In for the win

Chapter 6

ETHAN

Where the hell are my fucking skates?

Practice started five minutes ago and I'm still not ready. Coach is going to absolutely kill me if I don't fucking search quicker.

I swear I put them in the front pocket, like always.

Oh there they are. My Bad.

Why would I ever put them in the middle pocket.

Not important Ethan. Move. Your. Ass.

The team is already passing when I entered. I'm greeted by my teammates and coach, who weirdly isn't mad I'm late.

"In position Crawford" is the only thing he says to me. Jeremiah is in the goal, in front of me, ready to block whatever shot I try to strike his direction.

He wishes.

I throw the puck on the ice, grab on my hockey stick harder, and skate rapidly in his direction, hitting the puck with all my strength. I watch as the puck crashes itself at the back of the net, echoing inside the arena.

That's what I'm talking about.

"Nice hit" I hear Coach shouting from the benches. You must think that we, all hockey players have a huge ego.

Well, that's right. We hate losing, but even worse, we hate even more accepting the fact that we lost, so scoring a goal is an enormous boost, even better when your coach congratulates you for it.

The rest of the training went by quickly, and in no time, we were in the showers, rinsing the sweat that was practically dripping from us. Training is always enduring, but we're used to it. Most of us have been used to it since we were kids. I can tell you coming back from a match across the country late at night when you're nine is something your remember.

That's what I like about hockey. People think that hockey is a brutal, dangerous as fuck sport, but it really isn't. What nobody sees is that it's beautiful to watch. Each pass is prepared, precise, ready to go through the opponent's net.

Each player is concentrated, ready to attack, and playing against a team of size is three times more interesting than playing against a rather mediocre one.

I've been playing since I can remember. When I was four, my parents had taken me to a match, and I fell in love with the sport. When I came home later that night, I had begged my father for hours to buy me a stick and a puck.

I've always dreamt about being captain. Sure it's a hell of a lot of responsibilities, but most of all, it's a great experience. I can always count on my players, and they can always count on me.

—

I open the door to my room and let myself drop on my bed. I was thinking about taking a nap, but remembered that I still had a load to, concerning schoolwork and the homework Amara gave me for next time we saw each other.

After five minutes of just lying there, I make up my mind to move my butt from the soft mattress, and head to the kitchen. I open the fridge and grab a half-eaten turkey sandwich.

That'll do.

I remake my way to my room, and blast Five seconds of summer in my headphones. When I look at the time after my study session, the clock shows 11:36PM. Gosh I had been productive.