Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 84114 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84114 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
No, it doesn’t stand for rank, and it’s supposed to just be a friendly competition between rival schools, but it’s so much more than that.
“Run it again,” Coach yells. “And this time, don’t fuck it up!”
Jacobs nudges me. “Ever think he sounds a hell of a lot like RuPaul when he says that?”
I cock an eyebrow at my teammate. “And you know RuPaul because …”
“Hey, a straight guy can appreciate Drag Race. It’s funny.”
I’m not touching that one. “Can we please just get this thing done so we can go home?”
Jacobs looks confused. “Why do you want to run out of here? Hot date with the nerdy TA?”
“Nope. Again, not dating, asshole. I’m just sick of us sucking on the ice.”
“Wait, are you mad at me?”
“Jacobs and Grant! Get moving.”
We both flinch at Coach’s voice.
The practice doesn’t get any better, and I don’t know where we’re going wrong.
It’s frustrating.
If we don’t start working together soon, we won’t win any games. If we don’t win any games, no scouts or agents will be interested in any of us. It’s not just me who has big NHL dreams.
Coach blows his whistle again, but instead of yelling, he lets out a defeated, “Hit the showers.”
We all hang our heads as we walk down the chute toward the locker rooms.
I run my hands through my sweaty hair as I take a seat on the bench in front of my cubby.
Our defensive coach takes over the yelling while Coach Hogan sulks in the corner with his arms folded and a harsh scowl on his face.
We start the slog of taking off our gear while he continues to yell at us.
“The University of Vermont is gonna wipe the floor with you. All of you.” Coach Stevens rivals Coach Hogan in the motivational department.
I take my practice jersey off and throw it in the nearest laundry bin.
“You have to start working as a team out there or you’re all gonna have to swallow your pride when UVM kicks your asses next week.”
The thought of the University of Vermont winning this game gets me fired up to win.
They have the prestige. The history.
They’re pretentious, and someone needs to take them down a peg or two … or five.
They haven’t made it to a Frozen Four in the past decade. We’ve made it to three, even if we came away empty handed.
We’re supposed to be the better team, and yet, we’re cursed when it comes to them.
We’ve lost seven of the last ten pre-preseason games against them.
Those three years we beat them? Those are the years we made it to the Frozen Four.
Coincidence, superstition, whatever it is, all I know is if we fuck up this game, we may as well kiss our whole season goodbye.
It’s the curse of Colchester U, and it’s thrown in our faces every year.
There’s a lot riding on this game, but all I can think about is Zach sitting in the stands wearing my number.
And shit, maybe Jacobs is right about him being a distraction.
“Grant!” Coach Hogan yells, and my head snaps up.
“What?”
“Everyone will be looking to you for leadership. It’s your responsibility to make sure everyone’s in the right headspace. We don’t want any screwups on the ice.” He glances around the room, and I feel Jacobs’s eyes burning into me. “I know it’ll be tempting for fights to break out, and at this point, it’s probably inevitable. No matter how many times we yell at you to stick to the game, you all think you know better.”
In our defense, the UVM hockey team is full of assholes, and any fights that break out on the ice are always instigated by them in some way.
I wonder if they take lessons on getting in our heads because they’re damn experts at it.
“No sloppy penalties! No fighting!”
“Yes, Coach,” we say in unison.
He storms out of the locker room, and the door closes with the resounding sound of finality.
We all stay seated in various states of undress.
There’s a defeated aura surrounding us, hanging low and heavy like a storm cloud.
It’s my job to rally these guys, but I don’t know if I have it in me today.
“That practice sucked,” I say bluntly.
It earns a few snickers.
“Pep talk of the year award goes to Grant,” Beck says.
More laughs.
The atmosphere relaxes a little, and maybe what the guys need right now isn’t threats about this one game screwing with our whole season. They don’t need to be yelled at.
“For real though, you all have to remember that tomorrow is only a game. It doesn’t stand for rank. It doesn’t count toward the season. Forget the CU curse, and go out there and have fun.”
“And if we lose?” Simms, the rookie I gave a hard time that first day, asks.
We put that first day behind us, and the kid has talent, but he’s still green.