Page 7 of Drop the Gloves

Evan assumed Barczyk would forget all about his offer—if anyone in the league said shit just to say it, it was Riley Barczyk—but after practice a few days before the home opener, Evan was about to skate off the rink when he felt a tug on his jersey.

“Hey,” Barczyk said. “Thought you wanted to practice checks. I got Coach Mel to help us out since that’s more what her D-boys do, and I pulled in some of the rookies so it wouldn’t look like anyone thought you were the problem or anything.”

“Oh.” That was actually kind of nice, and ‘kind of nice’ wasn’t a descriptor he was used to attributing to Barczyk. Plus, having Coach Mel run things made it seem a lot more official, and he wouldn’t have to deal with Barczyk one-on-one. “That’s great, actually. Uhm. Thanks.”

He turned back to the rink where Coach Mel was directing some of the assistants to put out large dummies and pylons while a few other players skated around one of the goals.

It was mostly the bottom six forwards and the younger defensemen, making it look a lot more like an actual practice rather than something Barczyk had put together just because he noticed Evan couldn’t get his shit together.

Coach Mel blew the whistle, and everyone gathered around.

“Barczyk’s brought it to my attention that some of us need a refresher on how to hit, and I agree.

We play a clean game, but being physical is part of hockey.

You guys are our grinders: you don’t get the pretty minutes, and sometimes it’s on you to rough up the other team and tire ‘em out. I can’t have my defense pulling their punches, and the only way lines three and four see more minutes is if you’re doing more ’n just standing around while lines one and two catch their breaths. ”

While most of the players nodded along, an eager look in their eyes, Evan gulped.

Coach Mel had pretty clearly laid out what was expected of him, and he wasn’t living up to it.

Sure, he scored, and his plus/minus wasn’t terrible, but he was in no way ‘roughing up’ anyone.

It had never really mattered before. There wasn’t as much checking at lower levels, or at least he’d never needed to worry about it, because he was always bigger than everyone.

People hit him, bounced off, and he went about his business.

As long as he’d played hard, his coaches were satisfied with his physicality.

But this was the NHL, and that had definitely been something he’d noticed early on.

There was a lot more hitting, because not only was it allowed, it was expected.

Not only that: everyone was big. Granted, not everyone was 6’5, but there were plenty of guys about his size.

Up until now, his coaches had definitely said they’d like him to be more physical, but he’d always considered it more like a footnote in their feedback.

It sounded like it was no longer optional for him.

If this was what he had to do to up his game—and, to some extent, it was definitely a mental roadblock for him to get over—then he’d do whatever Coach Mel asked.

Honestly, he appreciated the direct instruction. Throughout the drills, Coach Mel explained exactly what she wanted them to do, why she wanted it, and how much they could get away with before they’d be risking a penalty.

“Harder!” she yelled as Evan once again pulled up a little short on his check to a dummy. “Abernathy! C’mon, you’re a big guy. If you ain’t knocking these things over when you check them, I know you’re not putting enough into it.”

“Sorry, Coach,” he said. He meant it too. He just didn’t know what to do about it.

“Don’t look like someone kicked your puppy. C’mere, kid.”

He skated over, glad that the drills were still going so no one would pay attention to them. “Yes, Coach?” he asked, hanging his head.

“What’s the problem here? You not taking this seriously?”

“I am! I swear, it’s just—” He huffed, looked around the empty bleachers for any excuse that wouldn’t be as bad as the truth but found none. “I don’t want to hurt anyone. And yes, I know they’re dummies. It’s hard to get out of that mentality.”

Coach Mel raised her eyebrows. “You don’t want to hurt anyone?”

He nodded.

“In hockey?”

He winced but nodded again.

“Look, Abernathy, if you don’t wanna hurt anyone, go find yourself a rec league or something.

This is the big leagues. You can’t play games in this league being scared of shit like that.

Everyone knows the risks when they step onto the ice.

I don’t want to see anyone go down, but my priority is my players.

If word gets out you won’t check, you’re gonna be a sitting duck out there.

You’ve gotten away with it so far because you’re big, but it only takes one to notice before they all will. ”

That was unfortunately true: no one but Barczyk had noticed, and thankfully he hadn’t until he was on the Riveters. Evan was pretty sure he’d have told everyone on the Gliders if he’d figured it out last season, and then Evan would’ve gotten a lot more than an injured shoulder.

Coach Mel watched that compute for him before continuing.

“I need you to see this kind of stuff”—she gestured to the surrounding ice, his teammates and the drills and the ever-continuing thud as dummies hit the boards or the ice—“as your top priority right now. This is gonna keep you from getting hurt, and it’s gonna get you the puck a lot more. ”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“We’re gonna keep these practices going for you and a couple of the rookies who are on the opposite end of the spectrum and need to learn to play a clean fucking game for once in their goddamned lives.

Now, I know you’re not a defenseman, so you’re not my problem in games, but I don’t want liabilities.

So, I’m giving you a little homework. We start the season at home against Boston.

They’ve got a lot of big, tough guys in the lineup.

I need you to make five hits this game.”

“Five!?” He balked at the suggestion. “Couldn’t we start with, like, one?”

She considered. “Every goal you score, we can decrease that by one. You scoring four goals?”

“Against Boston? Not likely—”

“Then five,” she said dismissively. “Five good, clean hits. You take a penalty for one, that’s on me, but at this rate, I’ll count it as a step in the right direction. You got it?”

Like he had a choice. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Atta boy. Get back in line. Gotta get those reps in.”

As he skated to the back of the line, he caught a glimpse of Barczyk racing around the back of the net and then laying a huge shoulder slam into a dummy, wedging it against the boards before they both flopped to the ground.

The dummy landed on top of Barczyk, earning laughter and stick taps from the boys.

“Barczyk!” Coach Mel called in exasperation. “That’s boarding! Every time!”

“Just having some fun,” he said with a huge grin. “Gotta get it outta my system before game night.” He pushed the dummy off him, stood up, and then carefully put the thing back in place. He patted it on the back like it was a good friend before skating off.

A menace for sure…but Evan begrudgingly admired his no-fear approach. If Evan could get even a smidge of that confidence…too bad it came with a colossal ego and a blasé attitude Evan wanted nothing to do with.

“Nice hit,” he deadpanned as Barczyk stopped behind him in line. “Really showed him who’s boss.”

Barczyk just laughed, unbothered. “I did, right? Teach him to think twice before he joins the equipment for a hockey team.”

Evan looked away so Barczyk wouldn’t see him smile.