Page 8 of Blindside Me (Cessna U Hockey #3)

CHAPTER EIGHT

Drew

Five a.m. The only time the rink feels like it belongs to me and no one else.

After my solo skate, I’m in the locker room, gear laid out in perfect rows, everything exactly where it should be.

If my gear’s off, everything else is off.

I’ve done this routine so many times I could do it blindfolded: same parking spot, same door, and same number of steps to the locker room.

Routine keeps me grounded. Focused. And today, I need to focus more than ever.

My phone buzzes.

Dad: Early ice time today?

I don’t respond. He already knows the answer. I’ve been doing early ice since I was fourteen, since Jake flamed out, and the family spotlight swung to me. It’s never moved.

The door bangs open. Blake strolls in, Ryan behind him, a couple of other guys trailing. Tension creeps into my shoulders.

“Morning, sunshine,” Blake says, dropping his bag onto the bench beside mine. “You sleep at all, or just mainline coffee all night?”

“I slept fine,” I lie.

Ryan yawns. “Must be nice. I was up half the night finishing that econ paper.”

I don’t mention that I finished mine three days ago. Or that I’ve already started next week’s assignment. They wouldn’t get it. They don’t have to be perfect. They just have to be good enough.

“Elmwood’s bringing heat tomorrow,” Blake says, sitting to lace up. “Their defense has been shutting teams down all season.”

“We’ve got this,” Ryan says, like someone who’s never had to worry about failing. “Drew’s gonna clear paths for us all night, right, buddy?”

I grunt, focusing on taping my stick. Each wrap overlaps the last by half. Not too tight. Not too loose. Perfect.

More guys filter in. The noise level rises. Weekend plans. Last night’s party. Some girl Country’s into. Stuff I used to care about before my ass got put on the line.

I tune it all out and go deeper into my bubble.

“Hear anything about scouts?” someone asks.

My hands freeze mid-wrap. The question wasn’t directed at me, but it might as well have had my name on it.

“Heard Denver is sending someone to the Elmwood game,” another voice answers.

I resume taping, ignoring the spike in my pulse.

Coach Howell strides in. Instantly, the chatter dies.

“Morning, gentlemen. We’ve got a scout coming to Saturday’s game. He’s from the Avalanche.”

The room buzzes with excitement, but all I hear is white noise. The Avalanche. The same team scout that Jake… No. Don’t go there.

“This is an opportunity for all of you,” Coach says, eyes locking on mine. “Especially our defensive line.”

Easton whistles low, clapping me on the shoulder. “Spotlight’s yours, D-man.”

I nod stiffly. I should be pumped. Instead, the weight of expectation lands like a ton of bricks. Hope flares in my chest, but it’s edged with panic. This could be everything I’ve been working toward. Or the thing that unravels me completely.

“Hit the ice in fifteen,” Coach says, then steps out.

I mentally run drills, checklists, and worst-case scenarios before finishing taping and gearing up. Every movement is mechanical.

“You good?” Ryan asks.

“Fine,” I mutter, pulling my jersey over my head. “Just focused.”

“Don’t overthink it, man. You’ve got this.”

Easy for him to say. He doesn’t understand what’s at stake.

Out on the ice, I start my warm-up laps. The cold burns my lungs in a way that feels right. I push harder into the turns, everything sharp and controlled.

Coach blows his whistle and outlines practice, which includes passing drills, defensive scenarios, and conditioning. Standard stuff. But today, nothing feels standard.

I partner with Ryan. The first pass is off target. I adjust. The second is better, but not perfect. We keep going, but my frustration builds.

Then he sends one wide. I reach, miss, and snap. “Get your head in the game! That’s JV-level passing, Sorenson.”

The rink goes still. Ryan looks stunned. Blake pauses.

“Klaas!” Coach barks. “A word.”

I skate over.

“What was that?”

“The pass was sloppy,” I say defensively. “We can’t afford sloppy.”

Coach studies me for a moment, his expression unreadable. “You know what scouts look for, Klaas? Beyond skill. Leadership. How you handle pressure.” He leans in. “Right now, you’re showing them you crack.”

The words knock the air out of me.

“You’ve got talent,” he continues. “But talent means nothing if you can’t be part of a team. Fix it. Now.”

Shame twists low in my gut. He’s right, and that makes it worse.

I nod and skate back.

“Sorry,” I mutter to Ryan. “Let’s rerun it.”

He nods, but something’s changed.

The rest of the practice is a blur of drills and corrections. I push myself to be the teammate I’m supposed to be.

But then I catch the sight of a blonde-haired and blue-eyed woman sitting in the bleachers with a notebook nestled on her lap.

Jade Howell.

Practice is closed. Always have been. Players, coaches, and trainers are all that’s allowed. Until now, apparently.

I push harder and try to block her out. Stick handling. Edge work. These basics have been drilled into me since I was six years old. I refuse to look at the bleachers again. She doesn’t matter. She’s not important. Whatever she’s writing, whoever she’s watching, it shouldn’t affect me.

But it does.

One glance.

She’s not writing, just watching.

“Ready, Klaas?” Coach calls.

I snap back to attention, nodding sharply. The whistle blows. We launch into the drill. I collect a pass from our goalie and scan for an outlet. Ryan’s cut through the neutral zone is perfect. I send the puck his way, or try to.

The pass slides between my skates, skittering uselessly across the ice. It’s a rookie mistake. The kind that makes coaches question your consistency. The kind that makes scouts look elsewhere.

“Focus, Klaas!”

Heat crawls up my neck. I force a reset. Nail the next pass. And the next.

Still, I look.

Our gazes meet, and for a pulse, she is all I can see. Her expression is unreadable as she leans forward and places her elbows on her knees. Why is she here? Why does it matter?

I grit my teeth, snap my attention back to the ice, and reset for the next rep.

“Two-on-one drills,” Coach yells.

I transition smoothly, but my mind is split. Part of me is on the ice, going through movements so familiar they’re practically muscle memory. The other part wonders what she’s doing here. If Coach invited her. If she asked to come. If she’s watching me specifically.

“Klaas and Morton, you’re up,” Coach says.

Blake skates to my side and lightly taps my stick. “You look distracted.” He glances toward the stands and back at me. “Stay with us.”

I nod. “Let’s go.”

We face off against Ryan and another forward, settling into a defensive position. Blake and I have done this hundreds of times. We read each other’s movements instinctively, knowing when to press and when to hang back.

The forwards attack and weave through the neutral zone. I track Ryan’s movement, anticipating his cut toward the net. I step up and angle my body to cut off his lane.

And in that crucial moment, my focus slips again. I glance toward the bleachers. Jade’s still watching intently.

One second of distraction. That’s all it takes. I miss my timing, skating too aggressively into my turn. Blake, expecting me to hold position, crashes into me. We collide hard, both of us tumbling to the ice in a tangle of limbs and sticks.

“What the hell, man?” Blake grunts, pushing himself up.

I’m already on my feet, embarrassment burning in my chest. “Sorry,” I mutter. “Thought he was cutting inside.”

Coach’s whistle pierces the air. “Klaas! Over here. Now.”

The ice feels longer as I skate over. Coach is pissed.

“Whatever’s going on in your head, deal with it. Now.”

“Yes, Coach.”

He lowers his voice. “You’ve got scouts watching. You’re not invisible. Fix it.”

The mention of scouts is like a bucket of ice water. I straighten, jaw tightening. “It won’t happen again.”

“See that it doesn’t.” He jerks his head toward the ice. “Back to work.”

I skate back, hyper-aware of every movement and laser-focused. But as I pass center ice, her eyes meet mine.

She doesn’t look away, giving me the slightest nod. Just enough to make me question everything. My pulse stutters. Not from the drill, but from her. Like she sees more than I want her to.

“Switch it up,” Coach calls.

We line up for suicides, and I embrace the burn. Down to the blue line and back. Down to the red line and back. Down to the far blue line and back. Down to the far goal line and back.

My lungs scream. My legs burn. Sweat stings my eyes. This is what I need. This is familiar. This is where I belong.

“Again,” I say to no one in particular.

Coach raises an eyebrow but lets it ride. “You heard him. Again!”

After the third set, my body begs to quit. I don’t. We finish, and Coach calls it. “Rest up. Saturday’s not just another game.”

The words echo longer than they should. Saturday isn’t just another game. It’s everything I’ve bled for.

As we skate off, I take one last glance. Jade’s talking to Coach. She gestures toward the ice. Toward me?

What are they talking about?

The not-knowing itches under my skin.

The guys shuffle toward the tunnel. Ryan claps a hand on Blake’s shoulder and says something that makes them both laugh despite their exhaustion. I hang back, taking a few extra moments to compose myself. Rebuild the walls that crumbled during practice.

I take one last lap around the ice, pushing my burning muscles for a few more seconds. It’s never enough. I could skate for hours, and it still wouldn’t be enough.

Coach steps onto the ice as I approach the tunnel, blocking my path. “Klaas. A word.”

My stomach tightens. This is about my performance. The distraction. How I let Jade throw off my focus.

“Yes, Coach.”

He waits until the others have disappeared into the locker room. His voice is low and serious. “That scout? He’s here for you. Avalanche has been watching all season.”

It lands like a punch.

“Don’t overthink it. Just play your game.”

I nod, throat tight. Words won’t come.

“You’ve earned this,” he says. “Prove them right.”

I nod again and push past him into the tunnel, desperate to escape. I can’t let him see the panic I’m fighting to contain. A scout . Coming specifically to see me. Not my brother. Me! The reality of it settles in my chest like concrete.

As I walk, Jade’s eyes meet mine for a beat. Her expression shifts to surprise, and then something else I can’t read, before she quickly looks away. What was that? Embarrassment at being caught? Pity? Concern?

And what were they talking about? Me? My performance? The fact that I couldn’t keep my eyes off her during practice?

Once in the locker room, I strip off my helmet and gloves, pissed at myself. The biggest game of my career, and I’m letting myself get distracted by a girl I barely know. A girl who probably doesn’t even care about hockey beyond whatever article she’s writing.

The scout, Coach’s expectations, Jade’s presence—it’s all piling up, threatening to crush me under its weight.

This ends now. Saturday, I’ll be flawless. I’ll impress the scout and make Coach proud. I’ll prove to my dad that I’m not Jake.

I’ll be everything they expect.

And maybe then, I’ll finally feel like enough.