This contract, this opportunity, is everything I’ve worked for. Not just for me, but for my mother. For the kid I was who used to practice stick handling in our tiny apartment hallway until the neighbors complained. I owe it to her to be nothing less than exceptional.

So I streak around the ice, leaving the other guys in the dust, and although Theo makes a crack about me showing off when I lap him at one point, I ignore him. We start our drills a couple of laps later, taking different positions and formations on the ice and squaring off against each other. I do my best to keep up with the level of talent that’s out here with me, but I still feel like they’re outpacing me, and that frustrates the hell out of me.

When you’ve spent your life being the best player on every team you’ve played for, it’s humbling to suddenly be surrounded by guys who are just as good, if not better.

But that’s the NHL. That’s the level I’ve fought to reach, and I’m not about to back down from the challenge.

Dunaway’s whistle shrieks an hour later, ending practice, but as the rest of the team scatters, Coach whistles again. “Murray!” he shouts, pointing at me, so I circle back across the ice toward him at the center.

“Yeah, Coach?”

“I want to talk to you for a minute. Come with me,” he says and skates away without another word, so I follow him with my heart pumping a little faster than I’d like. My first thought is that this has something to do with Hannah, and that doesn’t do anything to calm me down. Did he catch what was going on between us?

I play a mental guessing game until we enter Dunaway’s office near the locker room.

“Close the door behind you,” he says as he heads for his desk, so I kick the door shut and stop in front of his desk. He flops into a worn office chair and points across his desk at a folding chair on the other side. “Have a seat.”

“Is everything okay?” I ask warily as I join him.

Dunaway waves a hand before folding his hands together on the desk. “Don’t worry, Murray. You aren’t getting cut from the team or anything.”

“That’s a relief.”

“I’m really pleased with your playing. If that pass you made in the last game was any indication, we’re in for a hell of a season with you.”

“Thanks, Coach. I really appreciate that.”

“Sure. But just like anyone else, you still have some areas you could improve. I’ve noticed you’re a little slow on your pivots.”

I sigh and nod. “You aren’t the first person to tell me that.”

“Any idea why that’s been a problem area for you?”