Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 93683 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 468(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93683 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 468(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
“Yes, Coach!” gets barked back.
“Cap,” he effortlessly calls on Alexeyev who has positioned himself on the other side of Snowman. “Tell the boys what those words are.”
“Work hard.”
“Ra!” we roar out in tandem at the same time we pound a single fist against our chests.
“Play hard.”
The gesture is instantly repeated.
“Fuck hard.”
One more repeat of the action is executed prompting Coach to take control back afterward.
“You will see the edited version of that in the locker room and use it in interviews; however, the entire motto matters, just like every single member of this franchise that signs up to put this dragon,” he taps the emblem on his jacket, “on their chest whether they’re front office or scrubbing the team bus. And you will treat them that way, or you will not play. You will treat them that way or you will not stay.” Blanc folds his arms back across his chest. “Have I made myself heard?”
“Yes, Coach!”
“Good.” A suspicious smile suddenly slips into place. “Now, everyone knows about Groffee, right?”
Holy. Fuck.
He knows?!
No.
Maybe.
No.
He would’ve said shit earlier.
Not call me out in front of the boys first.
Panic strives not to skate around my stare as hard to read glances are shot in my direction.
“And here, on this team, we’re a family, so when one of our brothers needs help watching out for one of his own – especially a younger sibling – we share that responsibility. Understood?”
“Yes, Coach!” my teammates shout, relieving me of the whipped-up dread.
“Groffee Jr.-”
“That’s somehow worse than Tiny Tendy,” grumbles my brother under his breath.
“-will have your back and you will have his.”
“Ra!” escapes each of us alongside the hand motion.
Bronny immediately stands a little taller.
Prouder.
Almost as if honored to be an extended member of the team.
Almost like he needed this.
A reminder that he’s wanted, not a burden.
The DJ scratch noise suddenly appears in my head prompting additional pause.
Is that why he bonds with Gilly so easily?
‘Cause she gets that?
‘Cause that’s all she’s ever wanted?
And is this moment what I constantly provide for her?
Fuck…that both moves my soul and breaks my heart.
It’s somethin’ bittersweet.
Like a Dru Hill ballad.
Or an early Tim McGraw hit.
Or a Billy Joel tuneskie about his first wife.
“Alright then.” An impish smile suddenly slips into place. “You boys ready to have some fun?”
“Yes, Coach!” we retort in tandem with tapping our sticks on the ice.
“We’re taking it back, boys,” he warmly chortles as he tips his towards the set up. “Superman time!”
Light laughs begin amongst us; however, unlike in the past couple of seasons, no one stops the track.
Insists we skip it.
We all simply grin at the chance to rewind to a time when the heartbeat of hockey was about good times and good vibes versus game time and paycheck pride.
“You’re gonna start at that end behind the goal line,” Blanc casually points, “wheel to the beams,” he moves the gesture to the foam structures, “Superman,” his hand briefly flattens to mimic the sliding motion we’re expected to execute, “and shoot the puck from wherever Tiny Tendy-”
“Bronskie,” Frosty calls out in his defense prompting Coach to crookedly grin.
Nod in acknowledgment.
“Bronskie lands it.”
“Na zemi?” Matty questions from where he’s leaning against the glass.
“Yeah,” I instantly answer. “You shoot from the ground if you can’t get back up on your blades in time.”
“Just like you would na chasakh,” Cap reminds prior to demonstrating the meaning of the word with the top of his twig. “Tick. Tick. Tick.”
“Da,” Blanc good naturedly chuckles at the same time he points to our grumpy Russian leader. “It feels like mini mite shit but think about how many times players end up on the ice, fighting on their stomachs for the biscuit.” Coach slowly begins skating backwards. “It’s about gaining control even in the least likely situations.”
Frosky and Cap noticeably cut me scolding glances.
Not that I need them.
“Bronskie,” Blanc summons with one hand while pulling a puck out from his other, “with me.”
“Back,” Cap commands to the rest of us, herding the group as is his job. Once we’re there, he instructs, “Wahl, you’re up first.”
“Done son!” Kolby Wahl – aka WonderWahl – one of our defensemen enthusiastically declares and skates to the starting blue line.
“Clap him in boys,” Snowman’s insistence barely precedes him tapping his stick on the ice.
We join Frosky in on the action, hyping Wahl up.
Showing our support.
Solidarity.
It doesn’t take long for him to begin a fast-paced skate across the ice with us shouting out typical motivational shit nor does it take much effort for him to dive forward sliding under the foam like limbo bar.
His plunge receives hoots and hollers and whistles, yet he maintains his focus on sloppily swatting at the puck my little brother has fired off in his direction.
There isn’t time for him to scramble up onto his skates.
Hell, there’s barely even time for him to get into a better position for his stick to simply reach the rubber prize leading his large, long arms to flap around like a pissed off owl in hopes of getting some sort of force behind his hit.