Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 106346 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 532(@200wpm)___ 425(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106346 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 532(@200wpm)___ 425(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
“Did you score?” he asks, not even realizing that I finished tying his skates.
“Most times,” I say. “What about you, do you score?”
“Yeah,” he says, getting up. “I even got a trophy for most goals in the season,” he says. “I got five goals in one game,” he says, and I get up.
“Wow, that’s better than me,” I say. “Walk and see how they feel,” I say. The bell rings, letting everyone know it’s time to get to your place.
“They hurt my feet,” he says, and I nod at him.
“That’s new skates for you. It’ll take a bit to get them worn in,” I say. “Let me go get my skates, and I’ll help you get ready for the ice.” I get up, and three kids come into the room who are older than Dylan.
“Is this group four?” one of them asks.
“Yes,” Dylan says, taking off his skates. I walk outside and find one of the trainers. Actually, he’s the one I picked myself. Ralph plays with me for Edmonton, and his contract is up next year. He is the best on the ice, and you can’t even try to deny it. Stats don’t lie and neither do the results once he hits the ice. He’s also known as the pretty boy on the ice, and one of the few defensemen who still has all his teeth.
“Hey, Ralph,” I call him over. “Dylan Woods, he’s in there with kids who are twelve.”
“Yeah. Did you see him on the ice?” he asks. There were five people in the stands evaluating the kids to make sure they were placed in the right level to help them get better.
“That kid plays like a thirteen-year-old. He just doesn’t have the height,” Ralph says.
“He’s eight,” I say. I knew he had it, but I had to have someone else say it so I knew I wasn’t playing favorites.
“Yeah, well, the kid has it,” Ralph says. I walk away to the room to get my bag and wonder if I should go back to him or not. I grab my bag without thinking twice about it.
Walking back into the room, I see he’s almost already dressed. He slips his jersey over his head and then steps into his skates again, and he looks up and sees the kids tying their own skates so he doesn’t say anything as he tries to tie his own skates. “You good?” I ask, and he looks at me while he tries to tighten it.
“Here,” I say, putting my own skate on and showing him how I tie it. “You grab the one on the top and pull up.” I show him, and he ties it all the way to the top.
“I did it,” he says happily and then gets up, doing the other one. He grabs his new helmet and puts his mouth guard in.
“How did you get so good at skating?” I ask.
“I use the outdoor rink,” he says. “When Mom is cleaning the rooms, she lets me skate outside.”
“She cleans hotel rooms?” I ask, and he nods his head.
“Not all the time, just on Saturday and Sunday,” he says. “I have to go with her because she doesn’t have anyone to watch me.”
“She’s a good mom,” I say, my head swirling with the information he just told me. She works two jobs and doesn’t even have money to buy breakfast. I want to ask her all the questions, but who the fuck am I that she is going to answer me. I’m just some guy who took her to breakfast once.
Dylan walks over to the wall and grabs his new stick. “I’m going to tape my new stick tonight,” he says, and I smile, grabbing my own helmet and following him on the ice.
He gets on before me, and I’m expecting him to wobble a bit, but instead, he just glides on like he was born to be there. I get on after him and blow the whistle. “Two laps,” I say, twirling my fingers and then blow the whistle again and watch the kids take off. I stand in the middle with Ralph.
“Doesn’t it make you laugh?” He starts to talk. “Some rich kids out there are paying two hundred dollars an hour for someone to train them, and they will never be as good as half of these kids.” I watch the kids go around in the circle, and I spot Dylan right away by the way he moves. “Look at that kid,” Ralph says, pointing at Dylan. “Look at the way he skates. He uses his whole body, which makes him even better.”
“What about if you put a puck on his stick?” I ask, and he smiles at me.
“My favorite part,” he says, going over and getting the pucks and throwing them on the ice. I watch as Dylan slides over and takes a puck with the back of his blade and then kicks it to the stick like it’s no big deal. He skates around and moves the puck right and left. The whole time, his head is up, and not once does he lose control of it. “His hands are better than the fifteen year olds. If this kid has the opportunity, he might beat your dad’s records.”