Page 11 of Racking Up Penalties
“Pass the damn puck, Matthews!” I can’t help but bark out when, once again, he opts for a solo effort over an easy assist.
He shoots me a glare, but it’s clear he’s not here to make friends. I just hope the others are seeing what I see: that this isn’t about being the best for the team, it’s about being the best in his own eyes.
“Keep your head in the game, Johnson,” Coach yells from the sidelines, and I realize my attention has drifted. Right, this is about the team, not my vendetta against Ethan.
“Sorry, Coach,” I mutter and refocus on the next drill. But even as I practice, part of me is tracking Ethan’s every move, cataloging each instance of showboating for future reference.
The puck slides across the slick surface, a perfect pass from one of the guys, and I’m already calculating my next move. But before I can snap off a shot, Ethan barrels into me like a freight train, his shoulder digging sharply into mine as we both slam into the boards with a bone-jarring crunch.
“Watch it, Matthews!” I gasp out, pain radiating through my side. The whistle blows, practice halting as all eyes turn to us. Ethan smirks, not even pretending it was an accident.
“Part of the game, Johnson,” he sneers, skating backward, eyeing me like I’m just another obstacle in his path.
“Sure, if the game is playing dirty,” I shoot back, pushing myself off the boards. My frustration boils over, hot and fierce. This isn’t just about a check; it’s a direct challenge. Ethan doesn’t just want to play; he wants to dominate, to stake his claim, but this is my team, my second family, the one place where my worth isn’t measured by my bank account.
I skate harder, push myself more. Every pass, every shot has to count. I don’t give in and check him back, instead taking the high road. I’m on full display, showing that I’m not just a co-captain by title. I’ve earned this spot with sweat and blood, and no rich kid with an ego bigger than the rink is going to take it away from me.
“Keep your heads, boys,” Coach calls out, but his voice fades to the background. All I can focus on is Ethan’s presence on the ice, a dark shadow that looms wherever I turn. He’s got skills, I’ll give him that, but they’re overshadowed by his blatant disregard for anyone else. He’s a solo act in a team sport.
As practice winds down, I’m spent, physically and emotionally. The animosity hangs heavy, a fog I can’t clear. But one thing is crystal-clear: I won’t let Ethan Matthews break what I’ve helped build here. No way.
I’m the last to leave the ice, trailing behind the others as they file into the locker room. My skates carve slow circles as I linger, caught between the resentment gnawing at my gut and the responsibility resting on my shoulders.
“Good work out there, Johnson,” Coach says, clapping me on the shoulder with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. He knows there’s tension; it hangs heavy in the air, an unspoken challenge between Ethan and me. “There will be growing pains but I believe in you.”
“Thanks, Coach.” My voice is curt, clipped with the effort to keep my emotions in check.
In the locker room, the sound of laughter and banter fills the space. I wrench my jersey over my head, trying to shed the frustration that clings to me like sweat.
“Hey, you coming to grab food with us?” Reed asks, breaking through my thoughts.
“Uh, yeah, sure,” I reply, forcing a semblance of normalcy into my tone.
“See you on the ice, Johnson,” Ethan calls as he leaves, a smug note in his voice that sets my teeth on edge.
“Can’t wait,” I shoot back, the words dripping with sarcasm. I slam my locker shut, the sound echoing.
Once Ethan is gone, my teammates surround me.
“What’s the deal with you two?” Alec asks.
“It’s the past,” I say without giving any details.
JD pats me on the shoulder, “Is it going to be a problem?”
“You know we have your back but he’s on the team now so it’s harder to hurt him.” Luka is laughing as he says it.
The tension in my gut relaxes at the reminder they have my back. These are my friends and teammates.
Ethan won’t ruin that like he ruins everything else.
“I’ll keep it under control, just don’t expect us to become best friends or anything,” I say with a smile.
Miles laughs. “Trust me, no one expects that.”
Alec, Luka and JD leave together probably on their way to see their girl, Emma.
Miles and I I leave the locker room, our strides long and determined. We get in my sedan and I drive us back to our house.
