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The hardass who seems to have it out for me.
As good as a beer would taste, I’m not in the mood.
It’s funny…
Well, not exactly funny.
In fact, it’s not amusing at all.
When senior year began a couple of months ago, I’d assumed everything would fall neatly into place just like it had the previous three seasons I’d been playing for the Wildcats. Being named captain along with being a top defensive pairing was a no brainer. Especially since I was assistant captain of the team last season.
And Coach Kasminski?
The guy fucking loved me. If he could’ve adopted my ass, he would’ve. He’s the one who recruited me during high school, promising a full athletic ride.
It wasn’t long before he was waving me into his office and asking for my thoughts regarding other players or for my opinion when it came to power plays and our opponents. Sometimes, we’d kick back in his office with a pizza and watch game film for a couple of hours.
So why wouldn’t senior year just be more of the same?
I’d skate through the season without a care in the world, kicking ass and taking names. Then, to top it off, we’d bring home another Frozen Four Championship title. Senior year would be the cherry on top of an epic college career before moving up to the pros.
Except…
Kasminski up and quit a week before we headed back to campus. He accepted a position as an assistant coach for a professional team. I didn’t even realize he’d been applying for other jobs. The dude never said a word.
Do I necessarily blame the guy for wanting to move up in the world?
Hell no. We all have our dreams, right?
And if you don’t go after them, they certainly aren’t going to chase you back.
It’s just that he unwittingly screwed me over in the process.
Western swiftly hired another head coach to fill the vacancy.
Reed Philips.
He played in the NHL for more than a decade before sliding into an assistant coaching position and then a head coaching job at a Division II university. Now, he’s here.
It only took a couple of practices to surmise that the guy is a real dick. For some reason, he took an instant dislike to me. If I even look at him sideways, he reams me out in front of the entire team.
It’s been a bitter pill to swallow.
The arena has always been my happy place.
And it could be any arena. They’re all the same. From the snap in the crisp air to the smell of the ice and the feel of the smoothness under my blades when it’s fresh after the Zamboni.
There’s nothing better in this world than hockey.
And I didn’t think anything could ruin it for me.
Unfortunately, I was wrong.
Reed Philips has snatched it away quicker than he could blow his whistle and tell us to get our asses on the blue line.
And no amount of beer will change that.
CHAPTER3
