Racing down the ice, I cut left and deke to the right before crashing the net, hoping for a rebound, but Shane, the best goalie I have ever played with, covers the puck and everyone backs away as the whistle blows. Flexing my back, hoping the tweak will go away, I look around as Coach Moss goes over the next play he wants us to carry out. Coach Moss is a great coach, but rumors are floating around that he’s going to get replaced because he’s going to move up to the NHL. I hope it happens after I’m gone because Coach Moss and I understand each other. He understands that I’m the best player on the ice, and I understand that as long as I do what he says, I could be one of the greats in the NHL. I have been playing for him for as long as I can remember, starting in the travel league alongside my brothers. He was the one who convinced the admissions committee to offer me a full scholarship.

When the whistle blows again, I move to the face-off circle by the boards, hoping we win the face-off. We do and I get the puck before passing it off to the right winger, but then he gets stuck with the puck behind the goal. I rush toward him, digging for it before winning it and taking it out toward the front of the goal. The play called for me to pass it to my right winger again because he was lined up with an opening, but I have one too. Kinda. So I shoot, getting past the two defensemen and going right over Shane’s shoulder into the goal. My arms go up in the air as Coach Moss goes crazy, blowing his damn whistle.

“Sinclair! Sinclair!”

I ignore him, basking in my awesomeness as my teammates hit my shin with their sticks, celebrating an awesome goal.

“Jude fucking Sinclair! I know you hear me!”

I turn as Coach skates toward me, his face red with anger because, like usual, I didn’t follow the play.

“I made it.”

“Well, no shit, but that wasn’t the play. West was open, completely open; you had to go through two defensemen to get it in. Yeah, you got it, but this isn’t a one-man show. Go by the plays, or get off my fucking ice.”

I hate when he gets like this.

“But I made it, and it isn’t a one-man show if I’m winning for the team.”

“Do you think some NHL team is going to keep you if you can’t go by the plays?”

I think about that for a moment and then say, “I can go by the plays, but when I see an opening, I’m gonna shoot.”

“There was no opening!”

I point at him with my gloved hand. “Um…actually, there was. I made it.”

It surprises me that Moss’s face becomes redder, but what doesn’t surprise me is when he yells, “Laps! GO!”

I let out an aggravated sigh before skating off and doing my first of many laps.

Man, I love hockey. Even the laps.

Practice doesn’t get any better after that. Coach is on me, and in a way, I understand where he’s coming from – but at the same time, I fucking made it!

With a shake of my head, I dip under the hot water of my shower, and my body instantly relaxes as the scalding water runs over my tired muscles. With the season starting in a couple weeks, Coach has us practicing every single day except Sunday. And let me just say, a five o’clock practice isn’t a joke. Especially when it is three hours long, and most the time, a lot of us have to go straight to class right afterward.

It sucks.

Since it’s Saturday, Coach actually allowed us to sleep in. Practice was at one in the afternoon, but it didn’t matter how late or early it was, I am still tired. All I want to do is fall into my bed and die, and that was sad because it’s a Saturday. But even if I wanted to go out, I know I couldn’t. I have homework, and if I want to keep my scholarship, I can’t blow it off. I could always get someone to do it for me, but it kind of scares me that at any time I could get hurt and my career would be over. Then what would I do? I need to make sure I study and am ready for anything at all times. I figure if I do get hurt that I wouldn’t want to leave hockey. So I’m going to UB for sports medicine, even if my father wants me to go into law like him. I don’t want to be a lawyer. My dad is a workaholic, and I refuse to be like that.

Moving soap along my body, I close my eyes, going back under the water as the showers fill up. Since I have so much homework to do, I rush through my shower before going into the locker room to change. Even though the guys all like to socialize with each other during our showers, I don’t. I mean, I live with these knuckleheads, why the hell would I want to talk to them while I’m washing my balls?

Reaching for my jeans, I pull them up before throwing on a tee and my Bullies sweatshirt. Shutting my locker and making sure it’s secure, I make my way out into the harsh sunlight. After my eyes adjust, I look around and regret not riding my bike over to practice. It is such a pretty, sunny day, I figured the walk would do me good, but now I just want to go home. Letting out a breath, I start toward the Bullies’ house. That’s another cool thing about Bellevue, one of the board members was a huge hockey guy, and he had a house built for the Bullies team. We’re a fraternity and it’s pretty awesome.

Really, all of UB is awesome. It is only my sophomore year, but I’m convinced that this is the best private college in the US. We have everything a college kid needs. We have a food court with all the top fast-food chains in America, along with spots for those kids who don’t eat meat. We have a little shopping mall, bookstores, and even a campus grocery store. The classrooms at UB really don’t feel like classrooms. They are open, with big windows lining the walls and state-of-the-art technology throughout the whole campus. The sport facilities are top-of-the-line with everything an athlete would need. I don’t know how the dorms are since I never lived in one, but for the fraternities and sororities, housing is downright awesome. It’s like we’re in our own little world; the only thing missing is a club on campus, but thankfully, there are a bunch of college clubs within walking distance from the Bullies’ house.

“Hey, Jude.”

I look up from checking my Facebook on my phone to see a group of girls waving at me. They are some of the Bullies’ dancers, Amy, Rachael, and Maddie. I have slept with Maddie and Rachael, but Amy is untouchable since she’s basically engaged to Shane Patrick, the Bullies’ goalie. I flash them a lady-killing smile and am about to go over there to chat when my phone starts to go off with the familiar tone signaling that it’s my mom. Looking down at my phone, I smile when I see my mom’s face squished against the screen of my phone. I love taking pictures of people doing that. It makes it look they’re trapped in my phone, and I always get a good laugh out of it.