Page 10 of Pucking Sweet

I smile, hefting my portable office back onto my shoulder. “Sports at this level is never just about the sport, Rachel. It’s about everything else. Our most important game this year won’t be played on the ice. It’s about winning the hearts and minds of the people of Jacksonville. We need to let the hockey world see that the Rays are here to play, and we’re here to stay.”

That’s my job this year, to put the Rays on the map. That’s why Mark hired me. And I can’t fail him. If I do, he won’t be renewing my contract next year. I have exactly one year to show this team and this city what I can do.

One year.

No distractions. No mistakes.

Let’s do this, Poppy. Winners never quit.

4

My heart races as I skate into the corner, chasing after the puck. There’s only two minutes left in this exhibition game, and my team is winning—not that the points actually matter. We’re all just out here showing the coaches what we can do.

I beat Walsh to the puck, elbowing him into the boards. Then I slap the puck behind the net over to Novy and he bats it out of the corner. As one, we dig our toe blades into the ice, launching back toward the blue line.

Gripping my mouth guard between my teeth, I slide to a stop, surveying the action. Our forwards are clumped around the net, looking for one last score.Good luck.Mars Kinnunen is a two-time Stanley Cup-winning goalie. As I watch, he easily catches the puck in his glove, stopping the action. It gives me a moment to breathe and assess.

Hockey is a highly technical sport, which is why I love it so much. It’s about input and output. My body is my machine, and each input and output helps it to work at peak efficiency—nutrition, exercise, hydration, sleep. Everything is flowing today, and I’m feeling great. Muscle memory is good. My legs are strong. Lungs and heart are working in rhythm. My recovery time between shifts feels well-regulated. This is definitely the best I’ve felt in years, and it’s showing. I’ll be shocked if the coaches don’t start me.

The game ends, and Novy skates over to me, grinning around the blue mouth guard hanging out of his mouth. “If that doesn’t secure us starting spots, I don’t know what will.”

“Compton and J-Lo are skating well too,” I hedge, glancing to the bench where Jean-Luc Gerard, our most senior defenseman, is chatting with the equipment manager. Jake Compton skipped this game altogether, but he doesn’t have to worry. He’s flashy and strong and well worth the millions the Rays paid to trade him in.

“I bet they take second pair,” says Novy. “No way the coaches don’t pair us up. We’re dynamite together. Just like old times, eh?”

I shrug. Nothing is sure in this sport. I’m playing, and that’s all that matters. Whether I’m first pair or third, I know I’ll be on the ice for another season, and I’m grateful. “Hey, great assist,” I say. “That’s gotta feel good, eh? Scoring on Kinnunen?”

“Nah, Mars was distracted,” he replies. “Doesn’t count if the tendy lets you have it.”

“Well, you can guarantee the Canes won’t let us have a damn thing next week.”

I follow him off the ice and back to the dressing room. It’s noisy and high energy as we all get changed. Metallica blasts through the speakers as I shrug out of my gear, handing off the pieces that need to go to the laundry to one of the waiting EMs.

“Hey Sanny, where’s your DLP?” Novy calls from the stall next to me. The stall on the other side of him belongs to Compton. All his gear is stacked neatly inside, untouched.

Caleb Sanford, our assistant equipment manager, just shrugs, taking my practice jersey. “DLP” stands for “domestic life partner.” It’s what all the guys call Compton because of how close they are. “No idea,” he says. “He was supposed to be back from the DMV already.”

“Hey, we should all hang out this weekend,” says Novy. “Let’s grab dinner or something, celebrate the end of training camp.”

“The team is going to Rip’s tonight,” I reply.

“Yeah, I’m sayingweshould still celebrate,” Novy replies. “You know, just us?”

“Who’s us?” Davidson asks from the other side of me. He’s the backup goalie and he’s weird as fuck. The guy always eats these crunchy, everything-flavored bagel crisps, giving him permanent bagel breath.

“Not you, Dave-O, that’s for damn sure,” Novy replies. “This is a D-man only invite.”

“Sanny’s not a D-man,” Davidson says, unbuckling his pads.

“Yeah, but he’s Compton’s emotional support friend, so we gotta invite him to all the barbecues,” Novy replies, making Sanford smirk.

“He shouldn’t be on all the group chats either,” Davidson mutters.

Novy digs in. “Aw, you jealous there, bud? Well, how ’bout this:Prove you can grow a personality better than you can grow that lip lettuce on your face, and we’ll add you to the blue line group chat. Deal?”

Davidson glares at him before shuffling off.

I give Novy a wary look and he shrugs. He likes to joke, and he loves to chirp. But sometimes he doesn’t know where to find the line, and he skates right over it into full asshole zone.

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