Page 23 of Player Problems

Energy thrums in my veins and adrenaline courses through my body.

It’s just an exhibition game. Doesn’t even count as the first game of the season. But it is the first time this team will be on the ice together.

New lines. New captain. New dynamics.

This is our first real test to see how we play together. How we hold up under pressure. A real chance to scope out our weaknesses and fortify our strengths. This game may not count, but it definitely matters. It sets the tone for the rest of the season and I’m determined we start it on a high.

It’s the only remedy for the brutal loss we took last season and we are hungry for the W.

I pour water into my mouth and feel the weight of an intense gaze on my face. Turning to the crowd, I spot Torryn almost instantly. She looks good in orange and gray. I wink at her, making a cocky smile spread across her face. She gives me a little finger wave. A new type of determination floods through me at her acting unaffected by my attention. We both know that isn’t true.

I’ve never lost my focus in a game, well, that’s not a hundred percent true. I shake the thought off. I’ve only ever lost focus once and it cost us dearly. I won’t let it happen again, but I also know Torryn won’t be able to tear her eyes off me while I play. I’ll make sure of it.

Coach’s whistle draws my attention back to the ice and away from the stands. The team exits the ice and heads back into the locker room. Tate skates just behind me, always making sure he’s the last one off the ice. I stop just before stepping off and reach back to bump my fist with his. He smirks as our knuckles touch and I hop off the ice and follow the rest of the team to the locker room.

Coach intercepts Tate and walks with him. The fifteen minutes between on-ice warm ups and pre-game introductions are integral for getting my head in the right space. We’re a superstitious bunch, and any variation from our routines is likely to throw us off. My desire for consistency tends to follow me outside of hockey as well. But game days are where it’s not just a want, it’s a need. A need that seems more intense than ever before after the failure of last season.

Slipping my headphones into my ears, I turn up the volume on my game day playlist, drowning out the chatter of my teammates. Coach has already gone over the goals of this game, the strategies he wants to implement, and the plays he wants us to practice. Five minutes before game time, I’ll lock back into my surroundings, not a second before.

Music blasts in my ears as I concentrate on my breathing, slow and deep breaths, while I check and fix the tape around my stick. My head bobs to the beat of the song as I re-lace my skates, first the left and then the right, tightening them even further. Rolling my ankles, I check to see how they feel, only stopping once I’m assured they feel secure.

These ten minutes are the only time I prefer the silence, the isolation. Normally, I find my peace in the middle of a crowd, being with friends, having conversations and laughing. It’s how I recharge, where I feel just about my best, the most at home. Being alone, stuck in my head, is boring. A mindfuck waiting to happen. A recipe for disaster in most cases. Wells always likes to joke he can’t leave me alone for too long or I’ll get myself into trouble. It’s not really a joke.

But for these ten minutes, being alone is exactly what I need. It gets my head in the game, keeps my focus centered. Pumps me up. I lean my head back against my locker and close my eyes. Visualizing the opposing team, their strengths from last season, running through the roster of who’s no longer on the team. I can feel my time running out and know Coach is about to call our attention for one last speech before we head back out on the ice.

I pull out my phone, scrolling through my playlist and find the song I’m looking for. The corners of my lips twitch as I see the familiar song title. My teammates can make fun of me as much as they like for my choice in music or that it has to be the same song I listen to right before we go back out there. Nothing pumps me up quite like …Ready For It? by Taylor Swift. Superstitions or not, what works works. And my girl, Taylor, always has my back.

The familiar thumping bass line reverberates through my body, making adrenaline rise as my heartbeat races. This is where I am the very best version of myself. On the ice, in the game, no doubts, no fears, just victories. Music keeps me centered, keeps my mind from wandering, helps my body prepare for the brutality and speed I need out there on the ice.

The song comes to an end as a hand falls on my shoulder. I don’t have to look up to know it’s Wells. As the final note sounds, I pull my headphones out and toss them and my phone into my locker. My eyes flash to Coach where he stands by the doors, onehand in the air. The boisterous locker room simmers down faster than should be possible for twenty-something college men. All eyes lock on Coach Wilson.

He nods his approval, dropping his hand to his side. “Alright, boys. You know what you’re supposed to do out there. Every game, every play, every possession. They matter. Each one counts, whether it’s an exhibition game or the championship game. We leave it all out there on the ice. Show me your best.” He claps his hands together, making a booming sound that echoes through the locker room. “Bring it in.”

As soon as the pregame intros are done Tate takes the goal and James leads us all past him, knocking helmets for luck before taking our places. James in the center, I take his right side while Wells takes his left. Beau closes out the line, knocking his helmet with Tate’s before hugging him and taking up his position on the blueline. Our entire team is in position before the other team’s skates have even hit the ice. They don’t want this the way we do. Aren’t in the game the way we are. They’re writing this off as a practice.

They’ll regret that.

I tap my stick against the ice, anxious for the game to get started so I can have somewhere to pour all this built up tension into. Like a too tightly wound coil, I’m ready to spring. To feel my skates glide across the ice, the bite of chill against my cheeks, the burn in my lungs as I push myself faster to reach the puck first.

James turns to look at me, I can just barely make out his manic grin around his mouth guard. He gives me a slight nod before turning to Wells who shrugs back. By the time the exchange has finished the other team is finally in their positions. It’s almost disappointing how out of shape they appear.

The referee blows his whistle and the puck drops. Fully trusting James to earn the possession, I don’t wait around towatch it happen, taking off across the ice to open our space and field of opportunity.

James cuts across the opposing player, opening up room for him to take the puck down the center. One of the defenseman rushes him, but he’s quick to pass the puck to Wells on his other side. I keep skating, dodging around their players, waiting for the pass I know is coming. Wells gets it off just as he’s slammed against the boards.

I shoot forward, grabbing the puck with my stick before the other defenseman has a chance to box me out. As soon as I have full control, I launch a shot at their goal and hold my breath.

Damn.

The puck finds his glove and the possession is turned over to the Bulldogs. Theo and Beau rush to the defense and I catch Coach hitting the boards from where he stands. Shifting my direction, I hop off the ice and Zac rushes past me, taking position. Wells and James are just moments behind me as the rest of the third line takes over.

Everything about this is unusual and feels weird. To be pulled so quickly, and replaced by the third line, but it’s all for a purpose. Get the younger players more minutes in the game, give them the chance to show us what they’re made of. A team is only as strong as our weakest link and there’s no better practice than playing.

I fall on the bench, Wells on one side and James on the other. I pour Gatorade into my mouth and let my eyes flick over the ice, following the moves and plays. It isn’t long before Beau and Theo are also pulled to be replaced. Even our third line is outmaneuvering their defense. They move up on the goal and the right winger snaps a pass to Zac at center forward, but he’s already ahead of where he sends the puck.

The second line goes out and replaces them and I focus on how they play together, the way our offense reads each otherand passes the puck between them. They’re good, in sync for the most part, but something is off. It isn’t coming to them naturally. Having to work on holding back or pushing harder to keep up. It’s not enough to disrupt the plays and they still take control of the game for the majority of their time on the ice until Coach calls for another line change. I hop up, patting the second line on their helmets as we pass each other.

Wells gets the puck almost instantly when he hits the ice, moving it up to create space and give James and I the time to get where we need to be. The plays between the three of us come with an ease that feels second nature. With a single look we can tell what the others are thinking, what they’re expecting, and what move they are about to make.

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