Page 118 of Facing Off
Coach Forrester called us after Sonya left the club. He said we needed to come home ASAP because the GM was starting to make moves in the background. I had to arrange the earliest flight back to Vancouver that I could.
We’ve launched negotiation warfare with Wings’ management but it’s not enough. I want to work with Jung on the ice, too, to make him a stronger player.
I unzip an equipment bag and skate around the ice, placing orange cones in the same formation I used to train myself with a long time ago. We’re doing drills. Pointing with my stick, I tell the rookie to start.
The puck slips loose to the side. Jung sweats, then glances up at the man in a suit who’s sitting far back in the stands and watching us. Owen Quaid, the GM of the Vancouver Wings.
“He’s trying to intimidate us, but we’re not leaving until you get it right,” I reassure him.
There’s no guarantees on who makes it in this sport, but I believe in my promise, even if it puts me at odds with the franchise. Even if it jeopardizes my career. Jung is a kid who deserves to have a shot at his dream coming true. I have to figure out how to help him no matter what it takes.
By the end of the drills, Jung slumps down onto the ice, huffing. Stress is making him sweat harder than usual, and the fact that we’ve rushed into training right after a long flight home doesn’t make things easier.
I skate up next to him.
There’s a loose puck between us. Using my stick, I flick it all the way down to the other end of the rink. It thuds into the net.
“Seriously?” Jung exclaims. “How are you so good?”
“I knew someone better than me,” I tell him. “Trust me, if he was here, he’d be the captain of our team.”
“Do I know him? What team is he playing for?”
“He never got the chance to play professionally. He passed away.”
Jung winces. “Sorry.”
“Me too,” I say, randomly picking up a cone and putting it down. I’m staring off into the distance, stunned that I’ve brought it up. Normally, it’s a wound pulsating in the dark, but ever since I told Sonya about Jesse on the plane, it’s as if the pain has eased slightly. Almost as if something is trying to heal inside me.
We sit in silence for a few moments. Then I poke my rookie with my stick. “I know the pressure seems suffocating with him watching us, but let’s go again. Let’s prove to him that you don’t quit.”
Jung nods slowly. He wants to believe me, but he’s also lost in his own head and drowning in uncertainty. Ever since he found out about potentially being traded, it’s been a massive hit to his confidence.
I need him to get out of his head. “How about this? I’ll give you a hundred bucks for every goal you get past me.”
“No way!”
I grin. “Yes way!”
Two hours later and five hundred dollars richer, Jung leaves. I’m still skating as the GM is walking down the steps, slowly approaching the rink. I expect him to call for my attention, but he doesn’t. He sits right by the glass and crosses his arms. More intimidation tactics.
I smirk to myself. He doesn’t know that I could stay on the ice forever. I set up another skill test. It was one of Jesse’s dad’s favorites. He would dump a bucket of pucksout, scattering them everywhere and then make you stand behind each one and try to score into the net with one shot.
Going to the first puck, I lift my stick for a slap shot. It’s going to go in like it always does, but last second?—
I miss.
Actually, I miss every single one.
Well, fuck me.What colossally bad timing with Owen Quaid scrutinizing me.
Not that my mind is on him. It’s not.
It’s onher.
Sonya is still in Oslo.
Kavi asked her to stay back, so they could watch the championship awards ceremony together. At first, it surprised me that she’d extend her break, but then I found out from Quinn that there’s a local studio where Sonya’s already started practicing ballet while she’s there.
