Ice Time Read Free Page B

had met Bird, Nigel and Megan when he was grade seven. Bird had always been chill and goofy. Nigel was usually very serious. And Megan was … Megan — in charge, smart and organized. He hadn’t seen her much lately because of hockey. She was more like a woman than a girl now. She still wasn’t into clothes or makeup, but she looked, well, more mature.
    He’d met André in grade seven, too, when they’d played together for the Bowmont Blues. André had filled out even more over the years. He was probably two hundred pounds and well over six feet tall. Rocket felt a twinge of envy. That was NHL size. Of course, André had stopped playing hockey years ago.
    “Forget about our boring lives,” André said. “What’s up with the Rocket? Your text said you’re off to play for Pinewood.”
    Rocket told them what happened. “Now I have to become a different player — and fast,” he finished.
    “No problem,” Bird said. “There’s got to be a lifehack on that.”
    “I bet they tell rookies that all the time,” André said. “Don’t worry. They pay big bucks for guys who put the puck in the net.”
    “I thought I was so close, though,” Rocket moaned. “I could literally taste that first contract.”
    “That’s the problem,” Megan said. “Guys get blinded by the money, and they forget their chances of making the NHL are tiny. I’m not being negative, Bryan, but this is why you should be taking those online courses. You can earn more university credits, and—”
    “I can’t,” Rocket cut in. “The AHL is a pro league, with road trips and training. I have to focus on hockey.”
    “As opposed to before when you barely paid attention to it?” Megan said. “Hockey’s all you ever do.”
    “Eat, sleep, play hockey — repeat.” He grinned as André gave him a high-five.
    “You can love the game,” Megan said, “without risking your whole future. Think of all the guys who spent years trying to make it and had nothing to show for it when they didn’t. You could be thirty years old, with no education and no job. And if you’re seriously injured, then what?”
    “Ya, keep your head up, bro,” André said.
    “And two hands on the stick,” Nigel said.
    “It ain’t over till it’s over,” Bird added.
    “That’s more of a baseball saying, but it works,” Rocket said.
    “How about, it ain’t over till the fat lady sings?” Bird asked.
    “Never understood that one, but it’s inspiring,” Rocket said.
    Megan rolled her eyes. “Very funny, gentlemen. But I’m serious, Bryan. I’m proud of you for finishing high school—”
    “What choice did I have? You and Maddy would’ve killed me if I hadn’t.”
    “Fair enough,” Megan said. “I’m just saying, don’t stop there. Get more university credits, get a degree, even if it takes a few extra years. Then, if hockey doesn’t work out, you have a plan B.”
    “Is this your idea of a pep talk?” Rocket said.
    “It’s my idea of common sense.”
    Her eyes were fixed and hard, no trace of humour. None of the guys he’d played with put much effort into school. Most had done just enough to finish high school.
    “Bird, Nigel, you’re both in engineering, right?” Rocket said.
    They nodded.
    “You have four years of school to get your degree, and then you get a job.”
    “I might spend another year or two to get my master’s and then look for a job, but that’s about right,” Nigel said.
    “Okay, so however many years it is, how much is it costing you?” Rocket said.
    “Don’t ask,” Bird said. “Tens of thousands.”
    “And what kind of money can you make?”
    “I’m not sure,” Nigel said. “First job might start at about fifty thousand.”
    Rocket looked triumphantly at Megan. “In one year in the NHL, I’ll make more than they get in ten.”
    “That’s if you make it,” she said.
    “You don’t think I will?”
    “I didn’t say that.”
    “Because I’m too small?”
    “Bryan, I—”
    “My family