Page 3 of Hutch (Minnesota Raptors #2)

Hutch

“Hutch, get your ass in here!”

All eyebrows shoot up at Coach’s yell. He didn’t sound very happy. Can’t be good.

Coach Grimes is a balding man in his late fifties. Used to play in the NHL until he was taken out due to an injury in his third year. We’re lucky to have him.

Until he’s pissed at one of us.

Then we’re not so lucky because he can get particularly creative in his punishments. My first year on the team, I got drunk off my ass and showed up to practice late. By the time he was done making me do ladder drills, I’d puked at least half a dozen times.

And he made the entire team do the same. One person screws up, we all screw up. Team building he says. More like fear of getting your ass beat by your teammates on the daily because you made them puke too.

“What did you do?” Raymond Andrews, one of our right wingers, asks in a hushed voice.

“No clue.” I shrug and stand up, trying to appear unbothered when truthfully I’m shaking inside. This is my last year to impress the pros. I can’t get benched, especially at the beginning of the season when scouts are paying attention to the up and coming talent.

Coach is sitting behind his desk glaring at whatever is on the paper in front of him. I hope to God it has nothing to do with me. I haven’t done anything recently that I can think of that would put that look on his face. At least I don’t think so.

“Coach?”

“Close the door and sit down.” He scowls at the paper again and I do as he says. This is not good.

“What is this?” He tosses the paper to me.

It’s a list of our last three practice stats.

“Uh…stats?”

His lip curls. “I know that, but why do you think I’m pissed?”

When I don’t answer right away, he decides to tell me.

“You’re four seconds behind the second line and two seconds behind the third line. Do you think that’s going to get you attention?”

Shit. I didn’t even notice that.

“You’re a first line center for a reason, Hutch. We count on you to be faster than everyone else, to get the puck and move it before the other team can catch you. So tell me, what the hell is going on?”

“No one said anything to me about being slower.”

“I’m telling you now and I want to know what’s going on. What’s got you off your game?”

“I don’t feel off. Maybe it was just a bad practice. We all have them.”

“For the last three in a row?”

My eyes swoop back down to the paper in my hand and sure enough, he’s right. My time is off.

“I don’t know.”

“You’d better damn well figure it out. You’re the best player I’ve had in my locker room in years. I don’t want you to throw your shot away on booze or women.”

“I haven’t drunk during the season since I was a freshman.”

He purses his lips, unsure if he believes me or not. But it’s the truth.

“I’m not dating anyone either.”

He snorts. “It’s not the steady girlfriend I’m worried about. It’s all the one night stands. Partying and whoring, that’ll kill your talent faster than anything else.”

“So you want me to get a girlfriend?”

“No, that’s not what I’m saying. I’m trying to find out why you’re slowing down.”

“I didn’t even know that I was slowing down.”

To echo Coach, what the hell is going on?

“The Raptors are in a rebuilding year. They’re looking for new talent.”

Coach looks me straight in the eye and I want to piss my pants. Is he about to say what I think he’s about to say?

“I’ve had several calls from their head coach about you and two other members of the team.

I told him you wanted to graduate, but you’re willing to talk.

He’ll be at our first game and I told him he was welcome to come to any of our practices to observe the team.

If you’re still skating like this, do you think he’ll stay to talk? ”

Fuck no he won’t.

“Shit.”

“Exactly, so we need to understand what’s slowing you down before the season starts in a month. Go home and think about it, then I want you here at 4am to run speed drills.”

An hour before practice.

If it means getting a spot on the home team here in Minnesota, then I’ll run speed drills until I can’t walk.

“I’ll fix this.”

“You better fucking hope so. Now get out and send Mendoza in.”

“They want to talk to him too?”

Coach frowns. “They like the dynamic you and he have. If you can get your speed up, they might pick you both up.”

“They know he wants to graduate too?”

Coach snarls. “Out boy and go unfuck your head!”

“Yes, sir.”

I step out of the office, my head spinning in a million different directions. The Raptors might want to recruit me? I might be able to stay here, close to my mom? That’s the dream, but one I didn’t think I’d get to realize for years. I don’t know what to think.

“Hey, Collin, Coach wants you in his office.”

The color drains from his face. “What did we do?”

I shake my head and go to my own locker, grabbing my things and leaving the locker room without a word to anyone.

I’d wait on Collin in my old Jeep Grand Cherokee.

Mom and I picked it out my senior year in high school.

She matched what I saved and while it’s not as new as some of the cars even the kids in high school drove, it’s mine.

I send Collin a text to let him know I’m waiting on him in the parking lot.

We’d ridden to practice together and I’m not about to abandon him here without a ride.

How the fuck did I fall behind in speed? I thought I was skating just fine. It makes no sense to me.

It takes twenty minutes for Collin to come find me, looking as dazed as I feel.

“What the fuck man?” he whispers when he gets in and shuts the door. “The fucking Raptors...”

“Coach said I’m behind by four seconds in speed on the second line and two on the third. I don’t know how.”

“He said I keep letting the wingers on the opposing side sweep past my right. I don’t catch it. He’s told me this before, but if I want the Raptors to pick me up, I need to fix it.”

“I have to get faster and you need to open your eyes. We’ll do extra practices. For the next month, we live on the ice.”

Collin nods. “We can stay close to Mama Kathleen if they pick us up and I might be able to bring my parents back legally.”

Mama Kathleen is what he calls my mother. She smiles every time she hears it. She loves the bloke as much as she does me.

“We gotta fix this.”

Collin agrees. “We will.”

“You hungry?”

“I can eat.”

When can’t he eat?

I start the Jeep and drive into town, careful to keep my eyes on the road even though I’m distracted. It only takes me a few minutes to find our favorite burger place.

“Dude, you’re slacking on speed. Eating burgers and fries is not the best idea.”

Fuck, he’s right.

“We’ll call this our last meal.”

He arches a brow.

“Look, I need my comfort food right now. Don’t give me looks either. We went and had ice cream last week because you needed your comfort food.”

“Fine, we’ll get burgers and fries and milkshakes today and then start the strict protein, low carb bullshit they want us to eat every season.”

I park the truck and jump out, waving to some guys on the football team that are in the parking lot. They’re good bros even though they like to insist football is the only sport worth playing. Until they get slammed up against the boards at high speeds, I call bullshit on that.

“Hey Hutch.” Molly, our favorite server smiles as we come in. She’s older, maybe in her thirties, but she’s as nice as can be. “Tim put a special grilled chicken on the menu for the athletes.”

“Good to know, Molly, but we need burgers and fries. Lots and lots of fries.”

“And milkshakes,” Collin pipes in.

“Are we eating our feelings today?”

We both nod and slide into a booth.

“You want just the milkshakes or sodas too?”

Should I really intake that much sugar?

Four freaking seconds.

“Coke and Strawberry for me.”

“Chocolate and Mountain Dew for me,” Collin says.

“Bacon cheeseburgers or just cheeseburgers?”

“Double bacon cheeseburgers.” Mind made up, I might as well go all in.

“You’re really eating your feelings.”

“We’ll need to hit the treadmill after this, but it’s going to be worth it.”

“You sure about that, rookie?”

My head turns and standing there to the left is someone I’ve followed for a long time, since before he got traded to the Raptors. Shaw fucking Chandler. It feels like someone just sucker punched me.

“Uh…”

He shakes his head.

“Daddy?”

He looks down at a little boy who is his spitting image.

“You want a chocolate or vanilla shake?” he asks, keeping his voice soft and even.

“Mmmmmm….chocolate for me and vanilla for Mommie.”

“You got it.” He glances at our waitress. “Molly, can you sit him at the counter and keep an eye on him for a minute until I talk to these as…guys.”

“Sure thing, Shaw.” She holds her hand out. “You want to sit on the stools, little man?”

He grins, a dimple showing in his cheek, and takes her hand.

Once he’s out of earshot, Shaw motions for Collin to scoot and he does it without hesitation, just as awed as me.

“You guys are being stupid right now. Your season starts in about a month and you’re eating crap. That’ll slow you down on the ice. If your body isn’t in the best shape, you’ll be shit out there.”

“Coach said I need to pick up my speed.” I barely get the words out of my mouth and my hands start pouring rivers of sweat with my nervousness.

“Coach had me come to a couple of your games last season. The two of you work together seamlessly and we’re looking to replace the entirety of our second line.”

“All of them?” Collin gapes at him.

Shaw shrugs. “The owner decided that all the expensive contracts he had that weren’t puling their weight had to go.

We’ve pulled a few players up from the farm team, but we’re watching a lot of college players as well.

The two of you have a chemistry on the ice it takes some players years to build.

You’re good, but if you’re eating like this, that won’t last.”

“It was a last supper sort of thing.”

“Has training started yet?” His tone says you better not fucking lie to me because I already know the answer.

“Yes,” we both whisper.

“Get the fucking chicken and a water. Sugar and carbs are not your friend. Stick to the meal plan the school dietitian gave you. Or the scouts that show up to watch you won’t be back because you’ll be washed.”

Part of me wants to fight back, to tell him I’ll never be washed, but the fan boy in me is screaming that Shaw fucking Chandler knows who I am.

“Yes, sir,” Collin says and they both look at me.

“Chicken it is.”

Shaw nods and gets up. “Hutch, Mendoza, I expect to see you both soon. Don’t screw this up.”

We wait until he’s gone before we start breathing again. Shaw. Fucking. Chandler.

“Fucking hell,” Collin whispers. “He knows our names.”

“Molly,” I holler over the din of noise and she looks up from behind the counter. “Change our order to the chicken.”

She laughs and before too long she’s brought us water with a lemon wedge. “He freak you both out?”

We nod.

“He’s a good guy. Brings his little boy in every week for milkshakes and our chicken fingers. Kid loves them. His wife is a fan of the burgers.”

“Why have we never seen him?”

She shrugs. “He’s good at not being seen unless he wants to be seen.” Her hand waves toward the restaurant. “Not hard to do in a place this busy.”

“The city loves the Raptors. How does no one bother him when he’s here?”

“Tim might have threatened bodily harm to people bothering him while he’s here with his son.”

Tim, AKA the owner, is a big man who we all are a little wary of. He looks like he could kick your ass and laugh while he does it. It keeps most of the jocks in line, especially the ones who think they’re the shit and can do no wrong.

I hate people like that. My mom always says karma will eventually bite them in the ass even if it takes decades to do so.

“What are we going to do?” Collin asks, his voice low and frustrated.

“Coach said they were interested in three guys on the team. Did he ask to speak with anyone else?”

Collin shakes his head. “Unless he talked to whoever it was privately or didn’t say anything because they don’t need to work on shit.”

“Shaw fucking Chandler.” I sit back and stare out the window. “He’s one of the best centers in the NHL and he knows our names.”

“Dude, I’m freaked out enough as it is, stop saying his name like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re six and getting your first autograph.”

“Like you’re not the same way.”

“Hey man!”

Carson Wilson rolls to a stop by our table. He’s our goalie. “Coach talk to you two?”

“About the Raptors?”

He nods, his grin so wide, I don’t doubt his face will break if it gets wider. “He told me I needed to work on blocking my left. I thought I’d gotten better, but he doesn’t think so.”

“I need to work on my speed. I’m off by a couple of seconds and Mendoza is letting the offense in on the right side. We have a lot of work to do by the season’s opener.”

“Fuck yeah. I was hoping you guys might help me out.”

“Sure man. We can all practice together, but we’re going to be living on the ice until then. You good with that?”

“I live on the ice already.”

That’s true. If he isn’t in class, he’s on the ice with someone shooting pucks at his head.

“You hungry?”

“Nah, I’ll go find something a little healthier. Burgers sit in my stomach and just weigh me down.”

“They put a chicken dish on the menu for the athletes.”

“Yeah?”

And just then Molly puts a steaming plate of chicken, rice, and veggies down in front of us that smells divine.

“Shit, that looks hella good.”

“You want one?” she asks.

“Yeah, Molls, I want an order and some water if you can, please.”

“Coming right up.”

“You’ll never guess who you just missed.” Collin rubs his hands together gleefully as Carson sits.

“Who?”

“Shaw Chandler and he sat down and talked to us!”

“No fucking way.”

“This is apparently his go to place for ice cream for his kid.”

I sit back and listen to Collin and Carson talk, but my mind is on the ice. I need to get my speed back up if I want to make it.

And I’ll do everything in my power to get to the NHL.

It’s my end goal.

Green eyes flash in my mind and I push them away.

I have to focus on hockey and Daisy is a distraction I can’t afford.

Sighing, I dig into my food and start planning my new routine for the next few weeks.

I will make it to the NHL.