Page 2 of For the Win

Ugh.Here we go.Just because my dad is a hockey legend, everyone expects me to be just like him.“If you’re referring to my family, no?—”

“No, that’s not what I’m saying.Even Wynns don’t get drafted if they can’t play.No GM is stupid enough to waste a draft pick.But you knew you were good, you knew you’d get drafted, and you figured you’d play in the NHL.Am I right?”

“Yeah,” I mutter.

“I get that it hasn’t worked out for you, but maybe you need to take a long look at why that is and what you could do differently.”He gives me a wry smile.“You’re a popular guy with both teams.Easygoing personality, fun in the dressing room.”

I stare at him, not sure where he’s going with this.

“Those are good qualities, and important.Never underestimate the power of changing the mood in the room.”He eyes me shrewdly.“But if you demonstrated hard work, you’d be even more of a leader.”

Heat is pressing up inside me, squeezing my windpipe.I curl my hands over the arms of the chair.“I can’t be my dad,” I say tersely.

Bob Wynn, King of Hockey.Four Stanley Cup rings, long and legendary hockey career.But I’ve never measured up.

Coach’s eyes soften minutely.“That’s not what I’m saying.”

“Sure it is.Everyone expects that.And I do work hard.”I’m annoyed but I keep my tone polite.This is bullshit, but he’s the coach.

“I’m not saying you don’t.But I think you have another level inside you.We want to see that next level from you.”

To be honest, I don’t know what that means.And I don’t know how to do that.But I nod my agreement as if I do as Coach stands to end the meeting.

“Thanks for the chance,” I tell him.

“Life is ten percent what happens to you and ninety percent what you do with it.”

Great.Now he’s spouting cute motivational sayings.

“You don’t always get what you wish for,” he adds.“You get what you work for.”

I nod.“Yes, sir.”

I head to the dressing room to change for the game-day skate.I got here early because Coach wanted to talk to me, but other guys are arriving now too.

“Called up again, eh?”Jimmy says with a slap on my shoulder.“We’re falling like dead trees here.”

I grin.“So I hear.”

Out on the ice with assistant coach Stanislav Petrov blowing the whistle and putting us through a few easy drills, I let Coach’s words run through my mind.I’m a little pissed, to be honest.I shove that aside to focus on what I’m doing.

Maybe it’s anger that gives me an adrenaline boost.I’m laser focused on the puck and the net.I’m shooting harder.I’m skating faster.

When we’re done, I stay on the ice, working on a few things I wasn’t happy with.

“Good skate, Harry,” Scotty says, tapping my leg with his stick as he skates off.

“You’re on fire,” Jimmy, the team captain, says.“Hold onto that for tonight.”

I’m gonna fucking try.

“You need to up your transition game,” Stan says to me when we’re the only two left on the ice.

I stare at him.

“You wanna work on that?”

The only answer is, “Yeah.”

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