddies

His presence is commanding, and it sweeps across the room like a tidal wave. "All right, shut up and listen," he barks, his voice cutting through the air with the precision of a whip cracking.

Instantly, the laughter that filled the room evaporates, leaving a charged silence in its wake as we all pivot our attention toward him.

It’s time to focus on something other than the Vet.

CHAPTER THREE

Ambrose

As I steponto the gleaming ice, the biting cold air nips sharply at my cheeks as my skates etching crisp, precise lines into the freshly resurfaced rink.

The distinct aroma of chilled ice, mingled with the musky scent of sweat and faint traces of rubber wafting from the boards, fills my lungs as I take my initial strides.

The sharp, rhythmic slice of blades against the icy surface reverberates throughout the arena, yet there's an undeniable sluggishness to the guys' movements, as if they're moving through molasses.

They're merely coasting, gliding leisurely as if in a trance. I tighten my grip on my stick, the familiar feel of the tape rough under my hands, and survey the ice.

Lazy, lackadaisical passes crisscross the rink. Shots are soft, lacking power and precision.

Skating drills are done half-heartedly, as if they're still languidly easing into warm-up mode instead of tackling this session with the intensity of real practice.

I’m not having it.

"Pick it the hell up!" I command, my voice cutting through the cold air as I skate hard toward the net, propelling a sharp pass directly at Braden's blade.

The puck slices through the air with speed and precision, but he fumbles it, caught off guard by the force behind it. I fix him with a stern, unyielding stare.

"You sleeping out here or what?"

Braden scoffs, his cheeks flushed from the cold as he regains control of the puck. "Chill out, man," he retorts, attempting to brush off the moment.

"No. You chill out. Then you get your ass beat in a real game because you weren't ready for a pass," I fire back, my words hanging in the chilly air like a warning.

A few of the guys chuckle, their breath visible in the crisp atmosphere, but I notice Reggie giving me an approving nod, his eyes gleaming with understanding.

Tyler exhales dramatically, a cloud of vapor escaping his lips as he mutters, "Fine, Dad," under his breath, adjusting his grip on his stick with a resigned determination.

I smirk, feeling a wave of satisfaction. Good. Now they're awake, every sense sharpened, ready for the intensity of the game.

As we execute another play, a sudden flash catches my eye at the edge of the arena. I glance up to see the animal trainers seated in the stands, working with a vibrant bird, a brilliantly-colored macaw that I know they use for promotional stunts during games.

The handler extends her gloved hand, trying to entice the bird into a graceful flight across the ice to another trainer waiting on the opposite side.

However, the stubborn creature has other plans. Instead of gliding smoothly to its intended destination, the macaw takesoff erratically, its colorful wings flapping wildly with a burst of energy.

It veers sharply left, then abruptly right, before shooting straight upward into the shadowy rafters, its vibrant plumage a blur against the dim ceiling.

A few of the guys on the ice notice the commotion and chuckle at the spectacle. "Looks like someone didn’t get the memo," Braden remarks, tapping his stick playfully on the ice.

I shake my head, amused, as I watch the handlers below frantically attempt to recapture the macaw's attention. They raise food enticingly, whistle sharply, and call out its name, their voices echoing in the arena.

Yet, the bird seems to have its own agenda, swooping down toward the rink with a mischievous gleam in its eye.

This should be entertaining.

We’re in the middle of a drill, the sound of skates slicing through the ice echoing through the rink, when suddenly, a burst of vibrant red and blue feathers streaks across the frozen surface like a comet.

“Heads up!” a voice shouts, cutting through the air.

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