Page 99 of Unraveling Rain
“Good. Hop on. Let’s start with some cardio.”
I do as I’m told. Brent straps a heart monitor across my chest to track my vitals as I run.
After thirty minutes of cardio, we move to the weight area. Brent logs more data, checks my reps, and finishes with body fat and muscle mass percentages.
“Looking good, Xander. Welcome back,” he says before heading out.
I grab a bottle of water and a towel.
Now it’s ice time.
Fuck yes.
Putting on my gear is a ritual. Each strap, each buckle, each piece of padding—I feel like a warrior suiting up for battle. Every tug of the lace, every clip of a fastener brings me closer to home.
As I tighten my skates, I start taking deep breaths, visualizing myself on the ice. Confident. In control. Calm.
Ready to win.
Fully dressed, I ask for red tape to wrap my stick. I want something on the ice that reminds me of Rain. I’ve always liked the color red, but now, it’ll be my lucky charm. Luck. Love. Fuel.
I draw a cherry on the tape. A quiet tribute to her.
As I walk from the locker room to the rink, my heart thumps faster with every step. The moment my blade touches the ice, I lift my head to the rafters and offer a silent prayer.
Thank you, God, for allowing me to return to the sport I love so much.
I glide slowly at first, taking in the smooth chill of the rink, the familiar scrape of blades on ice. The rest of the team is already out here, stretching, warming up.
My gaze sweeps over them, one by one. I can see it in their eyes—the hunger. The fire. The fierce belief that this could be ourseason.
“Listen up,” Coach calls out.
We circle up in the middle of the rink.
“Today, we begin a new season. Same dreams. Same hope. Same goal: win the Cup.”
We all tap our sticks on the ice at the mention of it.
Coach continues, “We were close last season. That was good. But we fell short. And we not only disappointed ourselves but our fans too. This season, we need to train better.Harder. We show our hunger for victory with every single touch of the puck.”
I nod, already visualizing myself controlling the puck, cutting across the ice, and scoring.
“I believe in you as incredibly talented individuals,” Coach says, voice rising, “and I also believe in you allas a team. I know we have what it takes to lift that trophy.”
A pause. Then he grins.
“Now let’s fucking do it.”
The team erupts—howls, cheers, stick taps. It vibrates in my bones.
This is our season.
Cody throws me a puck. I start passing it between my stick, loosening up. The energy builds in my body until I can’t hold it back anymore. I speed toward the goalpost, wind up, and take the shot.
Cody tries to block it, but it goes in.
“Yes!” I shout, lifting my stick and circling around to try again.
