“Come on. Sink it in. All the way in,” I whisper to myself. Bronson charges at me on the ice. He raises his hockey stick, midair. I’m left with no options. I slide the puck over to Cruze, one of the newbies. “Sink it in!” I yell. You got this. I sink into the wall as all of Bronson’s body comes crashing into me.

It’s up to Cruze now. All eyes are focused directly on him. He takes a swing and the puck flies right over the crossbar. It’s pathetic. Bronson pumps his fist into the air. “Come on, Lawrence. Don’t get chippy. It’s going to be alright,” he mocks.

“Fuck off, Tony the Tiger,” I say.

The buzzer goes off. That’s the end of the scrimmage. We just got pulverized. “Sorry, man.” Cruze slams his stick onto the ice, followed by his helmet.

I skate over to him and grab his shoulder. “Hey, settle down, brother,” I say. “It’s fine. You know how many shots I’ve missed during my career?”

“I miss every single one,” he says. Steam rises from his hair.

I ruffle his hair and punch him in the arm. “That’s why you’re our best defense. Stick to your strengths. I’ll keep giving you the puck and you just keep trying. You’ll get better,” I say.

I know how Cruze is feeling. It’s about the same feeling I felt when I got my first contract. Millions of dollars ride on these moments. The industry puts all sorts of pressure on you. This game is not for the faint of heart. It’ll tear your life apart. Some people make it. Others are left behind in the dust. It’s the sad truth about entertainment.

“Thanks, bro,” he says.

Bronson comes around the corner and grabs our shoulders. “Party tonight,” he whispers. “Party, party, party!”

“Alright, ladies! Listen up!” Our coach blows the whistle. We all step out of the rink together to hear what insight he’s got for us. “You all here?” he asks. There’s silence. “I asked if you were all here.”

I’m the only one who’s not scared to speak up. This coach has been known to be hardest in the business. Normally, that gives results. This year, I’m not too sure. We’re definitely the underdogs of this season. You know those bets people are placing? Well, they’re placing them against us this year.

“We’re here, coach. What is it?” I ask.

“It doesn’t fucking feel like you’re all here!” he screams. “You’re playing like little girls out there! It’s pathetic. Cruze! How many times have I told you not to aim up into the air like that? This isn’t high school, ladies.”

“What a fucking prick,” Bronson whispers. I laugh lightly, but the coach has sonic ears. He makes eye contact with me, gritting his teeth with enough malice to set the world on fire.

“And you, Lawrence. Our star player. Our golden child. They say you’re the best in the business. They all tell me you’ll be standing in my shoes in ten years,” he says. That’s right. I’ll be taking your job, bitch. I nod, confidently. “Then why are you taking risks out there?”

“It’s scrimmage, coach. I’m trying some new techniques,” I say.

He turns to the rest of the players, addressing everyone now. “You all have a role in this family, like it or not. I didn’t make that role for you. You did, based on your playing skills. On the ice, we stick to our roles,” he says. “Now, when you leave here and head back to your hotel rooms, you can be whoever you want to be. You want to be Wayne Gretzky? Go ahead and believe you’re Wayne Gretzky. But here, you are yourself and nobody else.”

We bring it in and slam our sticks against the ground. We bang our heads against each other’s helmets. We gnarl our teeth and scream into the sky. We rile each other up until it’s time to head into the locker rooms to wash up.

“Are we really that bad?” Bronson asks, dropping his jock strap.

I cover my eyes with my palm, but the image of his dick is burned into my brain forever. “Come on, man. Have some decency,” I say. All the guys start laughing.

“Fuck off,” he says, glancing down. He covers himself with his towel.

“No, we’re not that bad,” I say. “We just really have to prove ourselves during the season.”

Bronson has already tuned out of the conversation he started. “Fuck it,” he says. “I’m going to focus on getting plastered with a grip of beautiful women tonight. Tonight, boys, we’re going to live like kings!”

The whole locker room hoots and hollers. Some of the guys start banging on their lockers. Bronson gets a wave of energy that’s more comical than anything I’ve seen lately. He stands on one of the benches and flexes. “That’s right! We’ve practiced our asses off! We’ve slaved away for the man! Tonight is our solace! Grab a woman. Get a beer.”

“Get a clue,” I mutter. Players shove my shoulder from every direction. We all laugh.

Bronson continues his little speech. “Seriously, guys. The hottest women on the planet are going to be there tonight, so let’s get ready and look our best. Don’t listen to Lawrence. He’s too old to get it up now,” he says, smirking.

“Watch it, Bronson,” I say. “Do you really want to compete against me tonight? Remember what happened last time?”

He frowns. “Let me paint the picture for everyone,” I continue. “Last time we all partied our brains out, I found him in a stall with his pants around his legs, leaning against a toilet. It wasn’t a pretty sight.”

He smiles, bashfully. Within seconds, he’s laughing his ass off. “Damn, that was a good night,” he says.

Within all of the players’ excitement is my lack of enthusiasm. In a way, Bronson is right. We’re the oldest on the team. We’ve been doing this shit forever. Blacking out at parties, going home with a new woman, and regretting it in the morning isn’t something new. If I’m being honest, I’m not that excited about all of that anymore. I’m more excited for the season to start than anything else.

I had a dream last night about that woman. She was watching me from the stands and we caught eyes. I remember her lips and the way her smile curled at the edges of her mouth. I remember her hazel eyes reflecting against the stadium lights.

I slammed my stick to the ice and made my way to her. I walked up the steps, pushing past the screaming fans. I reached out and touched her smooth skin. She felt like silk. We leaned our heads forward. And she was gone.

“I have to find her,” I whisper to myself, before leaving the locker room and entering our bus. But I know my odds. She’s just another one that got away. We just have one more week here. I’ll get over it as soon as I get back to Chicago.