Page 17 of Rookie Attraction

“Doesn’t look that way to me.”

“Maybe you need contacts,” I snipe, not appreciating his snarky tone.

“Maybe you need to mind yourself or find another team.”

Before I can say another word, Range signals for us to get our asses moving. I ignore Brady, and his comments, and start my warmup. It isn’t long after that when Coach Range blows his whistle.

“Kirkland, Brady, Baran, St. Clare, you’re up first! Passing drills, let’s go.”

I join my teammates, and when Brady takes possession of the puck, I skate parallel to him and wait for his pass. He hits it harder than he needs to, the puck flies high in my direction, and I use my stick to block it before it smacks me in the chest.

Fucking hell, what was that?

“I said passing drills, Brady, not slapshots!” Coach yells. “Do it again!”

Finn skates up beside me.

“You alright?”

“I’m fine.”

Shaky, but I shrug it off. Finn gives Brady the evil eye and I nudge my partner.

“Don’t make it worse.”

“He could’ve injured you, Sel. What a dick move,” Finn hisses. “What a dick, period.”

“It was probably an accident. Maybe he’s having an off day. Let it go.”

Finn skates off to take his position and I hope that’s the end of it.

It is.

At least, there are no more slapshots. But with every drill, it’s clear that Brady and St. Clare aren’t exactly warming to my presence on the team. Our defensive coach, Lee, keeps providing feedback, but they ignore him too. Brady hardly communicates with me either, so half the time I can’t anticipate his moves, or him mine. Same goes for St. Clare. We screw up over and over and it’s embarrassing. What’s worse is these guys don’t seem to care that we’re fucking up our drills in front of Lee, Range, and every player on our team.

By the time we’re done, I’m tired and more than frustrated; I’m frothing at the mouth.

“What happened out there?” Lee stares at us expectantly. “Well?”

There’s muttering and swearing but no one has a direct answer. I do, but I’m not sure if now’s the time to give it.

Lee offers a glance to Range. “Jordan?”

Our head coach crosses his arms and offers a glare that would make anyone take a step back.

“I won’t be as patient as Lee and wait for you guys to tell me what went wrong because there was no mistaking what I saw!” Range’s voice is sharper than my blades. “Brady, St. Clare, in case you forgot, this is a team sport. Communicate with your colleagues like the professionals you are or find another line of work. Understood?”

Brady slams his stick against the ice and the loud crack has the rest of the players staring at us.

“Problem?” Range asks calmly.

“No, Coach.”

“Then why are you throwing a tantrum like a cranky toddler?”

I put my glove to my face so I don’t laugh out loud.

“I… I’m sorry, Coach,” he mutters.