Chapter Text
Spot enters the locker room, taking in the sight of the team getting ready for their first hockey game together in nearly 4 months. The excited chatter of the team fills the air, as they tell stories of how they spent their off-season. Spot smiles, as it reminds him of little kids eagerly asking each other about their summers.
Spot waves at some of his teammates as he sets down his black duffel bag. He glances at some of the pictures pinned to the door of his locker. One of them is Spot at 10 years old, proudly holding a small trophy after a championship game. He smiles, reminiscing about his youth hockey days.
He was the kid his youth hockey coach hated. The kid the coach would make an example of when his form was sloppy. The kid who the coach said had no future in the sport, but that kid grew up. He found a new coach and a new environment to thrive in. That kid became a man, who lived for the thrill of lacing up his skates and being on the ice.
To Spot, hockey became the one constant in an inconsistent world. It was his escape from his rough past and whatever madness was around him. Now, at 21, Spot has 2 years of experience playing in the American Hockey League. He has proved himself an integral part of the Brooklyn Badgers as their enforcer, their fighter, the one who deals with those who play dirty. If all went well this season, Spot could very well be playing in the National Hockey League next season.
Spot snapped back to reality when he heard his coach calling everyone to the ice. He threw the duffel into his locker and quickly threw on his warmup gear. As he left, he grabbed his helmet and hockey stick.
“Get the lead out of your pants! Hustle up, we gotta go over some things before the game,” the coach yelled. The team gathered around the bench as their coach was drawing on his whiteboard. “Remember gents, it’s preseason. None of these games count towards playoffs, but that doesn’t mean play a crappy game. Now, listen up. Manhattan made some roster changes during off-season, so we gotta adjust our game plan accordingly.” The coach glances at his clipboard.
"Their center forward, Jack Kelly, is their newest captain now. He's good on offense, so defense has got to step up tonight." Spot smirks at the mention of Jack’s name. Spot and Jack used to play for the same youth hockey team.
The coach continues, "David Jacobs, the old substitute goalie, is now their main goalie. He's pretty good, so we need a strong strategy if we wanna get the puck into the goal."
The coach pauses, looking at Spot.
"Conlon, they got a new enforcer this year. Mush Meyers. We don't know how he plays, so you gotta stay on your toes this game. If he’s picking fights tonight, you need to go in and teach him a lesson."
"Okay coach," Spot responds. The coach glances back at his clipboard.
"I think that's all I needed to talk about. Now, let's get on the ice and start some drills!" The coach exclaims. The players race onto the ice, eager to get back into their usual game day routine.
—
The roar of the crowd fills the air of the stadium. Spot forgot how wild people can be during their games. The coach gathered with the players one last time.
“Before you guys hit the ice, I want to tell you something,” the coach started.
“We know, follow the game plan,” one player muttered. The coach glared at that player.
“No. Well, yes, but have fun. It’s preseason, go see what you’re capable of! Test the limits, so we can break them in the regular season.”
“Yes, coach!” several players shout in response. The Brooklyn Badgers start to file out of the locker room, making their way to the bench and the ice.
Spot is on the bench for the first twenty-minute period of the game, watching his teammates and analyzing the movement of the Manhattan Blue Birds. He noted that David is a bit clumsy when the puck gets near the left side of the goal, and that Jack is a fast skater, but not a precise shooter. After a scoreless first period, the teams go back to the locker rooms to cool down, strategize, and prepare for the next twenty minutes of the game. Spot shares his observations with the rest of the team, changing their strategy accordingly before rushing out of the locker room to play again.
Spot excitedly adjusts his red gloves as he steps onto the ice. From the Manhattan bench, Jack flashes him a friendly smile. Spot sends him one back, glad to see his childhood friend is still playing hockey.
The referee drops the puck in between a Brooklyn and Manhattan player, signaling the start of the next part of the game. A Brooklyn player quickly take the puck and passes it to Spot, but it gets intercepted by a Manhattan player, “Higgins” according to the white letters that stand out from his navy blue jersey. Higgins quickly passes it to another player and scores.
“This is going to be a long game,” Spot mutters.
Twelve minutes later, Brooklyn scores a goal, tying with Manhattan at 1-1. A rookie Brooklyn player has the puck and is quickly skating to Manhattan’s goal, trying to gain the lead before the end of the second period. Higgins, from earlier, races after the rookie. He knows he can’t reach the player in time, so he extends his hockey stick, tripping the rookie before they can get to the goal.
The referee’s whistle sounds, pausing gameplay. Similar to a timeout, Higgins is sent to the penalty box for two minutes. As he leaves the ice, he harshly bumps into the rookie. This frustrates Spot, who decides to take action. He skates after Higgins, shoving him in the back. Higgins turns around and swings at Spot. He dodges and throws his gloves to the ground, responding with a punch to Higgins’ jaw. Shocked, Higgins tries to punch back, but the referees rush to pull the two apart and escort the two to the penalty box.
“That was a good hit,” Higgins complements Spot after the two settle into the penalty box.
“What?”
“Nice punch. I’ve been trying to get into boxing during off-season, but I only went like once and only hit the punching bag.”
“If you’re interested, one of my friends runs a boxing gym. If you want, I could give you their information,” Spot suggests. Higgins’ face lights up.
“Yes please!” he exclaims.
“Okay, meet me after the game. Then, I’ll give you the gym info then, uh-” Spot trails off.
“Oh, Race! Friends call me Race.” Spot nods his head.
“Mine call me Spot.” The referees enter the box, signaling the end of their time in the penalty box. Race grabs his stick, glancing at Spot from over his shoulder.
“See you on the ice, Conlon.”