Page 10

noah

Coach Alvarez thought he was doing me a favor by banning my dad from practices.

He isn’t well-versed in the lengths Joshua Kingston will go to, to ensure that I’m the best player on the ice.

I’d like to say this obsession is a new thing, since the draft, but it’s not.

My entire life has been a wooden sign, but instead of ‘Live, Laugh, Love’ it says ‘Eat, Sleep, Hockey’.

The motto is ingrained in my blood, courtesy of the man currently standing on the sidelines.

I don’t blame him for pushing me hard. I’m not an idiot, I know I wouldn’t be anywhere near the athlete I am today if it weren’t for him.

Talent is one thing, but it’s not getting you signed by the NHL. You have to have the discipline and be willing to do what others aren’t in order to get there. And even then, your time there isn’t secure.

My lungs are on fire as I skate up and down the rink, through the cones, handling the puck. I take a second to look up at the clock.

Shit.

Since my dad got banned from attending practices, he’s taken it upon himself to rent out a rink on the outskirts of town so he can continue to oversee my training.

I knew there was no denying him, but now I’m thirty minutes away from campus, and I’m supposed to meet Savannah for our first session in twenty.

“Again!” My dad’s booming voice cuts through my thoughts, and only now do I realize I lost control of the puck.

I dig the edge of my skate into the ice, coming to a stop. “Dad, I’ve got to get going soon.”

“For what?” He yells back.

I scratch the back of my head, knowing that there isn’t anything more important than this in his eyes.

That’s where we differ. While the NHL is and always has been the end goal, my plans have always included finishing my four years with a degree, too.

I’ve seen how quickly this sport can be taken away from you, and my dad, of all people, should understand that.

“I uh… I’ve got a class project I’m working on.”

“Work on it later.”

I try not to groan. “It’s with a partner, Dad. I’m supposed to meet her in less than twenty minutes.”

He doesn’t say anything, but he skates over, coming to an abrupt halt the way I just did, covering my shins with ice.

“What’s going on with you?”

“Nothing.” I shrug. “I’ve just got this project and?—”

“No.” He cuts me off. “You’ve been off since you showed up.”

Two hours ago. Between my regular practice ending late last night, and being up at six a.m. to get here, I’m not used to this new schedule.

“I’m just a little tired, I guess.”

“Or a little weak?”

I take a deep breath, getting air into my lungs for the first time in what feels like hours. I steady my breathing, attempting to combat whatever insane speech I know he’s about to give me.

He stands only a foot away, and his face is as controlled as his voice when he speaks.

“This is it, Noah. This is your year, and you need to sign a fucking contract—otherwise, all of this was for nothing.” His stoic expression is cold and unmoving.

“Do you want to waste everything we’ve built together? ”

I’ve learned over the years that not everything he says is true, but he has his reasons for saying them.

I’m older now, and better able to sift through the truth and the bullshit.

The truth is that a team can draft you and hold you for a certain amount of time.

The discussion with Toronto regarding my terms specified that once I finished school, I would sign with them.

For the Toronto Titans, it was another two years where I could practice my skills, and for me, it meant I got to finish my degree.

I know my dad has had it in his head that if I’m better, if I catch their attention in a way they can’t refuse, they would have no choice but to sign me early.

He wants me signed and playing next year, and I don’t bother telling him that I’m perfectly happy with the way things are laid out.

“Do you want to waste everything we’ve built together?”

I grit my teeth, and his eyes narrow at me.

He’s tough as shit, but I know he’s not a bad guy.

I know that, deep down, he just wants the best for me.

He wants me to have everything I’ve worked for and everything that he’s lost. This entire thing—practices, training, junior leagues, college hockey, the draft, and the NHL—all of it, has been the one thing we’ve dreamed of since I was in diapers.

As far back as I can remember, this has been our goal.

Together. If I fail, I’m not only failing myself—I’m failing him, too.

Coach might not understand him—I don’t think anyone really does— he might be a little intense, but I know it’s all out of love.

“No.”

His jaw ticks once and he nods. “Then go again.”

He turns around heading back to the sides and I grip my stick harder than necessary before taking off down the ice.