Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 99723 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 499(@200wpm)___ 399(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99723 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 499(@200wpm)___ 399(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
“What’s your usual? I’m a cheese burrito man myself,” Rodney says as he pats his flat stomach. At his age, he’s got the metabolism to handle that shit, but it won’t always be that way, so he might as well start better habits now.
“Not tonight you’re not,” I correct. “We need calories, protein, vitamins, and fat to replace what we’ve lost today. You can’t waste stomach space on a huge tortilla with no extra benefit.”
The worker behind the counter calls next and Tomville steps up. “Bowl, please. Rice, beans, and chicken.” He’s a fast learner, but still glances at me for approval.
“Double chicken. No queso. Guacamole. Salsa. Fajita veggies, heavy on the bell peppers. Lettuce.”
Tomville turns back to the worker. “What he said.”
Rodney pipes up, “Make it two.”
The worker looks at me and I hold up three fingers.
Once we’ve got our bowls and waters, we find a table. There’s no talking, not at first. We’re starving and our focus is shoveling in as much food as we can, as fast as possible. But as we start to quell the growls in our bellies, conversation starts to flow.
“What do you think so far?” Rodney asks me.
“About what?”
He chuckles. “All of it, man. I’m freaking out about everything, mostly that I’m having dinner with Dominic Lee.” He cuts his eyes to Tomville, sharing a look of disbelief with his new teammate.
“I’m just a guy.”
“Yeah, one I’ve watched play since I was a kid.”
I scoff, letting the old man allusion slide. “You are a kid.”
His smile, which seems pretty constant, fades a few degrees. “Which means I’m probably not going to get much playtime, right?”
He wants reassurance that he’ll get his turn on the ice. It’s what we all want—our time to shine, with the crowd shouting our name as we finally get the chance to turn the dream we’ve had since we picked up a stick for the first time into a reality. “Probably not,” I tell him honestly. “Might even end up doing some time in the minors again this season. But keep working. You’ll get there.”
He brightens again. “Hey, I beat you to the goal line . . . once.” It’s a joke, poking fun at himself and his earlier earnest belief that he’d truly outskated me. “I’d appreciate any tips you’re offering, though. You know a helluva lot more than I do.” He lifts a plastic forkful of chicken in the air, silently thanking me for the advice I already gave.
I look from Rodney to Tomville, both of their eager faces bright with hope. They want direction, need it like air, and I have no faith that Coach Boothe is going to give it to them. Or if he does, it’ll come with a degradation and humiliation chaser.
I set my fork down. “No holds barred,” I warn them, and they nod in agreement, their faces going serious. “Rodney, you’re fast. You know that.” He starts to smile, but I continue, “You depend on that too much. You get to the puck first, and in your mind, that’s a win. But it’s barely step one.” His brows furrow as he listens closely, taking in what I’m saying. “You’re a center, which means you need to read the ice. Sometimes you’re able to skate away from trouble, but you also have to be prepared to fight off a pack and then have your eyes up to get the pass off to the open man. Don’t focus on developing speed you already have. Focus on attacking the other team the way you attack the ice. Hard. Create opportunities, and then exploit them.”
He nods firmly. “Heard.”
“Do me. Do me next,” Tomville pleads around his mouthful of food. He’s holding his hand in the air like he’s in a classroom back in school.
“Where Rodney has physical skill and needs to work on his mental game,” I point at the kid, then swing my finger toward Tomville, who is only slightly older, but shorter and lighter, “you’re the opposite. You can predict the plays before they happen, you see the holes, and you have that ‘balls to the wall’ mentality that you need.”
“But?”
I grin, glad he heard that coming. “But you need the brawn to back it up. You said you were an enforcer on your last team, but that was in the minors. The batshit crazy terrier act won’t cut it up here, this is a whole different league. Guys with six inches and nearly a hundred pounds on you are going to be coming at you full-force, and while you’ve got the mindset to not flinch, they’re gonna mow you down. It’s simple physics. You need muscle and power, like yesterday. But don’t pack it on too quick, or it’ll make you slower than shit. You need to grow steadily so your body can adjust to moving more mass each day.”