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Hayden grips the hockey stick in his hand, his fingers numb not because of the coldness of the rink but because his hold on the stick is so tight that blood doesn't flow into his fingers. He barely notices that though, as his eyes are trained on the players that are currently on the ice. He watches them skate, clad in their jerseys and shoulder pads and helmets, practically just blurs of colour as they chase after the puck.
Hayden's impatience is getting to him, and it's obvious as he starts to tap his stick against the floor and shake his leg, his skates clacking against the bench. His coach hadn't put him on the ice this entire game and it's already second period; just thinking about it irks him enough that he partially wants to go and question Coach's choices. Not that the players on the ice were bad - Hayden's just used to being in the rink most often.
Just as he decides to at least politely ask why he's being kept on the bench, the horn sounds, signaling the end of the period. Hayden glances up at the electronic scoreboard at the other end of the rink, realizing the opponent has scored during the moments that he was deep in thought - now his team and the opponent are tied at two points each. He runs his hand through his hair, feeling the weight of that fact settle on his shoulders. Regional championships, and they're freaking tied with the rival team.
He grinds his teeth, knowing he has to get on the ice, just as one of his team members skate over. Hayden's close enough to hear that the guy's asking to be let off, and Coach allows it. Before he can rush forward to offer to take his place, Coach yells out Hayden's last name, jabbing his thumb in the direction of the rink.
Hayden barely controls the urge to hoot, and instead, accepts his teammates pats on the back as he grabs his helmet. They wish him luck, and he revels in the respect in their faces; they all know he's an asset to this team, but he stays humble enough to always remind them that he wouldn't have gotten so good if it wasn't for their support.
Just before he steps onto the ice, his helmet fastened around his chin and skates laced up, Coach stops him, explaining that he wants Hayden to break that tie, that he was on the bench so he could focus all his energy on this last leg of the game. Hayden sets his jaw and nods at him, before pushing himself into the rink.
Finally, freedom. He pumps his legs, his skates gliding across the ice as easily as if he was running on pavement. He skates a few laps, weaving his way through the players that had stayed in the rink, waiting for the last period to start. From the corner of his eye, he recognizes his best friend's jersey number as he skates toward him.
The other guy's taller than Hayden, and underneath his helmet, his long, brown hair is sweaty from the rough play during earlier periods of the game. He's energized though, as he skates faster, keeping up with his friend.
Hayden grins at him, and playfully elbows him as they skate side by side; this is their ritual - gliding across the ice, pushing themselves even before the real game starts. It doesn't tire either of them out; instead it does the opposite. It pumps them up, getting them ready for the fight ahead.
