Page 13 of Slapshot Obsession
Davis is the first one to vomit all over the blue line after his fifteenth run. “Fuck.” He groans, sputtering with his hands on his bent knees and his head between his thighs. “Now I’ll have to clean everyone’s vomit. Thanks for this, asshat.”
I flinch at his death glare. I could point out that Colsen was the one who started the fight that got us all punished. But it’s more than clear that the team is blaming me.
Maybe I should be mad at my teammates, but it isn’t hard to understand why I’m the scapegoat. These guys have been playing with Colsen for years. I’m the new guy. So it’s obvious that in a fight they’ll back the one who’s still a stranger.
“If you’re sick, try to do it in the trash cans.” Coach Harrison is smiling like a lunatic as he points out the trash cans he had his assistant coach line up in the middle of therink. “We don’t want to leave too much of a mess for Davis to clean.”
Some of the guys chuckle under their breath, but it’s only a matter of time before more people begin to feel sick. This would be a strenuous drill even if it didn’t come when we were almost at the end of today’s practice. Everyone was already getting tired, and skating back and forth at high speed was the last thing we needed.
“Jeez, watch out.” Someone rams into me, sending me crashing against one of the trash cans.
I go down like a sack of potatoes and smack my face on the ice.
I don’t know who has ever experienced falling face first on ice, but I don’t recommend it. I give it zero stars.
For a second, I can barely move as pain shoots from the bottom of my chin all the way up my skull.
My teeth hurt too, and I hope I haven’t cracked or loosened any with the impact.
When the pain goes down to the point that I can at least breathe, I scramble to my knees. That’s when I see my teammates’ skates.
Most of the guys are standing in a circle, looking at me.
The pain is so intense that I don’t even attempt to look up at their faces. Thankfully, my helmet protected my head, but it’s my mouth that hurts the most.
The metallic flavor I taste tells me that the liquid filling my mouth is mostly blood.
I spit and blood mixed with saliva lands on the ice in front of me. My tongue hurts like hell, so my guess is that I bit my tongue when I fell.
“Jesus Fuck. You’re bleeding.” Tucker’s voice reaches me from behind me.
“No shit, Sherlock.” Before I can turn to glare at him, I hear him hurl.
My teammates scatter as a chorus of disgusted groans echo in the ice rink.
When I turn around, Tucker is still retching all over his skates.
“Prescott!” Coach barks, skating toward us but stopping at a safe distance. “I thought I just said to puke in the fucking trash cans.”
Tucker tries to apologize in between puking bouts.
“Goddam,” Coach’s nose twitches as the acrid smell of vomit begins to fill the air. “I’ve always thought you were one of the fittest guys on the team. I guess I was wrong.”
Tucker wipes his mouth with the back of his glove, his chest still rising and falling with each labored breath as he tries to compose himself.
“I doubt he puked because of the drill.” Mack intervenes, pointing at the blood that came out of my mouth. “Tucker is really sensitive to blood. He can’t take it. Even a paper cut has him turning as white as a ghost.”
“I swear to God,” Coach shakes his head. “You snowflakes never cease to surprise me. Grow a fucking pair, Prescott.”
Coach Harrison looks around at my teammates. They’re mostly trying to catch their breath.
“Ok. I guess we can call it a day. You should all thank your teammates for making such a mess that continuing to skate would be a little hazardous. Davis, you were the first who puked. You get the honor of helping the maintenance team with cleanup. Thomas,” he says to Colsen. “Since you started the fight that caused the extra drill, you canhelp your teammate.”
Colsen’s expression is dark, but he doesn’t argue with the punishment. “Yes, sir.”
“And you.” Coach looks at me with a mixture of anger and disgust on his face. “Go and get that cut checked out by the team’s doctor. And the fact that you might need a couple of stitches is the only reason why I’m not making you join the cleaning crew. Am I being clear”
“Yes, sir.” I manage to say around another mouthful of blood.
