The Wrong Picking Number

CHAPTER 2

LINCOLN

Istepped onto the ice, the cold biting at my exposed skin as I made my way to the rest of my team. It may have just been practice, but I lived for this game. It was the only thing that made me feel...well, anything.

The rink was alive with the sound of blades slicing through the ice, the occasional clank of a stick hitting the puck, and the laughter and banter of my teammates. I joined them, a small smile tugging at the corner of my lips as I exchanged playful jabs with the guys, a buzz of energy zipping through my veins at the thought of what was to come.

Our coach appeared in front of us, his gray eyes scanning us with a critical gaze. He was a jerk, but he was also the best coach I'd ever had, so I didn't mind it so much. "All right, listen up, assholes," he said, his voice firm and commanding. "Today we're working on passing drills, since you all seemed to forget that particular skill in Tuesday's game."

We all chuckled, but he wasn't lying. We were fucking awful on Tuesday, barely scraping past the last place RedHawks. We needed to get our shit together because Toronto wouldn't lie down for us this weekend.

We started with a simple drill, passing the puck back and forth in a tight circle. It was a drill we'd done countless times before, but like last game, we fucking sucked.

"Tight fucking passes!" Coach screamed.

"Sounds a little close to something else," Ari, my best friend, grinned next to me. "Something I happen to have."

I rolled my eyes, but still chuckled. Because we were idiots like that.

We moved on to more complex drills, and we pushed harder, the intensity ramping up. Not enough to stop our normal shit-talking though.

Bender leaned forward, one hand gripping the goal, and the other holding his back.

"What the fuck's wrong with you, old man?" Ari called out as he skated a loop around the goal.

"Rough night," Bender sighed, before leaping up and thrusting his hips, "With your mama riding me so hard she broke my back."

The team roared, and Ari shook his head in disgust. "That wasn't even a good one. Fuck, you're 34 years old and now I gotta picture my mama riding you like a fucking horse."

"Are you shitheads done fucking around?" Coach roared, and we dispersed to get ready for the scrimmage on the docket for the next hour.

My adrenaline coursed through me as I skated forward, making a quick pass to Dalton, then watching as he took the puck down the ice and scored a goal.

The players on the bench erupted in cheers like we were in a real game. Dalton accepted their high-fives and fist-bumped each one. Would be nice if he could do that in the fucking game once in a while. I was the starting forward on the team, but Coach had me playing wing for the scrimmage so Dalton could try and get out of whatever rut he was in. I obviously wanted him to get his head straight too...but I also loved being the one to fucking score.

Ari turned to me and said, "We going out tonight?" This was asked right as he shoved me into the glass.

"Fuck," I groaned as I pushed him off me. "You're fucking weak, Lancaster. Soto hits me harder than that." Ari gritted his teeth at me and growled. Soto played for L.A. and Ari hated him. It was one of my favorite things to throw his name around anytime Ari did...well, fucking anything.

"Better watch out," he shot back. "Dalton's going to steal your spot." The second the words passed his lips, he was laughing though, because we both fucking knew that was never going to happen.