Rush: The Season (Austin Arrows Book 1)(3)
Turning to the brunette, I wait, but…
I frown when she takes her friend’s arm and disappears as quickly as she arrived. She says nothing, doesn’t even look back.
“Okay then.” Pivoting back around, I grab my beer.
I’m tempted to put the cold bottle against my eye. The damn thing’s swollen and will likely be black by tomorrow. It’s a trophy I took home from tonight’s game, given to me by one of their * forwards who felt it necessary to bowl me over in the net. Most of the time, one of my teammates would right the wrong, but tonight I was too pissed off to let it go. Rather than take a deep breath, I discarded my mask and my gloves, and the two of us went to blows.
To add insult to injury, I was ejected from the game.
No doubt I deserved it. The black eye, for sure. So did the other guy. He took a five-minute major and got back in while I scolded myself repeatedly in the locker room. Regardless, we’ll both be sporting shiners tomorrow.
Glancing down at my phone, I check the time, then nod to the bartender to pay my tab.
I’m wicked tired and if I don’t give up now, I’m only asking for trouble.
Quite frankly, I’ve had enough of that today.
It’s definitely in my best interest to call it a night.
2
Kingston
Friday, October 7th
Backing up, I barely tap the crossbar, then move forward, bending at the waist, my breathing even, eyes focused.
My left leg pad feels a little off, but I don’t have time to adjust it, so I push the thought away.
Staring straight ahead, I watch as the center comes racing toward me. He’s handling the puck like a pro—probably because he is one—shifting side to side, gaining speed as he barrels down on me.
Pressing my knees together, I lock my blades in the ice, preparing to block the shot with my body. My left glove is up, my right curled low around my stick as I wait patiently, counting down the seconds before he reaches me. I know his moves; he likes to come in high, so I’m expecting that in the back of my mind. He retreats, which is certainly not what I’m anticipating. My mind races with how I’m going to stop this. He gears up again, rears back… What I see to be a slap shot quickly morphs into a wrist shot as he moves closer, just as I originally thought. I shift my stance, lower my glove an inch, and catch the puck in the air.
Boo-yah! Take that!
“Nice save, Rush,” Spencer Kaufman, the Austin Arrows first line center, as well as the team’s captain for the fourth straight year, huffs as he stops directly in front of me, spraying me with ice.
“You’re getting a little predictable there,” I tell him honestly.
Spencer frowns, but I know how his mind works. Now that it’s out there, he’ll be working on paying attention to the shots he takes. That and coming up with a way to bust my balls with his next one.
“Let’s do it again,” he grumbles, nodding toward the puck in my glove.
I toss it up in the air, watching as it drops to the ice before Spencer taps it with his stick and heads in the other direction.
While he gets in position, I ditch my glove, grab the water-filled Gatorade bottle sitting on the net, spray some in the direction of my mouth, then toss it back down and get into position again.
The sun wasn’t even up when I stepped into the locker room this morning and then hit the ice for some one-on-one time with Spencer. Although, technically, I don’t have to be at the rink until Monday morning, I decided I’d get in a little extra ice time today. Because we’ve got the brass heading our way next week, which will ultimately throw off every damn thing on the schedule, I figured it probably wouldn’t hurt.
Exactly one week from today, we have the first official game of the season, which explains the endless array of shit on my mind. Because of that and the other crap I’ve been dealing with, I’m finding it difficult to focus. Yet I made it through training camp in one piece, which is a good thing.
Truth is, the mere fact that I’m here this morning at all is a godsend. Since my physical qualities certainly surpass my mental ones, I made it through training camp without issue. I watched player after player being cut from the roster while I held my breath, expecting to be next although my contract secures me on the team—not necessarily between the pipes—for two more years.
My mediocre ass was in net for three of the seven preseason games, and I proved my lack of concentration by winning only one. Coach put in our backup goalie for the other four games, and he blew them all. Let’s just say, it’s not a good indicator of what the year might bring.
However, I did manage to secure my spot in the net once again, so there is that.
I wish I could say that it’s due to my unwavering God-given talent, but I know it’s solely due to the fact that Phoenix Pierce—the team’s owner—actually thinks I’m a fairly decent guy—which I am. Granted, with a .903 save percentage—the lowest of my career—my stats from last year suck big, hairy donkey dicks, and there are a dozen other players within the league who could easily take my place.
Hell, sometimes I wonder how I haven’t been sent back down after my shitty performance last season. During one of the last games before the season ended, I was yanked from goal after giving up three in the first seven minutes—the absolute worst of my career—followed by a fight I instigated.