Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 113072 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113072 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
It’s flashy. He’s playing to the crowd.
“Friends,” Sailor says when I arrive at his side. “This is Zoe, the newest member of the Legends family.”
I give a camera-ready wave. “Morning! Is this anyone’s first time at a Legends practice?”
Only one hand goes up, and it’s a photographer’s.
“I guess that doesn’t surprise me,” I say, smiling so hard that my face hurts. “I’m the new kid for everything this week.”
There’s a gentle chuckle. Several of the journalists are holding pocket recording devices, so I’d better not say anything stupid.
“My role here is to work on fundamentals—crucial skills like edge control, balance, and efficient body movement. Skating is my lifelong passion, and I’ve worked closely with several NHL veterans to understand the nuances of hockey biomechanics. I’m also interested in longevity. Nothing a player does with his body should cause damage. I want our players to have healthy joints and ligaments for as long as they need them.” I remember to breathe. “And… that’s the job! I hope you enjoy our session today.”
“Thank you, Coach Carson,” Sailor says with a toothy smile. “Do your worst with our guy!”
There’s a polite chuckle as I turn and head toward Chase at center ice. My heart rate kicks up as he slows to a stop for me.
I skate right up to him. And now we’re face-to-face for the first time since I vomited all my feelings onto the sidewalk outside. “Hi,” I say, my plastic smile still in place.
“Hi,” he says with a serious frown.
“We should shake hands now, because that makes me look official, and it makes you look like a guy who doesn’t shove people in bars.”
He doesn’t smile, but amusement flickers through his eyes. Then he offers me his hand.
But not palm down. That’s the irrational thought that pops into my head as I slide my hand into his. His skin is warmer than I’m expecting, and now I have goose bumps.
Breathe, Zoe. I drop his hand. “Okay, I know this is awkward. We have to put on a show, but I also need to see you skate. Let’s start with a simple drill. I’ve been watching tape, and I have some thoughts about your stride.”
“Everybody has thoughts,” he mutters under his breath. “Let’s get this over with.”
I’ve chosen a warm-up with lots of visual appeal. I set up the cones so that we’ll be zigzagging toward the journalists.
It takes me only a minute to show Chase the edging sequence that I want. “And I’ll skate with you. Take it nice and easy. We’re not racing. This drill is more of a photo op.”
With his face turned away from the journalists, he rolls his eyes. “Of course it is.”
“Hey!” I argue as we glide toward the far end of the cones. “We’re defending your honor here. So make like a figure skater and smile, damn it. On three.”
I count us off and then we start skating the course—crisscrossing around the cones and zipping past each other every three strokes.
Chase does this effortlessly. The weird thing is how we fall into a rhythm again, carving perfectly synchronized turns. As if no time has passed. I can sense his movement without looking.
It’s just my training, I remind myself. I could probably sync up with a drunk polar bear at this point.
The sound of camera shutters ricochets around the rink as we fly toward the pack of journalists. When we reach the last cone, we reverse the exercise—not by turning around, but by zigzagging backward in the same pattern. It looks flashy, and the photographers obviously think so.
But would it kill Chase to be a little more grateful? I’m making him look good here. As we stop skating, he looks almost bored. “Was that photogenic enough?”
“It will do,” I say with a theatrical smile. “Now before I ask for sprints, is there anything specific you wanted to work on?” It’s only fair to ask.
His attractive mouth pinches, and I brace myself to hear him say that this is stupid and that he shouldn’t have to be here right now. “What did you teach Tremaine? He came back to the locker room saying you’re a genius.”
Oh. “We talked about how to get, like, a ten percent faster start out of the corners.”
Chase gestures toward the nearest corner. “Then teach me that. Because I’d sell a kidney to get ten percent faster at anything right now.”
The honesty startles me. “Right this way, then.”
We move a little closer to the journalists so they can hear what I’m saying. And while they watch us like we’re monkeys at the zoo, I explain my theory of rapid acceleration.
To my surprise, Chase listens closely to every word I say, then practices each new motion with as much dedication as his captain had.
Somehow the minutes tick down until most of our time is gone. “Look, before this is over, I need to see you at top speed. Down the ice and back.”