Page 37 of Second Chance with the Single Dad Goalie
Tomorrow has to be better, I whisper.
As I drift to sleep, the last thing on my mind is the cliffs, and Blake.
Chapter eight
Blake
Whoosh.
That’s the only sound I hear before my instincts kick in.
The puck zips across the ice like a bullet. I track it, knees bent, weight balanced. Jason winds up for a shot, his eyes locked on the top right corner of the net. I know his tells - I’ve seen that same move a hundred times.
I push off hard. My body reacts before my mind even processes it. The puck slams into my glove with a solid thwack.
“Not today, buddy,” I say, tossing it back.
Jason groans. “Man, I swear that was going in.”
“Swear all you want,” I smirk, “but the scoreboard still says otherwise.”
Liam skates by, tapping his stick against my pads. “That’s why he’s our goalie.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Jason mutters, skating off.
Whistle.
The sharp blast cuts through the rink, signaling the end of practice.
“Good practice, boys.” Coach says. “Hit the showers.”
I exhale, pushing off the goalpost and skating forward as my teammates start peeling away, their skates scraping against the ice. My legs burn, my shoulders ache, and my gear feels twice as heavy as it did two hours ago. Today was brutal.
We shuffle off the ice, heading into the locker room, where the stench of sweat and effort hits instantly. The room hums with the sounds of helmets clunking into benches, zippers unzipping, and exhausted sighs.
Tomas groans. “I think I forgot what walking feels like. My feet are officially skate shaped.”
We make it to the locker room, and the second we step inside, gear starts flying - helmets hitting lockers, jerseys peeled off, pads dumped in bags. The place smells like sweat, ice, and that weird mix of menthol and exhaustion.
"Jesus," Jason groans, pulling off his helmet. His hair is a sweaty mess. "Coach really tried to kill us today."
"Yeah, well, if we die, at least we’ll go down as legends," Tomas quips, flipping his stick over his shoulder.
I chuckle, tugging off my gloves. "Legends who couldn't survive a couple of drills?"
"A couple?" James snorts. "We did the skating drills, puck-handling, shooting, scoring, defensive plays…"
"Basically, everything short of running a marathon," Lucas adds.
Liam groans, stretching his arms. "Man, my legs are gonna feel this tomorrow."
I tap my stick against the ice. "Good. Means you actually did something."
He flips me off, but there’s no real heat behind it.
I chuckle as I pull my hoodie over my head. “Speaking of feeling like actual humans again, what do you all say to hitting up The Rustic Roost, later?"
Jason raises an eyebrow. "Why?"
