The Ties That Bind

chapter two

p a r k e r

"We're ranked number one in the league right now," Coach Matthew says. "But don't get comfortable. We all know that we can easily drop down to the bottom."

Tonight, we have a game against the New York Islanders, here at our arena. The Blaze is on a ten game winning streak, but if any team can take that away, it would be the Islanders.

As team captain, Coach expects me to lead the Blaze to victory. But, beyond that, I have to be a role model on and off the ice. Wearing the C on my jersey is not only an honor but a privilege. This accomplishment proves my commitment and devotion to hockey and shows that my hard work has paid off.

My best friend and fellow teammate Deacon Knight nudges me with his elbow then motions to the rookie on our team. "Dude, I want to punch Kasanova in the face. He's talking about all the ladies he's gonna pick up tonight after our win."

Most rookies know their place. They treat the veterans with respect and stay quiet, but not Andrew Singer. The guy doesn't know when to shut his trap. I've warned him because the shit that comes out of his mouth is basically asking for a punch to the eye.

"So, are we going to Urban New York, tonight?" My other buddy Miles Hansen asks. He's one of the funniest guys I know and one of the—if not, the best goaltender in the league.

"Hell yeah we are. Drinks and women are the perfect way to celebrate our win," Deacon says confidently.

"I'm in, but let's focus on the game," I remind them. They chuckle at my sad attempt to be an enforcer.

Coach excuses us after an hour of watching film to get suited up for warmups. The locker room is buzzing with adrenaline. "Okay team, listen up!" I look at the piece of paper with the starting line up. "In the net, we got 'The Burger King.'" Everyone laughs at the nickname I came up with for Miles when I lived with him a few years back. His pregame meal is none other then burgers and fries. Not very healthy for a professional athlete, but it hasn't interferes with his game.

"On the left, we got 'Mister Serious.'" Deacon glares at me, while the rest of the team chuckles. Even though we're close, I'd be lying if I didn't say I am a tad bit afraid of Deacon. Can you blame me? The guy is intimidating as fuck.

"On the right, we have Jagor Jorris," I say. "And lastly, in the center, we have yours truly. The one, the only, Parker Baylor," I take an exaggerated bow. Some teammates laugh and others groan at my charades. "Now let's go kick some Islander ass!"

As we enter the rink, the screams of dedicated fans fill the arena. A sea of red and gold chant our names and hold up posters. "That's our captain!" I hear people cheer. "Let's go number #23," people scream. "Captain B!" There's nothing better this, I think to myself.

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"We fucking won!" Our team celebrates. The game ended with 4-1. I scored two of those goals and assisted one of Deacon's. Pretty damn good if I do say so myself.

"Now, can we talk about going to the bar?" Miles begs.

"After you shower. You smell," I joke.

Once I'm done showering, I pack up my stuff and say my goodbyes. Since my friends and I drove in separate cars, we plan to meet at the bar. I walk to the reserved lot for players and staff and disarm my slick black Tesla. I slide into the driver's seat and check my phone. A thread of messages from my parents appear on the screen. Even though they live in Seattle, they watch every single game of mine on television. As their only child, I am my parent's soul pride and joy.