Page 61 of Ice Cold Hearts
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ALEXEI
Ashrill whistle cuts through the chatter of the men on the ice.
“I know some of you might be sore from our off-ice workouts yesterday, and if you’re not, you damn sure will be by the time I’m done with you today,” Coach shouts. “Do you want to knock the Puffins off their winning streak or not?”
“Yes, Coach!” we yell back.
“Who are we?” he demands.
“The Cold Hearts!” we chant.
“What are you going to give me today?” he asks.
Without missing a beat, we respond, “Our best, Coach!”
I know some of the guys on the team think the call and response is stupid or outdated, but I love it. Dad was a big believer in positive affirmation, and every morning we had a little call and response routine.
“What is today going to be?” he’d ask.
“A great day!” I’d answer.
“What are you?” he’d ask next
“Smart, strong, and brave.” I’d say, striking a superhero pose.
“And what else, Mon Petit Chou?” he’d ask.
“Loved,” I’d squeal and throw myself in his arms.
It’s not exactly the same as what we do before practice, but it's still comforting, nonetheless.
“Let’s start out with some dynamic stretching. Down on the ice, Men,” he orders.
I feel the knots in my shoulders loosen as we work through the first half of the routine. When we move to the hip stretches, I’m glad I listened to Emily and started doing the stretches she showed me to help prevent straining my back again. Before her, stretching wasn’t something I took as seriously. Sure, I never half-assed the ones we do at practice, but that was all I did. Now I’m joining in on Ian’s morning yoga routine, and I feel better than I did when I was a rookie.
“Hey, Corbitt,” Weiss taunts, “is this what y’all do with that girl you’re passing around?”
I close my eyes, bracing for the inevitable sound of a fist slamming into a face.
Don’t do it, Ian, we can’t win if you’re riding the pine.
“Why don’t you ask your mom what I do in the bedroom? I fucked her so good last night I might just be your next stepdad,” Ian taunts.
My eyes snap open in shock at his restraint as the handful of men around us start chuckling.
“Gonna have to try harder than that to get his spot in the lineup, Weiss.” Fitz laughs. “He’s not an easy mark anymore. Guess you’re still stuck on the B-squad.”
“I’ll tell him where he can stick his spot in the lineup,” Weiss mutters darkly.
“Careful now,” Oliver taunts, “or Ian’s going to send you to your room without dessert tonight.”
He leans forward and fist bumps Ian.
Six months ago, he’d have been rolling on the floor trying to beat the stuffing out of Weiss. He didn’t exactly take it on the chin, but it’s a damn sight better than what it used to be.
She really has made a big difference.