Page 1

Max Hofstedder

“Play hockey, Max, you’ll have fun, Max. You’re really good, you’re going to do big things,” I grumbled under my breath as I ran along the side of the offramp that led to the arena where the Sacramento Titans would be playing their first game. Not only was it a new season, but the Titans were still looked upon as a new team. Sacramento had never had a semi-professional hockey team before, and the fans were feral for it.

“Hey, isn’t that the new goalie?” A man in one of the cars yelled loud enough for me to hear it through his open window as I broke into a jog. “Get to work you slacker.” Loud laughter followed, pushing me to run even faster even with the added weight of my full bag of gear.

I jogged along the frontage road just off the ramp and finally onto the road where the arena was located. Once Sacramento had decided to have a team they’d built an arena, but the first few games were played at the downtown arena since the new one wasn’t done yet. Tonight, would also be the grand opening of Titan Arena, and the first game I’d play as a semi-pro hockey player. Well hopefully. I was the third-string goalie since they already had their main guys. But that didn’t matter—yet. Eventually I’d work my way up.

“Get in the fucking car,” someone yelled as a car slid to a stop next to me. The window lowered enough for me to see it was one of my teammates. “I’m not asking.” Jarin Randall played center and was, of course, the team captain and a complete asshole. But he was also an amazing player and more than deserved the title of captain.

“Thanks,” I said as I tossed my bag in the back seat before getting in.

“What the fuck are you doing running down the side of the road?” he asked without sparing me a glance.

“My buddy was giving me a ride, but traffic was so backed up I panicked. I thought I could get here faster if I ran.” It seemed like a perfectly reasonable explanation to me, but he shot me a glance that said he did not think it was a perfectly reasonable explanation, before pulling into the parking lot.

“Coach said you’re opening,” he said like he wasn’t dropping a bomb on me, but it was definitely a bomb I was more than willing to accept.

“What happened to Dexter? I just saw him at practice yesterday.”

“His sciatica is flaring up. He’s useless today.”

“Vanel?” He was second-string and just as capable as Dexter. Where Dexter was big and fast with lighting quick reflexes, Vanel was short and stocky but didn’t back down from anything or anyone.

“He injured his wrist. I’m not sure what happened or how long he’ll be out. So that leaves you. Coach said I’m supposed to give you a pep talk, so here it is. Don’t fuck up. If I see your ass out of the fucking net when they’re shooting on us, you won’t need to worry about them. It’ll be me kicking your ass.” He pulled into a parking space behind the locker room entrance and turned to look at me. “Got it?”

I met his eyes and forced myself not to swallow or show him any sign of weakness. “Got it. You can count on me.”

“I hope you’re right. We’ll know in a couple of hours. Now, good luck,” he said and held out his hand with a smile like he hadn’t just threatened my life, or at least my ass. Fucking psycho.

“Thanks,” I said and hurried out of the car. He was already at the door by the time I had my bag out of the back and had it slung across my back. I said a silent thanks for all the training we’d been doing that I was even able to consider running here with everything on my back. But that didn’t matter now. Tonight was game night.

I could hear everyone in the locker room as soon as I turned to walk down the hall. Excitement rippled through the air as locker doors were slammed shut and equipment was dropped on the floor. The Titans had only been playing for two years, and I’d only been here for a few months. But already they were very tightknit and took no shit from anyone that tried to divide them.

“Rookie in the house,” Stranton, the right defenseman, cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled. He was big even for a defenseman, but on the ice, he was as lithe as any figure skater, and he loved to fight which his crooked nose and missing teeth bore witness to.

“You ready for tonight?” Jason Griffin asked as I sat down next to him. He was right wing and usually we practiced drills together.

“I hope so. It’s not off to a great start,” I said and told him about having to run down the side of the offramp to get here on time.

“Fuck, dude, off to a great start,” he said before slapping me on the back. “Get dressed, let’s go warm up.” He already had his pads on, so he was ready before I was and ended up helping me with my leg guards.

“Thanks, man.”

“I don’t know how you can stand wearing all this,” he said as he buckled one of the pads behind my knee.

“You get used to it,” I said and slid on the blocker pad to my right arm before adjusting it. “Plus, it’s better than taking a puck to the face.”

“Or the balls,” he said, making us both laugh.

“That too.”

“Everyone better be on the ice in five minutes or I will personally be looking for an explanation,” Coach Thomas yelled and those still left in the room hustled with equipment and uniforms until we were hurrying down the hall to the ice.

“This is your chance, don’t blow it,” Dexter, the first-string goalie, said as I shuffled by him. I waved my stick at him and hurried by as much as I could with skates on the rubber flooring.

“Don’t blow it, asshole,” I said to myself before stepping onto the ice and gliding into the arena.