Page 23 of Slapshot
“Yeah, but we’re amped up from tonight’s game. We need a few hours to wind down before we sleep.” He laughs and drops his hand. “We’re not doing coke off the coffee table and there’re no hookers. Just a group of guys chilling. Come on.”
I’m rooted in place as he takes a step down the hall. He looks back and seems surprised I haven’t followed him.
I close my door and climb into bed. Lex Vonne is increasingly hard to dislike. I don’t understand why he keeps pushing when I’ve made it clear that he’s getting nothing from me. It’s almost as if he really does want to get to know me.
9
Lex
Saturday’s game is tough. It shouldn’t be. UMass isn’t all that good, but the twins are having an off day and that trickles down through the lines.
One plus is that I’m getting a little more ice time. Not that I’m doing much with the opportunity. I had another issue with my skates today and Kaitlyn had to swap the laces when I was off shift.
After the first period, we head to the locker room where we get a quick pep talk. I hang my head between my knees, giving myself a much more brutal kick in the ass than I’d ever get from the coaches.
“Vonne.”
As I lift my head, Coach Garfunkle motions me over.
“What’s up?” I ask, bracing myself for the worst. At this point, I’m probably lucky I’m stepping onto the ice at all.
“Kaitlyn wants to check your laces again before you head out.”
She’s in the small room adjoining the locker room where we have our extra equipment. Somehow she’s made this small space look organized even with all the shit strewn around.
Bent over with her ass up in the air lining up skates, she’s mumbling to herself, but I can’t quite make out her words.
As much as I enjoy staring at Kaitlyn’s butt, I’ve got a bench to park mine on.
“You wanted to see me?”
She snaps upright and turns so quickly her ponytail whips around her head and hits her in the face.
“Take off your skates,” she instructs.
“The laces are fine.”
“Great. Take off your skates.” She picks up a pair of Dalager skates from the floor and holds them out. “Try these. They’re about a decade newer than the ones on your feet.”
“Thanks, but I’m good.”
I start to walk off, but her annoyed sigh stops me. “Your boots are trash. These are stiffer and will give you more support, so you don’t have to lace yourself in so tight you snap laces every other week. When we get back to Burlington, let’s try the five-eighths radius again. Alec had the right idea, I think. You just needed to try them on a different skate.” She shoves the skates against my chest and blazes past me out of the room.
“About time,” Patrick says when he sees me carrying the new skates back to my stall.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea. I’m used to these.” I look down at my old skates. They’ve been repaired a bunch of times and they look a little rough, but they’re broken in and I like them. They’ve worked hard, like me. My dad bought them for me. He had no idea what he was buying, but it meant something to me that he’d put in the effort and spent the money.
We weren’t scraping by exactly, but shelling out cash for things he deemed as a hobby or unnecessary wasn’t my dad’s way. And hockey fit both of those categories. It’s something to pass the time while I get an education. He hasn’t outright said it, but he’s hinted enough that I know he’s waiting for me to come to terms with my future working for him.
Selling tires, fixing tires—it’s a fine way to make a living. But somewhere deep down I know that if that’s where I end up, I’ll feel like I failed. I’m meant to play hockey. I can’t be this passionate and excited about something and it not be my purpose. I’ll work as hard as I have to.
I put on the new skates and lace them up trying not to think too hard about it. I can try these during our warm-up before the second period and switch back when I don’t like them. That’ll appease Kaitlyn and she’ll leave me alone about my skates. Hopefully.
She’s in the tunnel watching as we walk back out. Arms crossed at her stomach, she looks each of us over as we pass by. The corners of her mouth pull higher when her gaze hits my skates.
When I step on the ice, I push off and go through my usual routine. The skates squeeze my feet something awful. I prefer a tighter fit—evidenced by the many laces I’ve sacrificed—but these aren’t broken in so they’re especially hard and uncomfortable. Totally impossible for me to play in.
Kaitlyn is helping Kirk with his pads when I head back to the locker room. I hurry so I can make it back in time before the start of the second. I left my old skates in my stall, but I don’t see them. I’m looking all around in case I put them in someone else’s spot, but it’s like they grew legs and walked off on their own.
