Page 16 of Knot Your Rebel

“Possibly the illegal kind.”

“I’m down. Just tell me when and where.” He holds up his glove, and I tap it in solidarity. I figured he would be. Drake comes from the wrong side of the tracks, a foster kid most of his life. He’s rough around the edges and not afraid to get into it. He doesn’t back down, and over the years, we’ve had our fair share of fights, and he holds his own.

The sound of blades slicing through the ice and slaps of sticks against pucks surround me. My teammates warm up with laughter and banter amongst them.

I join in with my own set of jabs and comments to the guys as I warm up. We all know what’s coming after the shutout game Tuesday night. The Warblers handed us our asses on a plate. It was embarrassing. Coach already let us have it once, right after the game, but today, I was waiting for the drills-until-you-puke type of situation.

Coach skates out onto the ice, and the chatter around us hushes. He stands with a frown permanently planted on his face. Those dark brown eyes assess each and every one of us as he looks around. He’s very much a get-off-my-lawn type of guy. You will never see that man coddle anyone. Some days, I wonder how his family puts up with him. “All right, men. A few big games are coming up, so we’re going to hit it hard today. You’ll be lucky to walk out of here because I have some fun things planned.”

His voice is commanding, but the devilish smile tells us we’re all about to get royally fucked. “Hell, once the vultures leave, we may even dip our toes in some bag skating.” A collective groan sounds all around me. “Quit your moaning. You all deserve nothing less after the shitty way you played on Tuesday. That was an embarrassment to me and to yourselves.”

A few guys chuckle, and the line between his eyes furrows in anger. “Not sure what you boys think is funny. Guess I’ll be laughing at the end of practice. Ellis and Levisay, my office.” He points to the rest of us like we aren’t paying attention. “The rest of you better be ready to work when we get back.” We all watch as Andy, also known as Anders, and Den, short for Arden, skate slowly behind Coach and exit the rink.

Drake blows out a breath before speaking. “Dude… If I didn’t know better, I’d say his Mrs. was holding out on him. I’m thinking Coach needs to get a good vagina-ing.”

I can’t help the snort that leaves me. “What the fuck is that?”

He shrugs with a grin. “Seemed appropriate. Ladies always say someone needs a good dicking, so I figured I’d try it out the other way around.”

“You’re a certain kind of stupid, aren’t ya?” I don’t mean it. Drake is actually very smart. The way he looks at play, the decisions behind certain moves, the way a puck glides, and how many miles an hour a puck can fly with a slapshot is always interesting to discuss.

I expect him to be offended, like every other goalie I’ve ever worked with is, but he just laughs. “Well, I can tell you your mom seems to certainly like my brand of stupidity.”

I groan, trying to convey the agony of having to listen to dumbass your mom jokes. “Really? Are you twelve, with the mom jokes?”

“Ask your mom, she can tell you all about my age and prowess.” Clearly, I’m not getting anywhere with this conversation, so I stop engaging him. Sometimes, we're idiots, but it makes practice slip by faster.

Ten minutes later, Coach is back out on the ice and blowing that damn whistle. Drake and I drift towards the neutral zone in the center of the rink to chat with the goalie coach. Afterward, we take our time, warming up slowly, before splitting up and heading to our own collective nets.

Once everyone is done, he explains the drills he wants us to run for the day, letting us know we’ll be cycling through each a few times until he sees what he wants to see: “a team who actually looks like they can play fucking hockey.”

When we’ve finished going through all of the cycles, we’ll switch sides and do it all over again.

I flex my fingers on my stick as I assume the position. I perform some PAILs and RAILs before moving into a few rapid, explosive lateral pushes as if I’m taking short shuffles to move laterally on the ice. It helps me focus hard on driving off my inside foot, while maintaining a stable core.

Drop shift bounds follow, and I’m ready to go, feeling as limber as I’m going to get.

I’m in the zone every time I step out onto the ice. The world falls away, and it’s just me, the guy trying to get a puck by me, and the puck itself; devilish little piece of rubber.

Half of the guys line up on my end while the other half face Drake’s. Coach blows his whistle again, and they’re off. Lex charges towards me, with Seb hot on his tail. He passes the puck to Seb, who glides forward and slings the puck towards me. He’s got a wicked fucking shot, and the prick grins because he knows it.

But I’m the one laughing when I throw my glove up and catch the damn thing before it goes top shelf into the net behind me. Two by two, they continue coming forward, and I manage to catch all but two of them. Gunnar and Gavin always manage to get the puck past me, no matter what the hell they do. It’s probably why they’re two of the best forwards in the league.

Gavin has this amazing ability to fake a shot and throw any goalie off his game. I know he does it, and I still fucking fall for it every damn time. Guess I should be happy they’re on my team, and I don’t play against them. The grin he gives me has my hands trying to ball into fists, even though they can’t in the gloves I’m wearing.

The drill continues. Pass, shoot, go to the back of the line. Over and over again. I’m breathing heavily with all the exertion, but it also fuels me. The burn reminds me that I’m still alive. I block the next shot with my stick and the following one hits my pads, rebounding away.

By the time the last guy gets through a third time, Coach is blowing the whistle, signaling the end of this drill, at last. I’m sweating like a dog.

I skate to the bench and grab my water bottle before spraying it over my face to try and cool myself down. Goalie gear is fucking heavy.

As I turn, my eyes land on the media still perched in the seating above the rink entrance like vultures waiting to devour a dead carcass. Jen has a fucking tablet out, writing furiously, and I can only imagine what she’s putting on the page. Hellbenders goalie essentially told me to fuck off earlier today or tried to preposition both goalies and neither went for it? Nah… that could be a fireable offense.

“Presley has an art thing that weekend.” I overhear Gavin say to Arden. “Are you all planning on dropping by? I know Presley mentioned something about inviting Gabby.”

“Yeah, I’m sure we’ll be there at some point. Swear, you can’t separate those two.” He shakes his head but chuckles. He’s got it fucking bad for Gavin’s girl’s best friend. I don’t get it. She’s a beta. Why the hell an alpha would want a beta instead of an omega is beyond me, but more power to him.

I stand and listen to the two of them talking about their ladies for the remainder of the few minutes we’re not practicing. Before I know it, we’re back at it, doing more complex drills each time Coach switches things up. We still have plenty of time to shit-talk and chirp at each other. The practice continues for another thirty minutes before Coach is blowing his whistle. We all skate off the ice and head to the locker room, sweaty and tired.

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