Page 63 of Slap Shot Daddies

Before I can respond, Ambrose glides over, his skates cutting sharp curves in the ice, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. “You two want to keep giggling like schoolgirls, or do you want to actually focus?” he demands, his voice carrying the authority of our captain. “You know, since we’ve got a game to win?”

Reggie snickers, unable to resist the urge to poke fun, but I straighten up, the seriousness of Ambrose’s words hitting home. He’s right.

Championship or not, I need to prove that I can keep my head in the game, both on the ice and with Kenzie. The stakes are high, and if I want both the trophy and her, I need to be at the top of my game in every way.

And I do want both, more than anything.

The adrenaline surges through me as I focus on the ice beneath my feet, ready to give it my all.

We glide over to the boards, our breaths coming in sharp, shallow gasps after a grueling drill that left us drenched in sweat.

Reggie, with a mischievous twinkle in his eye, nudges me with his elbow, a wide grin stretching across his face.

"I think it’s workin’, yeah? She’s warming up to us," he says, his voice brimming with excitement.

Ambrose props his stick against the boards and uses the back of his hand to wipe the sweat from his forehead, beads of perspiration glistening under the rink's harsh lights.

"She’s letting us in. Slowly, but it’s happening," he replies, his expression softening with hope.

A smile tugs at my lips as I think back on the long hours at the clinic, the shared dinners filled with laughter and stories. "The clinic stuff, the dinners… it’s all adding up. I think she likes us. Like, really likes us," I say, feeling the warmth of camaraderie.

Reggie lets out a bark of laughter, his Scottish accent becoming more pronounced with his enthusiasm. "Mate, she’s obsessed with us. Who wouldn’t be? Look at us!" He strikes a pose, flexing his arms exaggeratedly, and we all burst into laughter.

Suddenly, Coach’s voice ricochets across the rink, cutting through the air like a whip. “You three princesses done with your tea party? Get your asses moving!” he bellows, his tone demanding yet tinged with a hint of amusement.

We quickly break apart, chuckling softly under our breath. Ambrose mutters, “Huddle’s over,lads,” as we prepare to return to practice.

Our gloves meet in a series of enthusiastic high fives, the sound echoing off the rink walls, before we skate back into formation.

My legs scream with a familiar, welcome burn that reminds me we’re striving for greatness.

The championship cup looms in our minds, a shining beacon of our hard work, and maybe, just maybe, something equally rewarding awaits us off the ice.

After practice, I'm one of the last to emerge from the locker room.

The air inside is thick and humid, saturated with the melding scents of sweat and the steam rising from the showers.

I pull on my hoodie, its fabric cozy and warm a contrasts with the ever-present icy chill of the rink outside.

As I push the heavy door open I spot Kenzie, standing just outside.

Her complexion is rather pallid, and she's clutching her stomach, yet there's something undeniably cute about her in that oversized puffer jacket and snug leggings.

Her dark eyes widen, momentarily like a deer caught in headlights, as if my sudden appearance has startled her. She attempts to sidestep me, her voice a hurried murmur, “Hey, sorry, I just need to, ”

Before she can complete her sentence, she staggers forward unexpectedly.

In an instant, hot, sour vomit cascades down my chest, the unexpected warmth and acrid stench hitting me all at once.

“Oh shit!” I exclaim instinctively, stepping back in shock, though the damage is already done.

The acidic mess seeps into my hoodie, the pungency so overwhelming that it brings tears to my eyes.

Kenzie gasps, her hands flying to her mouth in horror. “Oh my God, Braden, I’m so sorry!” she cries, her face flushing a deep crimson.

Tears shimmer at the edges of her eyes, and it's clear she's on the brink of a meltdown, her distress palpable.

“It’s okay,” I respond quickly, trying to soothe her panic, even as I stand awkwardly in a small, unpleasant puddle. “Seriously, Kenz. Don’t worry about it.”

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