BRAYDON’S POV
Despite all the games we’ve won this season, it’s painfully clear Coach doesn’t give a damn. Why? Because practice this morning feels like straight-up military training.
“Cooper!” Coach’s voice rips through the rink like a cannon. “Where’s your head? Do something!”
I blink, realizing I don’t even have the puck anymore. Martin stripped it clean off me and already iced it. Great.
I tip my helmet back just enough to wipe sweat off my forehead, then shoot Coach a look that’s half-apology, half-please don’t murder me in front of my teammates.
The guys starts snickering behind their mouth guards and Martin smirks as he skates by, mouthing that I should stay awake.
I flip him off.
Maybe practice isn’t even that brutal this morning. Maybe it’s just me, skating around like an i
