Page 12 of Of Pucking Course

Coach Randall chuckles. “To say the least.”

We glance over at the other side of the ice, where Camden Connors is running through a drill with Head Coach Porter.

“That’s the good thing about those young guys. What they lack in experience, they make up for in enthusiasm,” Coach Randall says.

I laugh. “You’re right about that.”

“Markov hated being paired with him,” he says.

“That’s not surprising. Markov is grumpy as hell all the time, and Connors has the personality of a hyperactive golden retriever.”

Coach Randall laughs. We watch as Camden speeds through his passing drill. He races across the ice toward Blomdahl, winds up, and shoots the puck. Blomdahl catches the puck easily in his glove.

Camden shakes his head like he’s disappointed as he skates past us.

“Hey.”

He stops and looks at me.

“Have you noticed that you have a tell when you shoot glove side?” I ask Camden.

He shakes his head.

“You kick your right leg up a half-second before you smack the puck toward the goalie’s glove. Blomdahl’s picked up on it, so that’s why he always blocks your shots.”

Camden’s brow lifts in surprise. He looks over at the net. “Damn. I never noticed.”

“It’s an easy fix,” I say to him. “Just be mindful of it from now on, and you’ll see a difference.”

He grins at me. “Thanks, man.”

“I knew you two would be good together,” Coach Randall says. He turns to Camden. “McKesson’s one of the top defensemen in the league. He’s got tons of experience and has had a lot of defensive partners over the years. You’re gonna learn loads from him.”

“Easy, there. You’re making it sound like I’m some weathered vet. I’m twenty-nine,” I say.

Coach Randall laughs.

Camden aims a wide grin at me. “Twenty-nine is almost thirty. That’s pretty old.”

I roll my eyes. “You’re five years younger than me. I’m not that much older than you.”

Camden puffs out his chest, his blue eyes shining with amusement. “Twenty-four is a long way from thirty, old man.”

I shove his shoulder.

Coach Randall rolls his eyes. “I’m forty-one. If you two could stop making me feel like a dinosaur, that would be great.”

Coach Porter blows the whistle and hollers for us to line up and take turns shooting pucks at Blomdahl.

I watch as Camden takes the puck and makes his way toward Blomdahl. He keeps his right leg on the ice as hegears up for the shot. It sails past Blomdahl’s glove into the net.

“What a beauty of a shot, right?” he jokes when he skates over to me.

“You’re a cocky one, rookie. Seriously, though. Nice work.” I’m honestly impressed at how well he took my advice and was able to fix his issue. A lot of players take a lot longer to fix a bad habit, especially young guys like him.

“Thanks again for the pointer,” he says. “I would have never known I did that if you hadn’t told me.”

Coach Porter glances over at us. “McKesson. A word.”

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