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Sven

A ir rushed by as Sven made his way down the ice. The puck hit his stick as Taylor set him up for the perfect shot, and he sent it straight into the net before the goalie even know what hit him. Their team huddled around him on the ice, enveloping him and tapping his helmet. He lived for moments like this.

The buzzer sounded twenty seconds later, and the boys all lined up to thank the goalie before disappearing into the locker room. While getting the game-winning goal wasn’t new to Sven, it was still his favorite feeling in the world.

“Good job out there tonight, boys,” said Coach Wagner as he walked into the room. “Way to get the win. You really put the pressure on them out there, and your hard work showed. Have a little fun, but let’s do the media and get on the bus. We are headed to Texas in the morning.”

Sven bent down and unlaced his skates.

“You’re on for media tonight,” Coach Wagner said as he walked by Sven. “Nice goal out there.”

“Thanks, Coach.”

Sven did an interview, got changed, and headed out to the bus. His phone vibrated in his pocket, and he pulled it out.

Peter Olsson: That was a sloppy goal.

He shook his head and slipped his phone back into his pocket. He’s just off a holiday break he’d spent with his family. Most guys had come back refreshed and ready to go... Sven, on the other hand, had come back with more tension. When your dad is an NHL Hall of Famer who expects the same of you, family gatherings have a little more pressure.

He wanted to text back, but it’s still a winning goal, but what would be the point? His dad would still pick it a part in the name of an honest critique. So, instead, he just climbed onto the bus.

They would be leaving in the morning to go to Texas for their next road game, and he knew most of the team would be resting, but he decided to hit the hotel bar. As he boarded the bus, he scanned for a wingman. Usually, it would have been an easy choice, but over the summer, Cash went and got a girlfriend, so there went the best wingman to have ever had the job.

Sven sat by Niko. “Hey, man, you gonna hit up the hotel bar?”

“Not tonight,” he said in his thick Russian accent. “Try the rookie.” He motioned over to Murphy.

“Murph, what do you say? Hit up the bar with me?”

“Me?” he asked, pointing to himself in surprise.

“Yes, you. Do you wanna do a little bunny hunting?” He wagged his eyebrows.

“Don’t call it that,” said Cash, throwing a wadded-up napkin at him.

“You used to do it all the time,” Sven said, snatching it and throwing it back.

“Yeah, but I never called it that.”

“What’s the difference?” he said with a shrug. “What do you say, Murphy? Learn from the master?”

Cash just shook his head and continued to his seat on the bus.

“Okay, I’m not the master, but the master quit the game and left me hanging,” Sven called after Cash.

Later that night, he was watching a tall leggy blonde get dressed in his hotel room. Being a hockey player was good.

“Do you want my number?” she asked.

“Sweetheart, we both know what this was,” he said as he stood and pulled on his boxers.

“Just saying I had a good time. Next time you’re in town, you could look me up.”

“Sure, write it down,” he said.

It was easier that way, but they both knew he wouldn’t be using it. He’d been upfront about what he wanted, and what he wanted was a hot piece of ass to get lost in for the night.

He walked her to the door, handed her purse, and said goodbye before collapsing in bed.

The next morning, he woke up to his phone, but it wasn’t his alarm ... No. It was much, much worse.

Incoming Call: Peter Olsson.

He was tempted to let it go to voicemail, but there was no use.

“Hey, Dad,” he said as he sat up and ran a hand through his wavy blonde hair.

“I watched your game last night.”

“I know. I got your text.”

“Then, you know the goal was sloppy.”

“Like I said, I got your text,” he said as he put his clothes on. “Was there another reason you called?”

“I just wanted to check in. You’re at that point in your career where you really need to be making a name for yourself.”

“I know... you told me all about it over Christmas. I’m trying, Dad. I got a goal. I’m one of the top scorers on our team.”

“But not THE top scorer on your team.”

Sven could feel his blood boil, but he just took a deep breath. There was no use in fighting with his father, and at six in the morning, he wasn’t thinking clearly enough to do anything besides take it.

“You’re right, but Wes is the top scorer in the league. Conner and I are right there behind him. What more do you want from me?”

“I want you to get your head out of your ass and be the player I know you can be.”

He’d been hearing this since he was a kid. He was never a good enough player to be the great Peter Olsson’s son.

“I’m trying,” he said as he started to pace his hotel room. “Can I let you go? I need to start packing.”

“You need to fix your game. You need to make a name for yourself. Mine will only get you so far.”

“I have to go,” he said curtly.

“Fine, but I’m coming to see a game next month.”

“Bye, Dad,” he said as he hung up and threw his phone on the bed.

The rage inside of him felt so big, yet somehow, he felt so small. It was a familiar feeling after getting off the phone with his father.

He needed cardio and made his way to the hotel gym. None of his teammates would be up yet, but he needed to get some of this energy out.

After he walked into the gym, he got on a treadmill, and before he knew it, he was running. He was running hard and trying to forget the way his father always made him feel. Sven was a professional hockey player on one of the best teams in the league. Although he was a good player, when your father is the famous Peter Olsson, nothing is ever good enough. His jersey was hung in the rafters at Madison Square Garden. He had a fucking statue back in Sweden. As good as Sven was, living up to his dad was impossible and living in his shadow was cold and so fucking lonely... which is probably why he fucked everyone he could.

When he was growing up, his dad wasn’t around very much when he was playing. But when Sven was thirteen, his dad had retired. In the latter half of his last season, he took a hard hit, injuring his knee. Though he tried to come back the following year, he didn’t have it anymore. He was looking at a retirement he didn’t want. All the energy and love for the game, he put on Sven.

His father demanded perfection out of Sven, pulled him out of school, and got him a tutor and countless coaches and trainers. Peter Olsson 2.0 is what he would force Sven to become. Sven tried, but he was never good enough. And when he wasn’t good enough, punishments got worse and worse.

He pumped up the speed and ran even harder, trying to forget and outrun a painful past. Just like in that moment, he was always running on a treadmill, never making it out of the shadow.