Page 82 of The Rebound Plan

Everyone else loops back to the end of the ice where the assistant coaches are. I heave myself up from my kneeling position and skate over to where our head coach is looking at his clipboard at the boards.

“Sir?”

He flicks a gaze at me. “You’re slow.”

My legs feel as fresh as they’re going to all fucking season. I’m not slower than they should expect me to be. “Yes, sir. I’ll be faster.”

“Tomorrow, you’re going to be skating with the B group.”

What the fuck? I haven’t stood out, maybe, but I’m a quality depth skater with size and weight on my side. There’s no fucking way I’m not starting on the third or fourth line on opening night, so why wouldn’t I train with the A group?

From across the ice, I see Tilman shift his focus our way from the drill they’re setting up to do.

Ah.

So apparently my quiet deference over the last two days wasn’t enough.

“B group,” I repeat. “You got a plan for me there?”

Coach’s eyebrows raise. “The same plan I have for you in every practice, bud.”

All right.

He jerks his head. “Get over there. Join your team.”

I queue up. One of the trainers skates over and runs over the drill, getting me up to speed as I watch Jenson take the pass on his forehand, switch the puck around to flick it behind him, then drop back and pick it up again before getting around the D-man in his way.

Clever puck work is never my first or even fifth go-to move. I want to smash my way into that defence man and ditch the puck to a faster teammate, but that’s not the moment I’m being asked to step up to.

It feels good to snatch the puck and drop it back. I don’t slow down and pivot fast enough, though, and the assistant coach running the play has snagged it away from me.

“Next time,” she says cheerfully. “Get back in line.”

“Not fast enough, big guy,” Tilman drawls as he skates past.

My shoulders come up, but I don’t reply. I just get in the queue again.

Then there’s a thump against my back as he rocks up behind me. “Did ya hear me, Rusty?”

“Sure did.”

“You can’t be slow this year.” He sounds so fucking cocky.

Shannon’s desperate plea echoes through my veins.I can't make this antagonistic. It would spiral out of control so fast.

She’s right that I can't interfere. Their marriage is so much more complicated than I understand and until she untangles from it, all I can be is her quietly steady friend.

Which means swallowing my frustration and shrugging. “Yep. Need to be faster.”

“Think you can do that? Think you can step up and be something you’ve never managed before?”

“We still talking about hockey?” I jerk around as Ty Connor shoves his way, casually, between us and grins at Max.

“Hockey’s the focus, don’t worry.” I say it to both of them, but also to myself.

And hockey requires that I put up with a shitty training camp. With being relegated to group B tomorrow. With keeping my head down and not taking bait.

Even if I’m ready to murder someone.

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