Page 24 of Rookie Season
The tension between us is thick, palpable, almost shimmering visibly in the air as we sit there side by side staring straight ahead at the TV screen.Am I the only one feeling this?
We watch one episode. Then another. Then another. The boys, Noah included, are all hooked.
And Noah’s arm, pressed up against mine, never moves.
So much for five minutes.
CHAPTER 11
NOAH
A week has passedsince our celebratory party…and we lost both of the games we played since.
Perhaps the celebration was a little premature.
I’m wound tightly all through today’s early morning practice, and it shows in my performance on the ice. I’m still kicking myself for making a stupid mistake during our last game that practically handed the other team a win on a silver platter. A mistake my linemate won’t let me forget anytime soon.
It was already difficult being on the same line as Sandine with him not-so-affectionately referring to me as Nepo Baby, and then him being a total dick to Ally last week at our party…but now he’ll barely pass me the damn puck. How the hell am I supposed to improve my game if my own damn teammate won’t work with me?
We’ve been working with our power play coach all morning, and we’re running through one last drill before practice ends. My teammates are split up, half wearing white practice jerseys and playing as the away team, and the other half donning purple as the home team.
Sandine and I are both wearing purple, unfortunately, and I can only assume the power play coach lumped us together in an attempt to make us cooperate with one another.
Not that it’s doing any good. Sandine currently has the puck, and I’m wide open. I look at him, hoping to make eye contact, but he ignores me.
The other guys wearing purple are all surrounded. But does he pass to me, even though this is just practice and not even a real game?
Nope.
He passes the puck to Carver, who doesn’t catch it. Fisher—who’s in a white jersey—rushes it to our defensive end and scores on a breakaway.
When the puck hits the back of the net, he whistles and flaps his arms like an eagle.
Loveable idiot.
Coach Anderson blows his whistle loudly and waves an arm for us to gather around him by the bench.
“Fisher, good work out there today,” Coach says, causing Fisher to preen under his attention. “Sandine, you need to keep your head up. Pass to players who are open and close to the net whenever possible. Downsby was wide open back there, and you didn’t see him.”
Coach arches one dark eyebrow to drive his point home.
Sandine’s jaw tics, but he nods in agreement.
Coach Anderson and Coach Slater give the guys a few more tips, and then we’re off to the locker room.
I barely have my pads off when someone bumps into me and sends me tumbling against the wall. I catch myself with my hands planted on the wall and turn just in time to see Sandine striding by like nothing happened.
I grind my teeth together hard. I’m not the guy to startfights and stir up drama in the locker room. I like to keep a lid on my emotions, and I rarely get into brawls on the ice or take penalties, either. But right now, I want to punch him. The urge is so strong I clench my fists together at my sides.
Penn steps forward. The guy is super chill by nature, but he’s also never one to back down from a tussle. “You got a problem, Sandine?” He smirks. “I mean, besides the inability to pass to open players?”
Sandine stops and turns to give us a withering look. “I pass to teammates that I trust. Teammates that earned their spot here and don’t take stupid penalties with five minutes left in a tied game.”
“We’re all going to make mistakes, man. Even you. That tripping call was a pucking joke, and we all know it,” Penn says.
Fisher clears his throat, and we look over to see him completely undressed aside from his gray Calvin Klein boxer briefs. Phone in hand, he reads, “Sandine’s penalties last season were as follows: five for high sticking, two for too many men on the ice, five for tripping, and two goals withdrawn for being offside.” Fisher blows out a dramatic deep breath. “Boys, if I were you, I'd be careful before passing a puck to Sandy here.”
Sandine seethes, his face growing red. But instead of snapping back at Fisher’s sass, he turns all that anger on me. “You like having these two fight all your battles for you, Nepo Baby?”
