Page 6 of Rise Above

did you forget what sex feels like?”

“Maybe that’s why she’s playing soccer

tomorrow—to meet men!” They both snickered, thinking themselves intelligent. They were always too infatuated with my love life… or lack thereof. Clearly, I didn’t have much of one between work and school, and I genuinely couldn’t remember the last time I’d even been on a date. Sex had been three years ago, before I left Texas. I was fine with these things though. Love would come when it would come.

“Y’all are freaks.” I pointed my toothbrush at them.

“Soccer is for me. And I have toys to help the sex part.”

“Good for you,” Natalie said seriously. “See you

Monday!”

I blew them both a kiss and shut Facetime down. A

yawn forced its way out of my mouth. I crawled into my bed and pulled the covers over me. Tomorrow was going to be a good day.

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CHAPTER 2: SCRIMMAGE

TALON

The laces pressed into the top of my feet as I

jumped up and down. We may have won yesterday, but our defense needed some work. We let far too many shots get passed us, and any one of them could have easily resulted in a goal. Mistakes ate at me, especially if they were my own. And I’d made plenty of my own mistakes during yesterday’s game. Three games into the season, and I was already fucking up. No one else would notice. Coach hadn’t even said anything, but I knew where I failed. I could and would do better.

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Dragging my fingers through my hair, I made my

way onto the ice. This wasn’t practice; it was supposed to be a rest day. Ice was my drug though; I couldn’t stay off it for one day. It would be a quick skate, under thirty minutes. The goal was purely to get my irritation and agitation out. A few slap shots and stick drills, and I’d feel right as rain again. Or as good as I could feel on a day off. The off season nearly killed me every year.

The puck pinged into the goal—an overly easy shot

without a goalie. I lined up about ten pucks and started to shoot, putting all my frustration into my swing. All ten shots easily sailed into the defenseless goal. It only sort of helped, so I moved on to stick drills. I could handle a puck similarly to how Leo Messi handled a soccer ball. That wasn’t me bragging; it was just a fact of elite athleticism. Hockey came as naturally to me as breathing. It made sense when the rest of the world often didn’t, and the world so rarely made sense.

“Walker!” Zeke, my goalie, yelled, his voice

echoing off the wall. “Do you not understand how a day off works?”

I stopped on my skates, flicking my eyes to him as I

leaned on my stick. “Chill. I’m done.”

Anyone that knew me, knew I was a man of few

words, and I always had been. I much preferred to listen. Listening often led to being told things people probably didn’t want to reveal. It also meant I didn’t have to talk much, which was fine by me. There were very few things in life that made me uncomfortable but talking about myself was one of them. Everyone wanted to know a professional athlete but didn’t really want to know us. What 21

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was the point in speaking if they didn’t want to know the real me? Was that jaded?

“You coming out with me and Jefferson?” Zeke met