Page 4 of Slapshot
“You’re sure? It’s one of the best paid student jobs at the university.” She adjusts her monitor to show me the hourly pay, all with a smile like she’s found me the golden ticket.
My stomach sinks at the number.
So that’s the cost of selling your soul.
2
Lex
“Is that a smile on his face?” Tate whispers. We’re standing in the back of the group as Coach Keller gives the team a few last-minute words of encouragement for tomorrow’s game.
I huff out a quiet laugh and nod. “Freaky, right?”
We’re coming off two back-to-back winning weekends and another great week of practice. Everyone is in good spirits. Even our hard-ass coach, who isn’t known for his sunny disposition, looks happy. Or is attempting to. His smile somehow makes him look scarier.
I think I’m the only one that isn’t walking on air, dreaming of an undefeated record, and holding that Frozen Four trophy overhead.
It’s hard to be optimistic about your awesome team when you’re the suckiest part of it.
“Nice work today, boys. See you tomorrow,” Coach dismisses us. “Vonne, hang back for a minute.”
Tate shoots me a pitying look before he and the rest of the guys head off to the locker room. I skate over to Coach Keller. That hint of a smile he had when addressing the whole team is gone as he leans on a hockey stick and regards me.
“I’m going to move you to the left wing with Scoville and Thomas. You’re the fastest skater on the team. Maybe that I’ve ever coached. I think your speed will give us a nice boost on that fourth line.”
All the praise bounces off me and the words fourth line echo in my head.Fourth line.
It might as well be Siberia. Our fourth line gets the least amount of ice time. I’m struggling to find my footing with the team, but I’m better than fourth line. The only real expectation of those guys is not to screw anything up. Give the top lines a rest and maybe get a few good hits in.
I’m not that guy—the one you expect nothing from. I was the leading scorer of my high school team, I was named first team all-state, I had my choice of hockey colleges. Moo U wasn’t even the best offer I received. Partial scholarship instead of the full-ride that had been dangled in front of me by a dozen other schools. But Burlington University is one of the best. Maybe the best. Coach Keller is a legend.
“Coach, I just need a little more time to adjust. Please, don’t move me yet.” I’ve got my eye on the second line. Ineedthat second line. Not just because it means more playing time and more opportunities on the ice, it says my hard work has finally paid off and I’ve made it.
His mouth pulls into a thin line.
I try to keep going, make him hear me out. Just another few games before he gives up on me. “I’ve been working with Pax—”
My protest is cut short when our assistant coach, Coach Garfunkle, calls across the ice, “Coach, our next interview is here.”
He stands on the edge of the ice next to a girl with long, brown hair. Through my frustration, I take in her short blue dress and over-the-knee boots. Her cherry red lips are full and pouty. Eyes downcast, she holds a coffee, looking like she’d rather be anywhere else.
There’s a stiffness to her body and the way she holds herself that refuses to make her look weak, just highly disinterested or put out.
That makes two of us. She’s cutting short my time with Coach to make a case, grovel, or beg, because I’m not above that. Hockey is everything. I didn’t move across the country to watch my really great team win hockey games. I came to be a part of that.
Coach Keller glances over and then nods and stands straight. “Let’s see how it goes this weekend and we can make more adjustments if needed. See you tomorrow, Vonne.”
I make my way to the locker room slowly. The noise gets louder with every step. The boys are joking, laughing, making plans to go to the Biscuit for wings and a couple of beers. We have a game tomorrow so it’ll be an early night. Someone is singing, loudly and off-key in the showers as I get inside.
I peel off my practice jersey and slump onto the bench next to Tate. He shoots me a worried look, but he won’t ask in front of everyone else.
Patrick is talking from his other side. “She’s hot. Kind of a train wreck, but still smoking hot.”
“Why is she a train wreck? Because she likes to drink and make-out at parties?” Tate asks and raises a brow. “Sound familiar?”
Patrick grins. He’s a hell of a hockey player and a hell of a partier. Somehow, he manages to juggle both. “You’re right, she’s the girl version of me. Maybe I should ask her out.”
“Now that sounds like a train wreck,” Patrick’s twin brother, Paxton, the saner of the two says. “What do you think she’s doing here?”
