And Axel Vanderbuel was the worst kind of company.

Chapter 6—Iced by the Coach

~~Axel~~

I dug my blades into the ice with ferocity, letting my frustration and anger fuel my burning muscles. My heart slammed in my chest, my lungs screamed for air, and my thigh muscles threatened to cramp. I pushed myself harder and harder, skating faster and faster, careening around the turn, and taking the straight stretch at breakneck speed.

Finally, I was spent. Exhausted. Drained. My body had nothing left to give.

I glided over to the boards and collapsed against them, draping my upper body over the top because my legs had started to shake and refused to hold me up any longer.

I closed my eyes, allowing my mind to riffle back through the events of the past week since I’d joined this team. These should be the best days of my life, the achieving of a dream I’d had since childhood, the culmination of thousands of hours of ice time.

They should’ve been.

Jock and I had avoided each other all week, but the tension was there. Judging by how crappy the entire team was playing, they were all feeling the friction and negatively affected by the animosity simmering just below the surface of Jock’s quiet demeanor. The majority of my teammates blamed me, and I didn’t dare defend myself and make things worse. A guy couldn’t get much lower than to sleep with a teammate’s wife.

Instead, I hunkered down and worked harder.

I’d never been the subject of my teammates’ disgust. I’d always been a team player, a good guy, easy to get along with, hardworking, drama-free. Now I was the guy everyone avoided, except for my new roommates, and they didn’t have much of a choice. When I walked into the room, its occupants went silent. I was miserable and blaming myself for my stupidity.

With a month left in the regular season, the Sockeyes were fighting for that last playoff spot. I wasn’t helping that battle any, despite my efforts. I was sucking it on the ice. My passes consistently would have been perfect if I was passing to my opponents, and my shots were even farther off. I’d developed a talent for being in the wrong place at the wrong time, and I was a handicap to my team. The veterans had to wonder how I’d ever gotten this far. I was beginning to wonder too.

“Punishing your body isn’t going to fix your problem.”

I jerked my head upward in the direction of the speaker. I’d thought my teammates had gone home, and I was all alone in the practice rink.

“Your problem is mental, not physical.” Team captain Isaac “Ice” Wolfe moved closer and lounged against the boards a few feet from me. He was in street clothes and athletic shoes yet managed to keep his feet underneath him on the slippery surface. I hated to admit I was a little intimidated by him. He didn’t say much, so when he spoke, the entire team listened. Management and the coaching staff respected his opinions. So did I. One negative word from him, and I’d be sent back down to Portland.