Page 63 of Switching Skates
I shrug. “Or I’m just smart in ways you couldn’t even understand.”
My stupid remark earns a smile from her as she shoves me toward the door.
“Get out ofmyroom.”
“As you wish, Sunset.” I wink and walk backward out of the door, giving her a two-fingered salute.
Phew. I skate onto the ice in my full gear, feeling like a new man. Thank fuck this whole thing ended the morning of practice because I would have secretly died inside to watch Daphne skate for me again.
I’m so proud of her for how she did, but this is my life, and not being able to do it myself would have been brutal to watch.
“Maaaase.” Brock skates onto the ice and glides over to me, smacking the back of my helmet with his glove. “It feels good to be back!”
“Hell yeah, it does.” I smile from ear to ear, skating toward the net at the left side. “I missed this so much.”
He looks at me weird. “I mean, we were just scrimmaging a few of days ago.”
Oh shit.
“Yeah, but that wasn’t likepractice, practice, you know?” I correct myself.
He scoffs. “Yeah, now we just get to get yelled at while we do it.”
I laugh and toss my water bottle on top of my net, starting my usual routine of carving up the ice in my crease.
“Yeah, get it, Mason! Do your little dance!” Chet cheers me on as he skates over to us.
Coach Hynes, our head coach, blows his whistle, summoning everyone over. Abandoning my post, I skate over with the guys, crowding around the bench where our coaches are waiting.
“Welcome back, boys!” Coach Hynes claps his hands. “Coming off of a big season last year, we have quite the reputation to uphold, and we are doing it again this year. Repeat Frozen Four champions? I think that sounds pretty damn good.”
My team and I hoot and holler in agreement, smacking our sticks against the ice.
“Would we rather start with a scrimmage today or some drills?” he asks us honestly. “Blades up for drills. Handles up for scrimmage.”
Most, if not all, of us hold our handles up.
“All right. Split into two teams. Your choice this time. And just because it’s a scrimmage doesn’t mean you goof off. I want to see some hard work out there. Show us what you worked on over the summer and remind us why you earned your spots last year.”
He blows his whistle, and I head back to my net.
I don’t need to fight for a place on the ice right now. Everyone here knows I belong between the posts. I’ve earned it clearly over the last three years, but especially in the championship winning season last year.
I finish carving up and prepping my crease before working through some stretches to warm up while the rest of the players figure out what team they’re on.
My skin is buzzing, goose bumps breaking out everywhere as one of our assistant coaches skates onto the ice with a puck, and the first two lines set up for puck drop.
Let’s fucking go.
He blows the whistle, and they’re off. My team wins the face-off and heads to the other end of the ice. I stand up for a brief second, doing a couple of quick squats to stretch out my hamstrings.
We don’t score, and they start taking off down the ice toward me. One of our new guys—a freshman—leads into the zone with the puck, and Brock skates wide toward my right side.
Our defenders are right with them, not letting them get an easy shot off. There is something special about a team that meshes so well together.
My defenders know exactly where to stand without blocking my view of the puck. We’re like water, flowing back and forth with the movements of our opponents.
They try to get a quick shot, but my defender stops it, taking it to his thigh. We steal the puck and take off toward the goal.
