Stolen Jerseys / ✓

0.02: chapter one

S C O T T

"Scott Wilson?"

At the sound of my name, my head snapped up, eyes going wide for a moment. The coach looked around, though he knew exactly who I was. With my heart beating quickly in my chest, and sweaty palms despite the cool air of the rink, I cleared my throat and held up my hand confidently. He gave me a quick grin and nodded, checking my name off his paper.

Coach Monroe went through the rest of the names, rather quickly, and I made a mental check with each one, trying to place a name with each guy surrounding me. I could feel my nerves creeping up - especially each time one of the guys smirked and grinned proudly, knowing that he had a spot on the team.

Despite standing on the ice of the Marlies stadium, I could barely believe what was happening to me. The week after I graduated high school, the Marlies' coach (James Monroe, a large, scary looking guy) had come to my house and told me that I had been recruited from the Marlies. Being recruited for one of the minor league teams in Toronto was amazing. The Maple Leafs' coach came to the Marlies games to scout for new players for their team.

And now? Now I was trying out for a team that the Leafs scouted.

"Split into teams of two," Coach ordered, stomping his booted foot against the ice, "Five players on each, plus one goalie. Twelve on the ice at a time, and every fifteen minutes we'll switch out the offensive and defensive players!"

Everyone split into teams quickly. I skated over to the left side of the rink, where a huge guy I had remembered to be Dan stood. I nodded and stood next to him, waiting for the Coach's instructions. He just turned and whistled, leaving us to figure out who stayed on the ice or not - which was pretty awful, since no one had really talked with each other. None of us really knew each other's skills and weaknesses to decide who would be first string during the game.

In the end, I and eleven other players stood on the ice. A bigger guy went into the position of goalie, and the last five of our team made their way over to the bleachers. None of us knew each others skills, and I sighed quietly, pulling my helmet over my messy hair. I knew I'd have to give my everything right now, since that was how Monroe was going to determine who he wanted.

I shoved the mouthpiece halfway into my mouth; I knew in hockey you were supposed to keep it in all the way - safety reasons - but I couldn't stand the feel of it. Rolling my shoulders back, I cleared my mind of the safety of mouth-guards and focused on the game in front of us.

Dan was up at the middle, slapping sticks with the guy in front of him as they counted down until the game. I leaned forward; I was on the offensive team, with a few other guys. I didn't focus on anything else but the two guys in front of me, my eyes locked on the puck only a bit away. A few slides and I'd be right there..

The next three-and-a-half (almost four) hours were absolute hell.

I had never seen a coach yell as much as Monroe did. He yelled for every reason; whether he was cheering on the team he preferred at the moment, or yelling at someone for whatever mistakes they made. I'm almost certain that without my helmet, the noise of the puck being hit around, and my skates sliding everywhere, I would've gone fucking deaf.

And even the game itself was hell, at that. Everyone was fighting for a position on the team, meaning everyone was trying as hard as they possibly could. Everybody had been checking each other (I was guilty of it), and on more than one occasion, a few players had sat out due to busted noses or lips. The game had such little rules, making it as close to a free-for-all as it could be.

I sighed and skated over to where the benches were. My legs were on fire, sweat dripped down from my temples, and my arms burned from the amount of shots I had taken. But other than that, I felt amazing. I knew I did really well, so a few burns and aches didn't matter too much in the long run.