Page 4 of Goalie Lessons

I skate out a bit, responding to the plays, but returning to the crease when my body urges me to, the instincts I’ve built over years of play turning over, assessing the game and driving me to action.

Callum and Luca work their magic, the puck moving, their bodies whizzing around me. The D-men crash in, pucks swinging.

Through it all, I pick out the motion—Petrov to Luca, then back, then to Callum—

I block the puck right before it slides into the net, diving and star-fishing on the ice, knocking it back. If the refs were here right now, they’d be motioning out with their arms.No goal.

“Fuckin’ Christ, O’Connor,” Callum laughs, reaching down and helping me back up onto my skates. “You always gotta go one-hundred-ten during practice, man?”

My knee throbs, but it was worth the pain to keep his puck from getting into the net. I imagine the best goalies are most connected to cavemen, driven by a territorial sort of drive. A need to keep the net safe from predators—or something like that.

“You all could learn something from O’Connor!” Coach Vic says, skating around to us. The man might be in his fifties, but he still handles the ice better than anyone I’ve ever known. “Maybe if you gave a little more, you might actually be able to score on him, McKenzie.”

“That wasn’t even my shot,” Luca laughs, but Coach is already calling us to the center of the ice for the team huddle before breaking practice.

I’m sweating under my gear, somehow freezing and on fire at the same time—the hockey way—as I join the team, clumping up the Frost logo in the center of the ice.

“Alright, gentlemen,” Coach says, his scratchy voice rising above the sound of my breathing, still echoing in my helmet. “I know it still seems like the pre-season is far from us, but you know that first game is going to sneak up on us like it always does. Make sure you’re attendingeverysession of training. Even those of us who just got to the city.”

Maverick raises his hands, palm out like a surrender. “You got me, Coach. I’ll be there.”

It’s surprising to hear bad boy Maverick, who left the team because he couldn’t stand being around us, ready to give in that easily.

Coach is surprised by it too, because he blinks and clears his throat. “Alright. Get out of my face, all of you. See you Monday.”

We disperse, laughing and heading for the locker room while some of the other guys hang back to keep shooting on the nets. I’m just out of the shower, stepping into my jeans, when Callum appears beside me, scrubbing a towel over his hair.

“So, what is it, dude?” He glances around me, like I might be hiding something behind my back.

“What is what?” I laugh. It’s not like Callum and I are best friends—that’s him and Luca. Until a few weeks ago, when I really started performing well in practice, he only talked to me in passing. Now, more and more, I feel like I’m being pulled into the inner circle. And it feels good.

“Some fucking magic bean or something?” Callum asks, tilting his head.

“Give it up,” Luca says, appearing next to him, wearing a pair of jeans and pulling a Frost shirt over his head. “He’s never going to share that with you, Hendricks.”

“Sharewhat?”

Luca raises an eyebrow at me, like it’s obvious. “Whatever undetectable class of super drug you found at the start of the off-season that’s turned you into Robo Goalie. Player of our dreams. Defender of a forward’s nightmares.”

If Luca and I were better friends, and he wasn’t the team captain, I might laugh and say something like, “Oh,fuck you, man.” But he is the team captain, so instead I just laugh and hope my cheeks aren’t flushing too hard.

Because the truth is that I know exactly what it was that upped my game, but I’m not about to get made fun of by revealing it.

“You coming to Jameson’s?” Callum asks, like that’s something I’ve always done—joining him, Maverick, Luca, and some other guys at their favorite sports bar. Something they do after practice on Fridays. Something I’ve watched them head off to, never having an invitation myself.

Play it cool, I demand of myself. “Oh, yeah. Sure.”

When I’m dressed, I walk out to the parking lot with them, swinging my duffel bag into the back of my car. Milwaukee can be temperamental, but this is one of those perfect summer days. Fat white clouds pass through the sky above us, and the wildflowers around the outside of the arena—blue and white, for our team colors—heavily scent the air.

The drive over to Jameson’s takes me down Broadway, which is one of my favorite streets in the city, all old buildings and tourists lining the streets, looking for the best brews.

After I park and make my way through the parking lot, I’m inside next to Callum at the bar, gathering drinks for the table and laughing about something Coach said at the start of practice. He’s unconventional when it comes to coaching, but Luca is convinced he’s taking us to the championship this year.

Rather than sliding into one of the dark booths on the other side of the bar, Callum leads me out onto the patio, where a large table is already filled with other players and people. I set the drinks down and take them all in, considering the group I’ve just gained access to.

Maverick, the defensive player who left the team and recently returned. His dark hair falls into his eyes, and there’s a faint scar over his left eyebrow that tells the story of a long-ago fight. After a spat with Luca, he left to play on the Houston Stampede. We hurt without him, and somehow Luca was able to get him back. Ruby Romano, sitting to his left, is wearing red lipstick and has her legs crossed, laughing at something Sloane said. The two of them match, both with dark hair and bold energies.

I don’t know the whole story with Ruby, but apparently she isrich,and Maverick brought her over to the team, along with quite a bit of money to infuse into the Frost. We’ve already seen more trainers and improvements to our locker rooms as a result. Luca is excited about the money, convinced it’s going to bring home the Stanley Cup for us this year.

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