Defender (Seattle Sharks 9)

Chapter 1

Noble

“Again!” Coach demanded, and we hit our positions.

Day one of Sharks training camp was brutal. Well, at least for everyone else. Sure, sweat dripped down my back, and my chest, and pretty much everywhere, but I wasn’t truly winded yet.

Unlike Forrester, the guy we’d drafted two years ago. Dude was only twenty-four and dragging some serious ass on the left.

Puck dropped, and my focus narrowed to the three-inch disc that hurtled my direction, powered by Connor. He certainly wasn’t dragging ass. It was my job to stop him. He blew past two green-shirt rookies, and I skated up but kept to my side as Forrester faced him head-on in a challenge...which he missed, fuck my life.

I flew across center, stealing the puck from Connor and dusting the boards with snow as I turned to fire it up to the wings.

“Damn, Noble, give a guy a break,” Connor laughed as he charged by.

“Not today,” I called out and moved up to the blue line to keep the puck in their zone. When Forrester missed a pass, I barely got to the puck in time to knock it back in. “Feel like practicing today?” I asked him before returning to my side of the ice.

He flipped me off.

I grinned.

Maybe it made me an asshole, but I fucking loved getting the best of draft picks. Hell, first round, second round...any round.

Connor flew by Forrester, and I cursed.

Then I flew.

My heart slammed out a steady beat as my skates ate up the ice, hot on Connor’s heels.

Connor was fast. Guy was a natural athlete, gifted by the hockey gods with more than his fair share of talent. He also had two kids at home, and though he’d never admit it, they split his focus. I loved him like a brother, but he had ten pounds of off-season weight on him.

I came up behind him as he approached Gentry in net, reached with my stick and jabbed the puck free as the whistle blew.

We skated over to the bench and guzzled water.

“Holy shit, you got faster in the off-season,” Connor managed to say as he heaved for breath.

“Or you got slower.” I grinned, relishing the fact that while my breathing was labored, my words were steady. I left it all out on the ice every time. It was the only way to keep my jersey.

“No. You’re. Definitely faster,” Forrester said between breaths.

“You’re in playoff shape at training camp,” Gage McPherson said, skating between us. “Gotta hand it to you, Noble, I’m impressed.” He was our captain and had already announced his intent to retire at the end of the season. Hated to admit it, but we were going to be a lesser team without him.

“Thanks,” I replied. “Other than a little trip to Sweden with Lukas, I spent all summer on the ice.” Every fucking day but Sunday. Even when I went home to visit, I’d been on the ice, keeping my body prepared for this day and every one that followed.

“It shows.” Gage slapped my back as Coach called us to circle up.

He gave us a few notes and ordered us back to the locker room to shower and start medical stations.

I noticed—with more than a little pride—that I hadn’t been on the receiving end of any of those notes. Those same notes gave me the feeling that the two green-shirt rookies might not end up on the roster.

“I can’t fucking keep up with you,” Forrester muttered as our skates hit the rubberized floor that led to the locker room. “I could skate you under the table last year. What the hell did you do? Make a deal with the devil?”

“If by make a deal, you mean spend at least three hours a day skating sprints and doing endurance training, then yes, yes I did.”

“Do you ever sleep?” he questioned, exasperated.

I put a hand on his jersey and stopped him just shy of the locker room door as the rest of the team funneled past.

“What?” he asked, not impudent, just...wary.

“What round did you get drafted in?” I asked.

“Second. Let me guess, you went first?”

Okay, now his tone was nasty.

“No, asshole. I spent years in the minors. Years. I clawed my way up here with blood and sweat while you glided in on your talent. You want the honest answer on how I beat you today?” I unsnapped my helmet and ripped it off.

“Yeah, I do.”

“I’m faster because I’m willing to work harder when you’re not even working. Period.”

He rolled his eyes. “Thanks. I appreciate all the advice.”

“I’m being serious, Forrester. You’ve got more talent than I do. By the end of the season, you’ll be outskating me every day. But I work harder because I have to. That jersey on your back isn’t a given. You can lose it at any moment. The difference between us is that I already know that and you’re just now learning. You want to keep that jersey? Get used to earning it every single day.”