14. Kai

Chapter fourteen

Kai

Friday, December 13, 2024

M y blades cut through the ice, the last of practice drills running me ragged as I pump my muscles, determined to leave every ounce of frustration I feel toward my situation with Lea on the ice today.

I track the puck as it slides between my teammates, keeping my head on a swivel as I do. I see an opening and signal to Flores so he knows I’m coming for it.

I whip past my teammates, plucking the puck from between them and spraying them with ice as I do, keeping my eyes trained on the net ahead of me. Graham side-checks me, but I don’t let it deter me as I send the puck sailing into the net, just an inch from Flores’s glove.

Pumping my fist in the air, I let the familiar feeling of adrenaline wash through me, clearing away my earlier anxiety about tonight.

I get a round of high-fives before Coach hollers at us to meet him at center ice.

As a goalie, I rarely get to participate in drills like this. Usually, I’m on the receiving end of the puck, but Coach periodically has us run drills from different positions. It’s unconventional, but he swears it gives us a better perspective of what our teammates are doing so we can all be better in sync.

While I definitely feel most at home in the crease, this was a good way to blow off some extra steam.

Especially today.

“Alright, listen up, everyone. Just like every other year, we need a volunteer to dress as Santa for the children’s hospital on Christmas Eve.”

We all stand in silence, looking between one another for some silent plea that someone will actually volunteer this year.

“You know the drill. If no one volunteers, you’ll be voluntold,” he scolds.

“Coach,” Flores says, dragging our attention to him, but his low brows and the way he slides a hand up his forearm give me no hope that he’s offering. “Jessie’s due date is the twenty-sixth…” He trails off with no further explanation needed.

The other guys erupt in a chorus of excuses as to why they aren’t available either, and Coach’s face starts to turn that familiar pink hue before his blazing blue eyes meet mine. “Davis!” he shouts, everyone’s attention snapping to me. “I don’t see your lips smacking with excuses. You’re on this year,” he says, clapping his hands with finality. “Now go wash your asses.” He dismisses us.

“Coach,” I say, a plea clear in my voice. My teammates don’t disperse, clearly eager to hear what kind of mess I’ll manage to get myself into today. “I don’t think there’s a Black Santa.”

I know damn well I grew up in a home with Black Santas from the 99 Cent Store around the holidays, just like every other New Yorker doing their damndest to diversify their Christmas decor. Coach doesn’t need to know that though.

Coach’s ears turn bright red, his cheeks puffing as if smoke is about to start blowing out of his nose. “I don’t damn well care, and I sure as shit don’t think those children will give a flaming fuck either.” That’s all he says before releasing a loud huff and storming off the ice.

Well, this’ll be fun.