I’ve managed to screw up on every shift I’ve taken on the ice—an impressive feat, for sure. Although the first time wasn’t my fault. At least, not completely. My stick broke on a pass. Hell, maybe I was being too aggressive, but either way, instead of flying over to our right wing, the puck only wobbled a few feet away and was snatched up by the Avalanche’s defense.

That was when they scored their first goal . . . only forty seconds into the game . . . and when everything started to go downhill.

What I know for certain is that my team is losing patience with me. Even our captain, Reeves, who’s always supported me, was this close to dropping his gloves and pounding me into the ice. I could practically taste his frustration when he growled in my face.

“Come on, Tate. Get your shit together,” he hissed as he skated past me.

Of course, this had to happen against our biggest rivals, the Denver Avalanche. And it’s my fault we’re down by three goals.

“Shit game you’re having, yeah?” Bronson, the Avalanche’s cocky center, gives me a grin that shows off his missing front tooth.

“Shit game? Try shit season.” His teammate Raduloff smirks at me, his eyes sparkling with delight.

I grind my teeth against my mouthguard to keep from saying anything. His words sting like only the truth can.

There are no hockey fans holding up signs for me in the stands. No jerseys with my name printed on the back. Not yet, anyway. I’m unproven talent, the new guy on the team. And I’m blowing it every single time I take the ice.

It would help if I could get out of my own head for four fucking seconds. Yet lately, a bunch of confusing thoughts seem to fill my brain—like who I want to be in the NHL, and what I want to be known for. And since I don’t have any answers, it’s messed with my ability to perform.

At first, I was happy just to be getting ice time, but it quickly became clear that’s not enough. I’m up against some of the most talented players in the world, and they’re literally skating circles around me. They’re the type of guys who are the best in the league and still aren’t satisfied, and I’m learning that’s the mentality you have to have to succeed. It’s not enough just to make it. It’s not enough that I can skate fast and handle a stick at the same time.

Maybe I don’t belong here at all. Maybe I’ve only been fooling everyone before. Imposter syndrome is alive and well.