Page 12 of Checking Mr. Wrong
“Yes, sir. The only days I’ve not been on the ice in months were while I was in transit.” I glance around the arena, my new home. It’s still sinking in—the size of the place, the way the lights bounce off the fresh sheet of ice, the faint hum of machinery keeping everything cold and perfect.
Coach nods, his eyes scanning me like he’s sizing me up. “Good. We need you sharp. Our D-line’s been struggling and I’m counting on you to help anchor it.”
“Yes, sir,” I say again, a little too clipped this time. My fingers twitch at my side, and before I realize it, I’m tapping them against the edge of my thigh. Thumb to index, middle, ring. Pinky. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four.
“Relax, kid,” Coach says, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “It’s practice, not playoffs.”
I laugh, but it comes out awkward, like I’ve been caught in the act. “Right. Just excited to be here.”
Before Coach can say more, Cade skates over, his sharp stop sending a spray of ice chips toward our feet. “Everything good?” he asks, his grin wideand unapologetic.
“Just giving Asher the rundown. See you two out here,” Coach says, clapping me on the shoulder before skating off.
Cade nods at me, his gaze flickering to my hand. I’ve started tapping my stick, the rhythm steadying me. If Cade notices, he doesn’t say anything. He smirks like he’s in on a joke I don’t get.
“So, Asher, I heard you’re a dancer.” His tone is casual, but the glint in his eye says he’s expecting a reaction.
“You heard right.” I stop tapping and grin. “You’ve got a problem with that?”
“Not at all,” he says, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Just didn’t peg you as the pirouette type.”
“My mom put me in dance when I was younger.” I chuckle and lean on my stick. “Who knew that all of the balance, agility, and footwork I learned in dance would help me be lighter and faster on my skates, while also helping me skate sharp turns and dodge checks with precision?”
“Huh. Never thought of it that way.” Cade tilts his head, considering. “So, what are we talking about here? Ballroom? Jazz hands? Tap?”
“Mostly ballet when I was a kid,” I say with a smirk. “And tap, yeah. Broadway was a dream once.”
Cade chuckles. “Far cry from this arena.”
“Yeah, my mom felt the same,” I say with a snicker. “She said if I was going to be obsessed with hockey, I had to do something that would at the very least keep me off my butt when I hit the ice.”
“Well, it’s working,” he says with a laugh. “You’re out there moving like you’ve got skates made of air. I, on the other hand, feel like I’ve got cement blocks strapped to mine half the time.”
“Then maybe you should take a few lessons,” I shoot back, tapping my stick on the ice. “Might save you from face-planting during drills.”
He barks out a laugh, skating backward to join the others for our drill. “I think I’ll leave the cha-cha to you, twinkle toes.”
“You do that,” I call after him, shaking my head with a grin
The guys are already chirping each other mid-drill. Weston is jawing at Lucian about his questionable shot accuracy, while Lucian fires back about Weston’s tendency to treat the puck like it’s allergic to the net.
I’m into it as fast I can be, my focus zeroing in as soon as the puck hits my stick. This is where I’m at my best—sharp, fast, in control. My passes land clean, my shots rip the net.
Then someone yells, “Heads up!”
I barely duck in time as a stray puck flies past my helmet, slamming into the boards behind me.
“Sorry, that was me!” Carson calls, holding his stick aloft like it’s a weapon of mass destruction.
“Nice aim,” I shout back. “You trying to take me out before my first game?”
“No way, it’s not my style…well, not anymore,” he says, grinning. “Seriously, total accident. My bad.”
I laugh, shaking my head, and the rest of practice flies by in a blur of drills, smack talk, and a couple of bruises I’m sure I’ll feel tomorrow.
As we wrap up, Coach blows his whistle. “Good work, boys. Now hit the showers before you stink up the place.”
I skate off with the rest of the team, but Cade catches my arm before I can head to the locker room.
