Page 29 of Wicked Minds
Stepping onto the ice, I sigh, that sense of release I always feel when I step out dropping over me. It’s like a physical separation of the soul. Everything except my body, the puck, and the net get left behind.
The sharp scent of freshly resurfaced ice fills my lungs, the familiar sounds of skates slicing through the rink echoing in my ears as my teammates warm up on the ice in preparation for today’s practice.
Coach directs us through warm-up drills, my breath hanging in the air like mist as I execute swift crossovers, my blades biting into the ice. With each powerful stride, that familiar rush of adrenaline heats my veins, and my head clears in a way no drug could ever achieve.
“There was some fumbling with the puck in last week’s game, so we’re doing puck-handling drills today, and just so you all know, the missus is visiting her sister in Ridgeway so I can stay here all day until every single one of you can navigate the cones blindfolded,” Coach barks. “Astor, Barnes, Rickman. You’re up first. Don’t let me down.”
“No, Sir, Coach,” I chant, skating toward where cones have been laid out, stretching from one side of the rink to the other.“Last one to the far side buys drinks tonight,” Jacob Barnes calls, lining up beside me.
“I’ll take that action,” I respond. “No way either of you are going to be able to see through the ice spray in my dust.”
“You know, cockiness is not a sexy quality,” Thomas Rickman teases.
“Yet I’m the only one with a girlfriend,” I throw back at him. Okay, so girlfriend might be a bit of a stretch, but it’s an inevitability. A girlfriend is exactly what Riley is to me—even if she’s not entirely on board with it yet. As far as I’m concerned, I’m taken. I’m hers, and soon she’ll realize that, too. Besides, I don’t want any of these fuckers thinking they have a shot with her.
“That girl you were all googly-eyed over? I haven’t seen her at our last few games. You sure she’s still your girl?”
“Shut up, asshole. She works nights on the weekends, so she can’t always make it.”
“Uh-huh, whatever you say, buddy.”
I send a glower Thomas’ way. “She’s the one. I’m not ever letting her go.”
“The one?” Jacob questions. “Dude, you’re about to enter the NHL. It’s going to be pussy heaven. Why would you tie yourself down right before walking into the promised land?”
Before I can explain it to these two knuckleheads, Coach blows the whistle, and like a bat out of hell, I take off down the ice. My gloved hands move with precision as I guide the puck effortlessly between the cones.
I’m the first across the rink, Rickman bringing up the rear after accidentally sending his puck wide.
“Looks like drinks are on you,” I say with a smirk when he finally makes it over.
“You’re the Captain. Aren’t you supposed to say something uplifting or some shit,” he grouses.
“Sure. Do fucking better next time. You presented a prime opening for our opponent to swoop in and steal possession of the puck.”
“Excellent pep-talk, man. Word of advice, though. When you bum out of the pros, don’t go into coaching. Don’t think it’s your thing.”
I bark out a laugh, the three of us skating back to the boards as the next row of guys line up.
When we’re done, Coach splits us up, sending the forwards to one end of the ice for an intense round of shooting drills, while the defensemen do their thing at the other net, before we all come together for a scrimmage to finish off the session.
“Alright, that will do for today,” Coach calls out when we’re all drenched in sweat and my legs feel like a lead weight. Unlike the smooth surface I skated onto several hours ago, the rink is now cut to pieces, a testament to the effort every single one of my teammates put in today. “Go shower and see the physical therapists if you need to.”
“Yo, Astor, you still coming out with us?” Rickman asks after I’ve hurried through a shower before I can duck out of the locker room.
I pause in the doorway.
“Come on, man. You can’t bail on us again,” Gavin chimes in, making me internally groan. I have been blowing them off recently, and for no good reason. Purely so I could sit at home andpineover Riley like a lovesick idiot.
“Fine,” I relent. “Meet you at the Huddle in thirty? I need to talk to Coach first.”
Gavin points a finger in my direction. “You better be there. I’ll even buy you a beer.” Laughing, I promise him I will be before heading out the door in search of Coach.
“Logan,” he greets, when I knock on his office door. “To what do I owe the pleasure.”
“You know, I can never tell if you’re being genuine or sarcastic when you say that.”
Coach merely smiles, giving nothing away.Nope, I still have no idea.
