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“Good.” He nodded. “Because I intend on lifting that cup before I graduate. Let’s run it again,” he ordered, and like good little lap dogs, we moved into position.
Official practices didn’t start for another three weeks, but that didn’t mean we wouldn’t be in the gym daily before we hit the ice. Aiden wanted us to gel before Coach Tucker got his hands on us. A lot of us had played together for at least a year, but we’d lost some great players after last season, leaving some big shoes to fill. Leon Banks was our new left D-man, a hot recruit from Boston, and Ward was tipped to be our next big star. I’d been that kid this time last year. New to the team and eager to make my mark.
Desperate not to fuck things up.
This time when Connor passed me the puck, I didn’t fuck it up. My skates glided across the ice as I controlled my stick, moving it from side to side with deadly precision. Nothing felt more natural in the world than the ice under my feet and a stick in my hands.
Hockey was my constant.
My passion and obsession all rolled into one.
For as long as I could remember—and I could remember right back to being a little kid watching Tampa Bay Lightning with Grandpa Holden—I’d wanted to be a hockey player. But watching Martin St. Louis win the Art Ross Trophy for a second time cemented my dreams of going pro.
I’d spent winters out on the lake, teaching myself to skate, watching the older kids when they played during the holidays, imagining that one day, it would be me. Only I’d be playing for an NHL team—chasing fame and fortune. Proving to everyone who ever doubted me that they were wrong. That Noah Holden was worth something more than the shitty hand he was dealt.
I deked around one defender, lined up the shot, and sent the puck flying into the net right past Austin’s glove.
“Yes,” I breathed, relief trickling through me. I was the Lakers’ star right-winger, on course to beat every record set by Dalton Benson, one of the best right-wingers the NCAA had ever seen.
Dayna’s brother might have been gone, but his legacy would live on at Lakeshore U. Even when I beat his record for most goals in a season—and I would—he would still be one of the greats. If only his life hadn’t been cut short.
That was the thing about life—about hockey—though, none of us knew what was around the corner. You could only play every game like it was your last. Live every day like you might not get another.
It was a motto that had worked out well for me so far.
“Better,” Aiden swooped in behind me, clapping me on the shoulder.
“Ye of little faith,” I chuckled.
Because that’s what I did, laughed everything off with a smile or a joke.
It was better than the alternative.
“What now, Cap?” I asked, and he smirked.
“Now, we run it again.”
So we did.
Over and over until my calves ached, my lungs burned, and my stick felt like lead in my hands.
And I loved every damn second.
After finishing practice, I hit Joe’s on the way home, the coffee shop right around the corner from the hockey facility. The guys had invited me over to Lakers House to play video games, but I needed to get a head start on my reading for my Sports Marketing class. I’d heard rumors the professor was a mean old stick who harbored a serious grudge against athletes—especially football players and hockey players.
Just my luck.
Getting my order to go, I shouldered the door open right as Aurora appeared.
“You,” she said, peering up at me, bringing a hand to her forehead to block out the midday sun.
“Me.” I grinned.
“What are you doing here?”
“Getting coffee. What are you doing here?”
“I thought I’d explore.”
