Not a Player (Laketown Hockey Book 1)

by A. J. Wynter

  I rubbed the back of my neck, “I might have heard something like that.”

  Coach’s gaze followed a boat as it made its way between the islands that sat in front of Pine Hill. “I might have heard that there was a party here after the game too.”

  “I guess we both heard things that we weren’t supposed to hear.” I was pushing Coach, but I was on the edge of my seat, literally. “What’s the news Coach?”

  “The scout was interested in two players.”

  My heart thudded against my chest. “Oh, yeah?” I slid fully into the chair, trying my best to look nonchalant.

  This time it was coach’s turn to sit up. “I wanted you to hear it from me first.”

  “Okaaaaay.”

  “Shit,” Coach took off his sunglasses. “This is harder than I thought it was going to be.”

  “Coach, I thought that you said this was good news.” My heart was pumping so hard the whooshing in my ears was drowning out the sounds of the waves hitting the dock boards beneath us.

  “The scout thinks you have potential. Serious potential.”

  “That’s good, right?” I couldn’t help it. I gripped the armrests of the chair and stood up. “That means he’s interested.”

  “It does,” Coach smiled. “But not for next season.”

  “Oh.”

  Coach stood up and gripped my arm. “All I’m saying is you could go all the way; we just have some work to do. Are you prepared to work hard?”

  “Of course, Coach.” I nodded. “It has been my dream to play in the National League since I was four years old.”

  “And you’re prepared to cut back on the partying?” He nodded towards the cottage.

  “Yep. I’m getting a little tired of cleaning up after everyone anyway.” I smiled, my lips wavering. “Did he say what I have to work on?” My mind went to the hours I had spent on our backyard rink, shooting pucks until my hands went numb.

  “It’s your skating.”

  I reared back like Covington had reached out and slapped me. “My skating?” I repeated.

  “I was surprised too, but I watched the game tapes and I can see it. You’re leaving a lot of maneuverability on the table. I think he’s right, it’s the missing piece. Tighten that up and you will be an all-around solid player.”

  “My skating?” I was still thrown. My slap shot, maybe, but my skating, that was fucking crazy. “I guess I’ll work on that. Do some drills or something...”?

  “I’ve got one better for you. Have you ever heard of the Skating Academy?”

  I shook my head, but then it dawned on me, “Just the one in New York.”

  “Yes, it’s based in the city.”

  I looked at Pine Hill. Playing for Laketown was perfect. I got to live at my cottage and everyone in the town worshipped the ground the players walked on – it was the closest I’d ever been to being a celebrity. “I don’t know, Coach, that’s a long way to go for some edge lessons, and the city isn’t really where I want to spend my summer.” Already I could smell the rotting garbage and feel the heat radiating from the pavement.

  “I thought you would say that.” The coach finished his coffee and shook the last drops into the lake. “I know the owner of the Academy, She’s an old friend of mine, and it turns out one of her top skaters lives right here in Laketown.”

  “Is he here to coach the summer camps?”

  “I don’t know the details. All I know is that this coach lives here and is willing to take you on, one on one. Private lessons.”

  I took a deep breath, “Beats leaving Laketown.”

  “Now, these sessions, they aren’t cheap, but I spoke with your mom this morning.”

  “Step-mom,” I corrected.

  “Right, sorry. Stepmom. And your dad agreed to pay for the sessions.”

  “Wait, this is all said and done before any of you even consulted with me?”

  Coach clapped me on the shoulder. “We all know how badly you want to make it to the National League, Kane. You’d jump in hot lava if I told you to.”

  He was right. “When do we start?”

  “Tomorrow. Five.”

  “Five. Got it.”

  “You know there are two five o’clocks in the day, right Fitzy?” Coach rarely called me by my nickname, and it caught me by surprise. I saw the sides of his lips turn up into a smile.

  “Five in the morning?” I gasped.

  “It’s the only open ice time and the only time this skating coach can make it. Is it going to be a problem?” Coach took off his sunglasses and stared me down.

  “Not a problem, sir. I’ll be there tomorrow at five.” In the fucking morning. I wasn’t a morning person, but if it meant going all the way to the pros, I would do it. Also, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t excited at the prospect of crossing paths with a certain figure skater.

  “Good.” Coach handed me the empty coffee mug and started to walk away.

  “Coach,” I shouted.

  “Yeah,” He turned.

  “The two. The guys the scout was interested in. Who are they?”

  Coach pursed his lips. “You’re going to find out anyway, but it’s Townsend and Moss.”

  I stopped in my tracks, the mug hanging loosely from my fingertips. Tanner, that made sense, but Dylan?

  “I told him Moss’s season with the team is over, so don’t worry about any competition from him. I already talked to Tanner.”

  Jealousy or envy, I didn’t really know which was which, but one of them burned inside of me. I couldn’t believe that the scout was interested in Dylan - especially after his performance. And Tanner, he was my best friend, but it still stung that he was going to be one step ahead of me.

  My hands shook as I watched coach leave. I breathed out hard through my nose and paced back and forth on the dock. I had played better than both Tanner and Dylan. What the fuck was going on? I worked harder than those two put together. Now, I had to go to some kind of remedial skating school? I pictured orange pylons scattered around the ice and some fat man with a thick accent screaming at me to bend my knees. I whipped around on my heel and chucked the coffee mug as hard as I could, watching the blue pottery sail through the air before it splashed into the lake and disappeared from sight.

  Was this some kind of sick joke?

  Chapter 13 - Jessie

  My thighs burned as they pumped up and down, propelling me forward on the rusty mountain bike I had ridden all through high school. It’s a good warmup, I told myself, trying to turn my miserable, misty commute into something positive.

  The last thing I wanted to do after skating practice, was to stay on the ice and teach some hockey jock about edge control, but when Vanessa told me how much they were going to pay me, there was no way I could say no. With the chip truck and the power skating sessions, I should be able to save enough money for one more semester at the Academy. Enough to polish up my long program and get ready for the American finals.

  The bike rack still had dew on it as I shoved the bike into one of the slots. I didn’t bother with a bike lock, the brakes didn’t really work, so if someone wanted to steal my bike – karma in the form of no brakes would get them back.

  Andy was waiting to let me in. “Hi, Andy.”

  “Hi, kiddo.” He locked up behind me.

  “Someone is coming at five for power skating,” I said as I hurried past him.

  “I got the memo,” Andy yelled.

  I laced up my skates and tried to smooth out the frizzies in my hair courtesy of the misty bike ride. The fresh sheet of ice gleamed in wait for me. I hopped on the surface, hoping to leave my problems in the dressing room. I warmed up quickly and then did three back to back run-throughs of my long program – Veronica had chosen the music from Swan Lake and I was thrilled, but I couldn’t get the lutz. The first time I popped it – a single, the second time it was under-rotated, and I stepped out of it – the third, I just totally caught my edge and bailed – hard. By the end of the session, the ice had been mopped c
lean by my ass.

  “Dammit,” I shouted as I slid backward into the boards one last time.

  “Toepick!” I heard someone yell – someone who wasn’t Andy.

  “Fuck off,” I said under my breath. I would’ve screamed it but I didn’t have the energy. I paused on my hands and knees, catching my breath, and then made my way to the exit. The door opened as I skidded to stop. “Thanks, Andy,” I said without looking as I grabbed my skate guards from the ledge.

  “You’re welcome?” The voice wasn’t Andy’s.

  I turned to see Kane Fitzgerald holding the door. “I thought you were Andy,” I said, running my fingers down the blades and shaking off the snow on the rubber mats.

  “I see the toe-pick is tripping you up. Literally.”

  I rolled my eyes at him. Ever since the movie The Cutting Edge, hockey players have found it funny to scream out ‘toe-pick’ every time they witnessed a fall. “And I’m surprised that you know how to use the word literally.”

  “I just guessed.” He grinned. “Are you alright? That last one looked like it hurt.”

  I marched to the visitor’s dressing room and paused with my hand on the heavy door. He followed behind me. “Are you coming in here again?” I turned, blocking the doorway.

  “No, I’m going in there.” he gestured over his shoulder to the Otters’ dressing room with his thumb.

  “What are you doing here so early? Do you secretly live here?”

  “Sometimes I feel like I do.” Kane backed away from me.

  The bulge in his sweatpants was like a solar eclipse. I didn’t want to look at it directly, but secretly I wanted to stare at it. Did the man walk around with a semi in his boxers, or was his cock just that big? “Me too.” I leaned against the door, training my eyes on the space above his eyebrows. I tried looking at his eyes but felt the color rushing to my cheeks. Was there no place sacred on this man – somewhere that wouldn’t set my heart beating just a little bit faster? “But really, what are you doing here?”

  “Fuck,” he muttered. “I’m here to take skating lessons.”

  I had just swigged a mouthful of water and I squeezed my lips together to try to stop the spray, but it was too late, and water shot out of my mouth like the show at the Bellagio.

  Kane jumped back as splatters from my fountainhead impression landed on his flip flops.

  “Skating lessons? You? No.” I wiped my mouth with the sleeve of my warmup jacket.

  He looked at me sideways, a hint of a smile on his face. “You think it’s ridiculous too?”

  “I’ve seen you play. You’re alright.” This was an understatement; he was one of the best.

  His eyes sparkled as he nodded and leaned against the Otters’ door. His arms windmilled as the door opened behind him, he obviously thought he was leaning on something solid, but his arm span was wide enough for his fingertips to catch the doorframe.

  “That’s very The Matrix of you,” I laughed. He seemed suspended at an unbelievably low angle, his body in a reverse tabletop position. There was no way he was going to be able to stand up. I strode across the hallway in my skates and offered him my hand. He accepted and I leaned back and hauled him to a standing position.

  My hand was clammy and sweaty, and I pulled it from his grip as quickly as I could. I nonchalantly put my hands on my hips, hoping that the fabric from my leggings would absorb some of the dampness.

  “Thanks.” He checked his watch and glanced behind me. “Have you seen anyone else here, besides Andy?”

  “Nope,” I backed away, gripping my skate guards in my left hand.

  “I wonder where he is then?”

  “Who?”

  “This hot shot coach.” Kane’s lips flattened. He was clearly not happy.

  “What makes you think your coach is a man?” I crossed my arms across my chest.

  Kane screwed his face and snorted air out through his nose. “You’re kidding right?” I tilted my head and waited and then he continued his rant. “There’s no woman in the world who could teach me anything about skating.” His eyes widened. He must have figure out how sexist he had just sounded. “Hey, no offense,” he added.

  “Plenty taken.”

  “Whoa, sorry.” Kane shot me a smile and held his hands up stickup style.

  I turned and strode to the ice surface, watching as Andy completed his last lap in the Zamboni.

  “Wait, where are you going?” Kane shouted.

  “I have a five o’clock lesson.” I stepped onto the ice and shouted. “I have to teach a dumb jock how to skate.”

  Chapter 14 – Kane

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa.” I jogged and caught up with Jessie. She was tall in her skates and her eyes just about met mine directly. “You’re the power skating coach?”

  “I am.” She held onto the boards and shuffled her skates back in forth in place on the ice. “And you’re the player who needs to work on his edge control.” She sounded amused and looked me up and down.

  “There’s nothing wrong with my edge control.”

  “That’s not what I heard.” She started scrolling through the music on her phone and I winced as the opening notes to Fat Bottom Girl rang out through the arena’s sound system.

  “Well, Mr. Fitzgerald, how about you go put your skates on and show me that great edge control of yours.” She pushed against the boards and glided backward.

  “I will on one condition,” I shouted.

  “What’s that?” she started skating along on one foot, pumping her free foot in the air for momentum.

  “We’re changing the music.” I pointed to the speakers suspended above center ice.

  She pointed to the time clock, which read seven minutes after five. “No. Now go get your skates on.”

  How could they do this to me? This was the ultimate humiliation. I’m Kane Fitzgerald. Number eight-eight – the best player on the damn team – and I’m getting lessons from a figure skater?

  In the dressing room, I sat in front of my number and shook my head. I was tempted to keep walking, get into my car, and tell Covington to go fuck himself, but I wanted to succeed too badly. ‘Suck it up,’ I whispered under my breath and shoved my feet into my skates.

  At the far end of the ice, Jessie was gliding like a ballerina, seemingly in her graceful little world – one that I was about to invade. Feedback cracked through the speakers as I plugged my phone in and angry guitar filled the cold arena air.

  Jessie skated towards me, stopping and spraying snow all over my skates. “No.” Was all she said and unplugged my phone.

  “Come on, you can’t expect me to—”

  “You can’t warm up to this, it’s the wrong BPM.”

  “BPM? Beats per—”

  “Minute,” she interrupted and turned up her terrible music even louder. “Now, start by doing crossovers around the faceoff circle, slowly, one cross per beat.”

  “This is fucking stupid,” I whispered under my breath.

  “Excuse me?”

  “I didn’t think you could hear that with your crappy music playing.” I leaned against the boards. “And I’m not doing a figure skating drill.”

  “It’s not a figure skating drill. It’s a skating drill.” She emphasized the word ‘skating.’

  “Well, then let me do it to my type of music. I’m not skating...” I mimicked her voice, “to this garbage. Before I could unplug her phone, she snatched mine out of my hand, turned and skated away before I even knew what had happened.

  “You want to change the music, hotshot?” she shouted. “Fine, but you’ve got to catch me first.” She held my phone hostage above her head. She was already at the blue line, her ponytail swinging as she skated away from me. I pushed off from the boards and within three aggressive strides was up to speed. There was no way she was going to outskate me. She rounded the edge of the rink, gracefully crossing her feet over faster than I had ever seen anyone do without doing jump strides. I arced a shortcut across the ice, but just as I reached my ha
nd out to tag her, she did some kind of crazy jump turn. Once she was backward, she lowered her center of gravity and practically doubled her speed. Her strides were wide and powerful, and I could feel my heart racing, my breaths coming harder and faster as she ever so slightly widened the gap between us.

  “Don’t you dare...” I shouted, my breath a little more ragged than I expected. As a player, I specialized in short bursts, this extended sprint was pushing me out of my cardio comfort zone, “... drop my phone.

  She shoved my phone into the pocket on her leggings and skated around the center circle. I followed, cutting the circle a little smaller each time we went around, and I don’t know if she was slowing down, or my shortcut was paying off, but I finally got close enough so that I could touch her. I reached and lunged at her with my hand, “There,” I shouted. But instead of feeling solid shoulder bone, I felt something soft and curved. It took both of us a second to realize that I had just totally copped a feel of her boob. I pulled my hand back like her chest was a hot ember, something burning I had to shake off. “I’m...” I gasped, “Sorry.”

  She was staring at her chest where my hand had just been.

  “I didn’t mean it, I swear.”

  “I know.” She turned and skated away. I put my hands on my knees, my breaths leaving my body faster than they should have. I stared down at the laces on my skates, knowing that the flush in my cheeks wasn’t just from the extreme cardio.

  “I’m going to go.” I skated hard and fast to the door and was off the ice before she even turned around.

  “Wait,” she shouted, but I was already halfway to the dressing rooms. I was equal parts fuming, and equal parts turned on. I ripped the skates off my feet. How was I supposed to make it to the National League if I couldn’t even keep up with a girl?

  Chapter 15 – Jessie

  “Hi, Sis,” Dylan shouted from the kitchen and I nearly jumped out of my Birks. I kicked them onto the pile of shoes by the door and followed the sound of clanging pots to the kitchen.