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With visible effort, Sebastian spoke. “My mother was a figure skater, and my father was a hockey player. They were high school sweethearts, and when they graduated, they decided to open a rink. So, the second I was able to walk, I was in skates. Then I started baby hockey, and we all discovered something. I was a prodigy. I picked up a hockey stick for the first time and could suddenly handle it like someone ten years older than me. Suddenly, my whole life was clearly spread out before me. I was destined for the big show. It was inevitable that I would end up inthe NHL.”
I was flabbergasted. I knew Sebastian was good, but I had never heard that he was an actual prodigy. It made total sense. Still… “Even a prodigy has to put in work on the ice. You can’t succeed on just natural skill alone.”
“True. My dad hired my first private coach when I was five. It was a stretch for his wallet, but it was worth it. I’m a quick study. Not only was I naturally good, but I improved fast. I spent all my free time practicing until doing drills was like watching cartoons for other kids. Hockey became more like second nature to me than anything else.”
“What about your friends?” I could picture a little Sebastian doing drills on an empty rink. My heart ached for him.
“Even they only wanted to hang out on the ice. Eventually, like your brother going to the arena all the time, you get a little tired of it. I mean, I don’t hate hockey, obviously. I wouldn’t be here if I did. But I don’t think I love it as much as you do. I don’t think anyone does, to be honest.”
Chapter 14
We were in the second period of our game against the Philly Tigers and were up 2-1. Lesso had snuck a puck past me at the end of the first, but I’d buckled down since then and became a wall.
I was impressing even myself. The Tigers were one of the top teams in our division and were pretty much guaranteed to go to the playoffsthis year.
The Blizzards, however, had no chance of playing for the cup this playoff season. Lukin and I were still on goalie rotation and two of our best defensemen were out as well. To say that we were struggling defensively would be a severe understatement.
Still, my record was decent. Of the sixteen games I’d played since I got traded, we’d won thirteen and lost three—a more than passable record. Unfortunately, the same couldn’t be said for my co-goalie, Lukin.
Of the nineteen games he played, we had won twelve and lost seven. While that certainly wasn’t the best, it wasn’t the worst that a rookie goalie has done in the league. What was worse was hisattitude.
At first, Lukin was just cocky and a bit of an asshole. But, even as I won more games and he hit a losing streak, his attitude never changed. It was almost like he didn’t see that he was doing badly. He never stayed after practice or put in more effort than what was required, and he went out with the other rookies every other night.
Even now, decked out in full goalie gear on the bench, he wasn’t watching the game. He was totally zoned out, just barely aware enough to open the gate for our teammates as they stepped in and out. I wanted to go over there and smack him. The season was almost over, and he didn’t have many chances left to prove himself. Considering all the work everyone else put in, including myself, his carefree attitude wasinsulting.
The whistle blew, and everyone switched shifts.
Taking advantage of the break, I shook off my glove, gripped my mask, and pulled it off. Hair stuck to my forehead, and sweat rolled down my temples. Grabbing my water bottle from the back of the net, I absentmindedly scanned the rink and found myself locking eyes with Kingston on the other end of the ice. I froze, water bottle held ready a foot from my face.
Suddenly, I didn’t feel like a sweaty mess. With Sebastian’s attention on me, I was Jessica fucking Rabbit. Looking off to the side, I elongated my neck, showing off my good side, and shot a stream of ice water intomy mouth.
I caught it all, and when I turned back to Sebastian, my cheeks hurt from the amount of liquid they were holding. The slight pain was worth it, though, when I saw the tiny twitch of his mouth. Ha! Number of times Sebastian Kingston had smiled duringa game: 1.
Everyone settled into position. I forced the water down, replaced my mask, and crouched inmy crease.
The puck dropped. Charlie Glass, the Tigers’ star forward with the wicked slapshot, came up with it then was off. His team managed to hold off our offense long enough for him to dash across the ice, heading straight for me, Ethan Jones on his tail. Jones wouldn’t get to him fast enough. I shivered in anticipation and inched out of the net as he got closer, ready.
I rocked on my skate, tracking his movements. He got closer and jerked back and forth, trying to throw me off. I followed every twitch like a hypnotized cobra. His right skate came off the ice. He was going to go left. No. Right! I moved to intercept, but instead of his skate coming back down, the other one jerked, followed by his whole body.
Oh, shit.
There was no way to stop him or for me to get out of the way. I braced, and he impacted with all the force of a two-hundred-pound man skating over twenty miles per hour. We tangled andwent down.
The ice under me, and the hockey player above me, stolemy breath.
Ouch.
Thankfully, my head didn’t bounce off the ice and the rest of me also felt unbroken. Immediately, Glass pushed himself up onto his feet and held out his hand. I could see an apology forming on his pained face as I reached up to accept his help. But before I could grab it, the hand, and Glass, were taken away by a blue-and-white blur.
In horror, I watched as Glass was forced into a shoving and shouting match by SebastianKingston.
Shit.
I ripped my mask off and got my feet under me, not even noticing Jones was beside me until he stopped my instant stumble. I didn’t let my unsteadiness deter me from my goal though and waded into the pile of players that was forming by the boards. The Tigers had come to Glass’ defense, and the Blizzards backed up their assistant captain. The linesmen were trying to break it up but to no avail. It made for a dense dog pile that I had to work through to get tomy idiot.
I pushed past players, both my teammates and opponents, as I forced my way into the group, getting more pissed off as they held up their hands when they saw who I was and let me through. Right. Don’t touch the girl goalie. Hell, don’t touch a goalie at all.
It was an important rule in hockey—you fuck with someone’s goalie, you’re going to get slammed into the boards. And if you fuck with the only female player on the team, a bunch of overprotective guys will materialize out of thin air to beat the shit out of you. No one in their right minds would purposefully mess with a female goalie. Sure, hockey players weren’t the smartest beings on the planet, but we weren’t complete morons.
