“Hey, dumbass! I’m open.”
Asher glares at me, banging his stick repeatedly on the ice to catch my attention. I fling the puck his way but it goes wide, and he lets out an unhappy grunt as it whizzes past him, straight into the corner.
We’re playing a scrimmage game, and my focus has been absolute s**t today. I can’t complete a pass to save my life. I haven’t even scored once yet, which is saying something, because the only thing standing between me and that net is our rookie backup goalie, Morgan. He’s good, but he’s nowhere near as solid as Owen. I should have a couple on net by now. Asher definitely would have sank one in if I’d fed it to him in time.
I try to tell myself I’m off my game because of the quick midweek travel I did to Denver, but I know that’s not it. If I’m being honest
