by Denise Bower
“Listen carefully, because I swear some of you have been hit in the head one too many times. I’m not going away. Tomorrow we are going to have a little competition. If any of you can keep up with me, I will walk out of here, and you will never have to deal with me again. However, if I win this little physical fitness test, you’re stuck with me.”
Cameron and Matt stepped forward. “I’ll take that bet,” they both said at the same time.
“Great, see you tomorrow,” I growled as I shook their hands.
They sneered at me and I glared back. “It’s on,” they said.
Alex patted my shoulder, staring wide-eyed at me. “That was awesome. You don’t owe me anything.”
“It’s fine.”
My knees were shaking so badly I had to sit down.
“Are you okay?” Alex asked.
“I’m not normally an angry person, but these hockey players make me want to hit things. I’ve never hit anything in my life. Not even Viktor, and he deserved to be punched. What is wrong with me?”
Alex rubbed my neck, and I let my head fall forward so he had better access.
“You’ll be fine,” he said.
“You at least got them to chill out for the session. Tomorrow I will end all of this silly shit. Who’s in the best shape?” I asked
“Me,” he said as he flipped his bangs away from his dark brown eyes and puffed out his chest. “And probably the captain, followed closely by Matt.”
“I’m still going to win,” I said. “And why is your captain acting like a total dick?”
“I think he’s testing you.”
I snorted. “Story of my life.”
I reached into my bag and pulled out a signed photo of me from a competition last year. I’d wanted to crop Viktor out of the photo, but it would have left me floating in the air.
Alex’s face lit up the moment he saw it. “I’m going to be Shelby’s hero. Thank you so much.”
“About the lesson,” I said. “If I am hired, we’ll set up a time. Okay?”
“Yeah, sure.”
Alex pulled me to my feet and swept me into a hug so quickly I didn’t have a chance to squirm away. Several players took that moment to stroll by the room. They immediately whistled and taunted Alex, calling him teacher’s pet and other names that were not flattering. I noticed I’d clenched my hands into fists again. Alex laughed and unfurled my fingers.
“I better get moving. Johan is putting us through some sort of skating drills, and we’re also going over the power play again. Maybe you should do some yoga. Someone told me it was relaxing.” Alex waved goodbye and disappeared into the locker room.
It took several minutes before I felt calm enough to search out Johan.
“I’m staying for practice if that’s okay,” I said when I caught up to him.
“Absolutely. How are the guys doing?”
“I’m tired of the bitching, so tomorrow I challenged them to a little contest. You might want to think about limiting the on-ice practice today because I’m going to work them into the pavement.”
“Are you sure that’s wise. We play on Friday, and I need my team to at least be able to skate.”
“I could always skate. It’s a workout that my coach specifically designed to increase my stamina and strength. It sucked, but it worked. I did it at least once a week, and if your guys can’t keep up with me…. Well, you said you wanted to challenge for the Calder Cup, but in their current condition, all you’re going to be challenging for is the basement-dweller title.” I pursed my lips, waiting for him to shut me down.
“Okay, you’re the expert, and I’m tired of preaching about the benefits of staying in shape,” he said. “I took the liberty of having a document created for you to use when you evaluate the players. I’d like to see it when it’s complete.” He thrust a clipboard at me and hurried toward the ice before I could thank him.
Johan had thought of everything. There were categories for simple things such as forward and backward skating to depth of edges and knee bends to how much power the player generated with each stride. I chose a seat right on the glass so I could get a good look at who had the best edges.
A few of the players crashed into the glass, trying to startle me. I resisted the urge to flip them off. When practice began they forgot about me, allowing me to concentrate on how they skated. By the time the team finished, I had filled the front and back of the paper with notes.
“What’s your assessment of the team?” Phil asked.
I flinched and made a pen line across the document. I hadn’t noticed him sitting down next to me.
“Jumpy much?”
“I was concentrating. Some of the notes are small stuff, but truthfully, they all need work. Except the captain. He’s got great edges and power when he wants to put in the effort.”
Phil leaned back in his chair, removed his hat, and ran his fingers through what was left of his hair. “He’s always been a great skater.”
I handed him the clipboard and let him read through everything.
“This is really good. You’re very observant. You know your stuff,” he said.
“You want to be the one who tells the guys most of them need basic edge work or help turning from forward to backward?”
He chuckled. “I’ll leave that to you when you wipe the ice with them tomorrow.”
“Did Johan tell you about the competition?”
“Yep.”
“What makes you think I’ll win?”
“Vika, I’ve watched you compete since you were fourteen and you won your first junior competition. My wife is a huge fan,” he said. “And I know Leo De Rossi. I was always fascinated with the work ethic of his skaters. Even though I didn’t play hockey in college, I skated to keep in shape, and I used a lot of the drills he swore by.”
“Maybe we could bring Leo on board to whip these guys into shape.”
“They’d die,” he said and laughed loudly.
“They would.”
“Good luck tomorrow,” Phil said and squeezed my shoulder. “Can I take these notes?”
“Sure.”
I didn’t need them. I knew which players had skill and which ones needed the most work.
The Zamboni came onto the ice, and I watched as the driver drove around, smoothing and cleaning until the ice gleamed. It was the first time in months that I’d felt that unmistakable yearning to get on the rink.
Stepping on a clean sheet of ice was one of my favorite things, but I figured tomorrow would be soon enough. Only this time I would lace up hockey skates, and there wouldn’t be music playing, and I wouldn’t have a partner. Although, maybe I could play a death march for the players when I celebrated my victory.
Competitiveness stirred deep in my belly, and I clenched my jaw. I wanted to win tomorrow, and in order to be ready, I needed to get out of the arena and back to my hotel room to get some rest. My goal was to grind these buffoons into the pavement and leave no one standing.
Chapter 3
When I arrived at the rink the next morning, the first person I searched out was Hank so he could sharpen my hockey skates. There was nothing worse than trying to skate on dull blades. I found him hard at work, holding a blowtorch and doing something to a pile of hockey sticks.
“Hello,” I said.
“Ah, good morning, Victoria. You’re early.” He set the blowtorch down and discarded his goggles.
“I need my skates sharpened.”
“I don’t know how to do figure skates,” Hank said.
“Who said anything about figure skates?”
“Oh, sorry. I just assumed.”
“Don’t worry about it.” I thrust my hockey skates into his waiting hands.
“These are nice. Different from the players’ skates.”
“One of a kind,” I said. “Built for a foot with a higher arch. Well, built for my foot actually. My dad entertained the idea of me playing hockey. It didn’t work out, but he always makes sure I have a great pair
of hockey skates.”
Hank turned them over, carefully examining them.
“Half inch please.”
“You know your stuff,” he said as he clamped the skates into the machine.
“Have you worked with the players individually to figure out the best depth for balance and bite?”
“Planning to. We just haven’t had the time yet,” he said. “I’ve been doing what they want. I know some are wrong.”
He finally flipped a switch, and I stood behind him, watching the sparks fly as he sharpened the blade. He unhooked the skate and ran a stone over the steel a few times.
“How’s that?” he asked, handing me the first skate.
I peered at the blade, handing it back to him so he could smooth a few more of the small rough spots with the hand-held stone.
“Looks good. If you’re interested, I can show you how to sharpen figure skates,” I said.
“Really?”
“Sure.”
“I thought I might need different equipment?”
“No, you use the same wheel as you use on your goalie skates.”
“Okay, next time you need your skates done, I’ll watch,” he said as he finished my other skate.
I paled because I hadn’t thought about using my figure skates. They were still tucked away in the trunk of my car. I wasn’t ready to look at them, much less touch them.
“You do know you can use the ice when it’s open?”
“I don’t even know if I have the job yet,” I said.
He chuckled. “Just let me know if you want to use the rink, and we can set it up with Paulie, our ice manager.”
“Sure, thanks,” I said.
“Have you alerted the training staff that there will be casualties today?”
“No, should I?”
He laughed. “I think Phil warned them. Just try not to kill any of them.”
He handed me the other skate and I jammed it into my bag. “Thanks.”
“Vika,” he said.
“Yeah?”
“Keep track of the order they drop,” he said. “A few of us have a pool going, and I could really use the extra cash.”
He winked and I laughed. “You got it.”
Since the sun had barely peeked above the horizon, the arena was still quiet. I decided to take a longer tour than I’d been on with the coaches. The day they took me on a tour, I’d been so focused on making a good impression I’d barely noticed anything. Now I could look more carefully.
This was a brand new arena, built for the specific purpose of bringing an AHL team to town. The people who ran the arena had been hard at work, putting on the finishing touches for opening night. A large banner featuring the team hung in the main lobby, and the Ravens logo was everywhere. The lights were on in the gift shop, so I peered through the gate and watched a young woman unpack boxes of Ravens jerseys. Racks and racks of Raven gear were already in place, ready for people to purchase.
She glanced at me, and I waved at her. The woman smiled and then continued with her work. I headed down the corridor toward the concession stands. I loved the smells of an arena when it was game day: fresh popcorn, pizza, and regional specialties. My mouth watered when I glanced at the menus. I couldn’t wait to taste some of the food.
The floors gleamed in the dim light, but soon they would dull with spilled beer and the steps of thousands of boot-clad patrons clomping to their seats. I was actually excited to see the arena filled with people ready to cheer the hockey team.
I wandered down a tunnel and looked out over the ice. It would be strange to be in the wings and not center stage when people screamed and clapped for goals and not the execution of jumps or lifts.
“Jesus,” I muttered. I didn’t need to obsess over what wasn’t going to happen. I turned to head downstairs, listening to my shoes squeak as I jogged toward the weight room.
Thankfully the guys weren’t there yet. I wasn’t ready to deal with them. I unrolled my mat, sat down, and crossed my legs to try to occupy my mind with the needs of the hockey team and not skating.
After several minutes of deep breathing and stretching, I felt balanced and ready to go conquer this new adventure. The outcome of this experiment would hopefully create a new path for my life. And it wasn’t just the idea of finding a new place in the world; I wanted to win the challenge. Not only to prove to myself I was qualified for the job, but to prove to my dad, and maybe even to Viktor, that I didn’t need either of them to survive and succeed. Not that I was going to tell Viktor about this job, but I’d know, and that’s what mattered.
My calm was interrupted when someone kicked the door open.
“I need a word,” Cameron said.
“Yeah, well, you can wait a few seconds until I’m finished.”
“You’re not doing anything,” he said.
I blinked a few times before turning my gaze to the captain and his scruffy face. He looked tired and annoyed.
“Oh, for god’s sake. Fine. Let’s hear it,” I said as I sprang to my feet.
“Why are you here?”
“I applied for a job.”
“The Ravens don’t need you,” he said frankly.
“Well, thank you for being honest, but I don’t think it’s the team. I think it’s you who doesn’t believe I can fill a need because I don’t look or act like the typical conditioning coach. I have news for you. I’m not giving up because you want me to disappear. If you’re scared of a challenge, just admit it and we can move on from there.”
“Sweetheart, I’ve been defeating challenges since before you were born.”
“So, you’re afraid I’m going to end your winning streak, because that’s exactly what I’m going to do today. Feel free to buy me a cake when I win.”
He narrowed his eyes at me, and for a few seconds, I thought he was going to check me into the wall. “Goddamn it, you’re a stubborn thing,” he muttered before walking out of the room, leaving me wondering if I’d won this round.
“What is wrong with that guy? Calling me stubborn? He’s the stubborn jackass,” I muttered.
“Talking to yourself?” Alex asked.
“Another run in with your captain. The guy wears me out.” I twisted my torso a few times, and then rubbed my lower back, where tension had once again settled. “You should go change.”
He smiled and swiped his hair away from his eyes. “Just stopped to wish you luck.”
“I don’t need luck,” I said.
“I know.”
“Get out of here,” I said and finally smiled at him.
“Shelby says thank you for the autograph,” he said cheerfully as he bounded out of the room.
“Quit being so happy. I hate it.”
I collapsed on my mat and stared at the ceiling, sighing loudly.
“Giving up already?” Matt asked.
“You wish,” I muttered and returned to my stretches.
Several guys filed in, and I barked at them to warm up. I stuck to my own regimen, choosing to watch and listen to the guys instead of leading them. Some were serious and others seemed nonchalant about the competition. They chatted about their wives or girlfriends and trivial things like what they ate for breakfast or how many coffees and protein shakes they drank. Most were only half-heartedly warming up.
A few talked about the preseason and how much work they would have to do to make it to the NHL. Some complained about minor aches and pains. None seemed nervous about my challenge, and it made me more motivated to crush them.
When the entire team had assembled and I’d sufficiently warmed up my muscles, I stood. “Everyone ready?” I asked. “I can give you a few more minutes if you’re not good to go.
“Let’s just get this over with,” Cameron said, sneering at me.
Ignoring the idea that I should be professional, I flipped him off and headed outside where we all ran two miles. When we returned to the arena, most of the guys were doing okay. A few were slightly winded, but that was expected. Not everyo
ne was a runner. Several laughed and asked me if we were done with the competition. I gave a maniacal giggle and sneered at them as I headed into the arena.
“These are stairs,” I said. “Watch me for a few, then feel free to try and keep up. This exercise will take concentration, speed, and strength.”
As I bounded up the stairs, alternating between running, leaping, and jumping, I heard many guys gasp. I repeated the pattern several times before signaling them to follow me. Halfway into the second lap around the arena, I’d lost more than half of the team. No one had come close to passing me, and a couple guys had to excuse themselves to find a garbage can. Some just sat down in an empty seat, sweat pouring off their brows, and muttering obscenities I’m sure were directed at me.
“There’s water on the team bench,” I said as I raced by. “I suggest you get a drink.”
The only players who stayed on my heels were Cameron, Matt, and Alex. On the third circuit of stairs, we lost five more guys, and Cameron was huffing so hard I thought he was going to have a heart attack. Eight other guys were barely moving, choosing to walk instead of jumping and running. A few were trying to use the railing to pull themselves up the stairs.
“Are we done? Please tell me we’re done.”
“I smell smoke. I think my muscles are on fire. Someone spray me with a hose.”
“Can you call an ambulance?”
I laughed at their whines.
“One more time around,” I said. “And then we go stretch, do a little band work, and hit the bikes for a twenty-minute warm-down. If I’m reading the clock correctly, we’ll finish just in time for you to lace ’em up and hit the ice.
“Are you kidding me?” Cameron said, bending at the waist to catch his breath.
“I didn’t just make up this workout, I’ve done it,” I said.
Instead of waiting for a reply, I took off up the stairs, pushing myself to go faster and faster. When I completed the final circuit, I jogged down the tunnel and returned to the weight room where I sat on the floor, pretending I wasn’t sore or winded while I waited for the team.
Alex was the first one to stumble through the open door. He leaned against the wall, sweat running from his face like someone turned on a faucet, and glared at me. I grinned at him, but he didn’t have the strength to do anything but grimace.
