Page 49 of Gamechanger

Moose's smile widened. "Thanks. I'm pretty fond of who you are, too."

We sat in comfortable silence for a moment, sipping our coffees. Then Moose cleared his throat.

"Can I ask you something?" he said, his voice hesitant.

"Shoot."

"How do you do it? Deal with all the crap about your size, I mean. You never seem to let it get to you."

I barked out a laugh. "Oh, it gets to me. More than I like to admit. But..." I paused, gathering my thoughts. "I guess I realized somewhere along the way that I can't change it. So instead of fighting it, I decided to use it. Make it my strength instead of my weakness."

Moose leaned forward, his eyes intense. "How?"

"By being faster. More agile. By working twice as hard and being smarter on the ice." I shrugged. "It's not always easy, but it's better than hating myself for something I can't change."

"That's... that's really brave," Moose said quietly.

I felt my face flush again. "Not as brave as what you're doing. Facing your past and working through all this stuff. That takes real courage."

Moose reached across the table, his large hand engulfing mine. "Maybe we can learn from each other, huh? You can teach me about embracing who I am, and I'll... I don't know, teach you how to reach things on high shelves?"

***

The next morning at practice, I felt Moose's eyes on me from the stands. Knowing he was there filled me with a confusing mix of pride and anxiety. I pushed myself harder, my skates carving sharp arcs into the ice as I zipped through drills.

In the locker room after, the guys buzzed about our upcoming game against Michaels' team.

I yanked off my practice jersey, the damp fabric clinging to my skin. There was an undercurrent of tension to the chatter that I couldn't ignore.

"Heard Michaels is on a tear lately," Blaise said, his voice carrying across the room. "Bet that asshole's gonna try to start shit again."

I felt a prickle at the back of my neck, knowing without looking that several pairs of eyes had flicked in my direction.

Sergei's gravelly voice cut through the sudden quiet. "He targets small guys. Thinks it makes him look tough. It's pathetic, really."

"Easy for you to say," I muttered, focusing intently on unlacing my skates. "You're built like a brick wall."

"Doesn't matter," Sergei grunted. "Is not about size. Is about heart."

Coach Fraser strode in, his clipboard tucked under one arm. "Alright, listen up. We've got a tough game ahead of us. The team we play tomorrow plays dirty, but we're not going to stoop to their level. We're faster, we're smarter, and we're going to use that to our advantage."

He turned to me, his gaze intense. "Novak, I want you to stay focused out there. Don't let Michaels get in your head. Use your speed, create opportunities. Make him look like he's skating in molasses."

I nodded, trying to project more confidence than I felt. "You got it, Coach."

As Fraser continued outlining our strategy, I caught snippets of whispered conversations around me.

"Remember last time? Michaels nearly took Novak's head off."

"Yeah, but did you see how Finn made him look like an idiot in the third period?"

"Still, guy's a menace. Someone needs to teach him a lesson."

I gritted my teeth, the familiar mix of frustration and determination bubbling up inside me. Part of me wanted to yell at them, to insist I could handle Michaels on my own. But another part, the part that still felt like that kid always picked last in street hockey, wanted to shrink away from their concern.

Blaise dropped onto the bench beside me, his shoulder bumping mine. "Hey, man," he said, his voice uncharacteristically serious. "You know we've got your back out there, right?"

I met his gaze, surprised by the sincerity I saw there. "Yeah," I said, managing a small smile. "I know."

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