Page 4 of Cheap Shot

Andrew nodded and headed back to the bench while Benjamin came to a stop in front of me and Ethan. “You okay?”

“Yeah, hopefully he remembers what you said next practice.”

Coach called us in for cool-downs, and Benjamin left us to move into the center of the lopsided circle the team formed and lead the stretches.

Ethan and I hung back at the outskirts, keeping an eye on the other guys. Practice had been grueling, a deserving punishment for the terrible effort we’d put into our last game, but that meant morale was lower than normal. As the two alternate captains, we were looked up to by the others, and Benjamin relied on us to listen when he couldn’t and let him know when one of our teammates needed something. I was watching to see how the younger players handled today. Would they complain to each other? Vomit? Curse the coaches? Or accept the consequences of our actions? After all, we were a team. We won and lost due to our combined efforts.

They knew that. It was something drilled into our heads from the time we were in Mini-Mite, but that didn’t mean they always remembered. We didn’t have time for petty complaining. Every game mattered, but we couldn’t change what happened. The only thing we could control was our attitudes and how prepared we were for the next game. We couldn’t rely on our status as the second-ranked team in the division to win, which was exactly what we’d done wrong. Even if it was a preseason game and didn’t count toward overall points, it was an unnecessary loss.

Two freshmen scooted closer together, and one dropped his eye.

I nudged Ethan and tilted my head in their direction. He watched closely before standing up and gliding toward them.

Benjamin caught my eye and gave a subtle nod, making me feel like we were working together on a top-secret mission. If only our lives were that interesting. The closest we got to excitement, outside of the sixty minutes of play each game day, was on the rare chance we had some free time to waste on video games.

It was the beginning of the season, and we already needed a break.

“Did you hear about Dylan?” Murphy, a junior center, asked Eddy, one of our goalies. They sat together a few feet in front of me.

I hadn’t heard anything about the sophomore, so I focused on their conversation while going through the stretches on autopilot.

“No, what happened?” Eddy asked.

“His girlfriend dumped him this weekend for some basketball player. He locked himself in his room for two days and wouldn’t let Kyle in until a few minutes before the game yesterday.” Murphy switched legs, kicking his stick away from him. It slid toward me, and I stopped it with the toe of my skate.

He turned toward me, and I stared him down. Practice might be close to over, but it wasn’t the time for gossip. That sort of waste of time could wait until they were out of the arena. He ducked his head and looked forward again.

Eddy peered over his shoulder and cringed when he realized I was behind them. He mouthed, sorry, and faced Benjamin.

As much as I didn’t approve of talking about teammates behind their backs, I did appreciate knowing what was going on with Dylan. He’d been off last night and contributed to our loss. We all have off days, and no one would blame him entirely, but at least I knew the reason and could offer help.

Sometimes being an example, as Coach called it, was exhausting. There were times when I just wanted to worry about my schoolwork and hockey. Nothing else. But the team didn’t have the luxury of slacking off or falling short like some other schools that would bounce back after a rough few weeks or even a whole season.

I knew that before I committed to coming to West Penn. We all did. There was no misunderstanding of what would be expected from us. We walked onto the team with our eyes wide open to the reality of what stood before us, and that was a huge mountain to climb. In my weakest, most drained moments when I had absolutely nothing left to give physically, mentally, or emotionally, I wondered what it would have been like if I’d picked a different school. If I took the path of least resistance and joined an organization with a million fewer obstacles.

Would I be the same player if I went with Boston College or Wisconsin? Would I have learned the same level of grit and determination? It was impossible to know.

The determining factor, the reason I took the risk in coming here, was standing before me. Coach Weston. He flew to my hometown and met with me my senior year of high school, and he promised me that if I trusted him and wasn’t afraid of a challenge, he would get me to the NHL. Out of all the schools that courted me, he was the only one brave––or crazy––enough to make a claim like that. So I did it, and challenge didn’t even begin to describe what I’d been through playing for West Penn.

But this was the year that mattered. It would show me if every year of playing and traveling and sacrificing had been worth it, and I refused to let some idiots ruin my chances because they couldn’t keep their mouths shut or didn’t know how to compartmentalize their personal drama.

Dylan needed to focus, and so did the two in front of me. As soon as Coach called practice, I picked up Murphy’s stick and blocked him and Eddy from leaving.

“No more.” I held each of their gazes long enough for them to nod. “If I ever hear either of you talking about a teammate like that again, it’s a strike.”

“Sorry.” Murphy swallowed, and Eddy dropped his head.

“Go.” I shoved the stick against their chests and pushed away from them.

When I got to the bench, Benjamin was waiting for me. “What was that about?”

“Nothing. I took care of it.”

“Good.” He eyed them as they stepped off the ice next to us, then I followed. Benjamin was always the last one off the ice. It didn’t matter if it was a game or practice. He waited for everyone to head back to the locker room before him. It was a trait he’d picked up from some of his idols in the NHL, and I appreciated his efforts to show respect for his team.

I shuffled into the locker room while stretching my neck. I added my stick to the shelf to be stored before nearly falling onto the bench next to Ethan. He was staring down at his phone and didn’t acknowledge my presence, which wasn’t all that unusual. He was one of those people that couldn’t multitask, and the moment his screen was near his face, he was gone. I pulled off my jersey and tossed it into the rolling bin in the center of the room. I wanted to shower and collapse on my bed for a few hours, but that would have to wait until I handled things with Dylan.

While removing my skates, I scanned the room for him, but he was probably already in the showers, so I finished pulling off my gear and grabbed my towel. It only took me a few minutes to clean off, and when I came back, Ethan was still on his phone.