Page 87 of Hat Trick

I’ll say I’m a dedicated fan boy. She’ll never know.

Sully

It’s a shame I didn’t get drafted by Utah. Life would be much better.

Mavvy

You don’t mean that, Goalie Daddy.

Sully

No, he doesn’t and this is Piper responding and letting you all know he secretly smiles when he reads the group chat but now I have to hide because he’s throwing me over his shoulder for telling you that and hfsdfuew798ytfu89ji14

G-Money

Goalie Daddy really loves us.

This is the best day of my life.

* * *

November turns to December,and the boys have put together a 15-17 record during the first two months of the season. I’m feeling better both mentally and physically, and I’ve successfully gone four weeks without getting on my hands and knees and begging Lexi to let me fuck her again.

Boy, am I proud of myself.

After the initial awkwardness wore off, things got back to normal. She keeps kicking my ass in the training room, I keep showing up, and we talk like the sex didn’t happen.

It’s for the best: the longer I think about the night we were together, the more tempted I am to pull her underwear out of my drawer and jerk off to it.

Last I checked, that’s not veryfriendlybehavior, and I like how things are going. I don’t want to fuck anything up by acting like a goddamn creep.

“Mitchell,” Coach calls out, and I glance his way from where I’m sitting on the bench watching morning skate.

“What’s up?” I ask.

“Come by my office when we’re finished here. I want to talk to you about something.”

“Ooooh, Mitchy is in trouble,” Ethan sings out from the stickhandling station he and a few other guys are in, and Coach glares at him from center ice.

“We were going to wrap up today with some easy skating and a light half-ice game, but since Richardson wants to run his mouth, we’re going to run a corner to half wall two v one drill where he’s the single player. Again and again and again without a break. The first pair who connects on four consecutive passes in a row without Ethan stealing the puck gets to sit out of morning skate tomorrow,” Coach says, and everyone groans.

“My quads are fucking smoked,” Grant whines, skating toward the bench to grab a sip of Bodyarmor from his bottle. “Ethan never shuts the fuck up.”

“Be the first to not let him steal the puck.” I stand and lean over the boards so I can have a good viewpoint of the drill. They’re going to be confined to a small area on the ice, and I don’t want to miss everyone trying to kick Ethan’s ass. “You can do it.”

“My passes have been shit this year. I have two assists—that’s almost last in the league. And I’m notorious for turnovers after missing a pass. Any pointers?” Grant asks.

“You know I’m a defense guy, but you need to expand the area where you can receive the puck. You’re not going to get a tape to tape pass every time, so you can’t be afraid to adjust your grip to try to keep your blade on the ice. Here. Let me see your stick.”

“All yours, Mitchy.”

Grant tosses me his CCM stick, and I flip it in my hands. I inhale sharply as I run my palms down the length of the carbon. It’s the first time I’ve held one since the night of the accident, and I squeeze my eyes shut to hold back a sob.

After so much time away, it’s like coming home.

My thumb rubs over the tape on the handle, and I grip it tight.

“Okay.” My voice shakes. “Let me get on the ice.”

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