The Axelridge Series Book 1 Finn's Slapshot

FINN-2000

“Hustle! Lets go!”

The sound of razor sharp metal on smooth ice fills the empty hockey rink. 20 teenagers pushing their skates for more speed. Like Olympic skaters, we round corner after corner as my father observes and barks orders.

“Come on, Henderson! Punch it!”

Out in front, my cheeks are on fire as I huff painful breaths. I’m leaned forward and my body leans as my feet cross over each other to make the turn.

“Come on, Finley! MOVE!”

My legs are on fire as we skate circle after circle. Our skates shave the ice as we power through the marathon of laps after four hours of practice. We’re dead.

I make my hundredth turn and my skate slips. I trip and sprawl face first into the rink. My nose snaps and I scream. Blood gushes from my nostrils as I hold it in agony.

My father blows his whistle and skates to me. He drops to his knees. “Let me look.”

I whine as I raise my head to him and a tear runs down my cheek.

He places his thumbs on either side and twists. I scream so loud, I’m surprised the ice didn’t break.

I fall forward, rest my forehead on the ice and wrap my arms around my head. The white under my nose turned red with my blood as white, hot pain exploded behind my eyelids.

My cold breath hitches as I fight the lump in my throat.

My father leans down to my head. “Don’t you dare cry, Finley. Use it. Push that pain down. Crying doesn’t make goals, understand me? Hockey players…do…not…cry…”

I suck in a shaky breath and sit up. My cheeks are wet and cold. I blow out and a cloud surrounds my head. It echoes in the pounding headache I start to suffer. My tear filled eyes squint to see my dad get to his feet.

He blows his whistle again. “OK. Hit the showers.”

I rise to my skates and wipe the blood off as I begin to glide to the gate.

“Where are you going?”

I turn and thumb over my shoulder. “The locker-room.”

“I don’t think so.” He skates to me. “20 for falling and another 50 for crying.” He sneers.

My nose throbs as my brows stitch up.

He leans to me. “Did I stutter?”

My chin quivers. “No, sir.”

“Move.” He points to the rink.

I push off and skate the boards. In my head, all I can think of is driving HIS nose into the ice. My hatred for him fueled my legs as I ran through the laps.

Underneath my dad’s tyrannical coaching, I love the game. I love the crowds. I love the rush of the winning goal. As much as I want to get away from the man that makes my life hell, he’s helping me fill my dream. To be Captain of the Axelridge Hammers.

My dad was, my grandfather and his father before him. There’s a lineage that I would feel honored to fill and sometimes you have to go through the shit to get to the roses. My dad is complete shit.

After retirement from the league, he took up coaching. I’ve been wearing skates since I could walk and I’ve been taking his abuse for just as long. He drills me everyday on how important this is and how I’ll only be someone if I play. I want to be someone, so I stay and suffer. Does it hurt? Fuck yes. My only relief from him is my mother and his business trips.

When he’s away, I’m somewhat glad he’s gone. Though, he misses a lot. My mom says the Alliance agreements he’s negotiating are important. We need the help of other packs to protect the city.

It's bullshit, if you ask me.

As scary as he is, it sucks when he misses games and playoffs. He sees the trips and broken noses more than the results of my hard work. He says he watches the videos, but I don’t believe it. He works too much.

I pretend it doesn’t sting. I pretend I have this perfect life as Alpha son, but every once in a while, a guy like Craig will push it out and I slam that fucker in the face. The fight we had wasn’t the first time I’ve laid into another guy. The school is very familiar with my aggressive side. I can’t help it. I have a lot of pent up frustrations. Sometimes you lose control and clock someone.

I don’t enjoy fighting. I enjoy the emotional relief it gives me. On the ice, I enjoy the fans need for it. It adds to the excitement. Like a car race and crashes, it’s not a hockey game until a fight breaks out.

Anyway, enough of my emotional garbage, I need to fix what I broke.

April was not impressed with me making Craig look like the shithead he is. I saw it on her face. I won’t apologize, or take it back. Craig’s a little bitch and I proved that. He can shove his football up his dumb jock ass for all I care.

But for April’s sake, I may have to grovel. If I want to have any chance with her, I have to make her see that I’m not an asshole. Hockey players already have a bad enough reputation.

After practice and shower, I headed to school. There’s a game on and she’s there for it.

I stand off to the side as the setting sun hits her face. Her gorgeous tan glows and my heart practically explodes.

I watch her jump and shout cheers as the blockheads tackle each other into the ground.

I smile as she’s cradled in the arms of two other cheerleaders and tossed into the air. She comes down and they catch her.

The Tiger mascot runs around the football stands and hypes up the fans. The seats are loaded. Way more loaded then the rink seats. I get it, footballs where it's at. I wouldn’t even touch it. It's not rough enough.

The game is won and the Tigers celebrate. They run around the bleachers to the school and I kind of hide myself in the growing crowd of people in the grass.

Just as she runs by, I reach out and grab her arm. “April!” I say loud enough to get her to notice it’s me, but not loud enough to attract attention.

She scowls. “What do you want?” She flips her long auburn hair. I hate that she hates me.

“I just want to talk.” I wave her under the bleachers.

She looks around, puts her pompoms in her one hand and follows me.

I walk to a quiet part, rubbing my sweaty palms together and run through the words I’m about to say. People are walking over us, casting shadows on the ground.

“OK. Talk.” She snaps. I turn and she has a leg kicked out with her arms crossed under her…well…you know.

I force myself to look her in the eye and clear my throat. “I…I just…” Some laughing caught my attention and looked between the gaps of the seats. Some footballers were tossing cheerleaders around playfully and I kind of hope that will be me if this play works.

“Finn?”

I turn back to her. “You know me?”

“Uh, duh. Hard not to know who the Captain of the hockey team is.” She arches a brow.

“Right.” I chuckle as I rub my sweaty nape and grin.

“You were saying?” She gives me a once over.

“Yeah…I mean, yes.” I step closer to her. “I want to say sorry for…scaring you or whatever.” My heart is rapidly crushing my chest as I sweat way more than my deodorant can handle. I swallow as I wait for a response.

“You didn’t scare me.” She scrunched her brow.

My brows go up and I get extremely nervous. Did I just insult her? I hope I didn’t insult her. “Well…I mean…not…scare, exactly…I mean...Of course, you’re too tough…to…um…”

“OK.” She puts a hand up. “Stop before you pop a vein.” She cocks her head with attitude. “I’m not scared, I’m concerned.”

I tilt my head and furrow my brow. “Concerned?”

She drops the attitude and gives a little smile.

I’m so confused.

She tucks her hair behind her ear and steps into my space.

Oh God…My chest heaves as my teenage hormones start bubbling and my brain can only think of the big, brown eyes staring into mine.

“Yes. What I’m concerned about is if Mr. Slapshot will be too busy picking fights to ask me out?” She whispers.

Like I just got hit with a puck, I stammer, “Oh…um…” I’m blank. I got nothing. Finn, wake up!

She leans to me. “I’m waiting.” The corner of her lip raises and she bounces her brows.

“You…You want…Would you…” I stutter as I try to find the words in the rising heat of my fired up nerves. My eyes are glued to hers. I don’t think I’ve blinked in ten minutes.

Her eyes go dreamy on me and I choke because I’ve dreamed that look every night for a year. Her scent fills the air around me as I watch the word leave her lips. “Yes.”

“Yes?” My voice cracks and I die internally.

She giggles. “Yes. I will go out with you.”

“But…Craig…” My eyes are wide.

“What about him? Unless, you want me to go out with him instead.” She leans back and starts to turn.

This snaps my dumbass out of my zombie impression. “What?! No!” I grab her arm and she starts giggling again.

“I’m joking, goofball.”

“Oh.” I chuckle.

“Craig doesn’t have what you got.” She slides into my space again. I look down into her eyes as she’s practically on my chest.

“What’s that?” I say quietly.

She gets close to my lips. “Impeccable…wrist…control.”

I slowly nod. “It’s definitely all in the wrist.”

“Maybe you can show me sometime.” She says in the same sexy tone I’ve dreamed.

“H-How's…Friday?” I ask.

She leans back with her hands behind her back. Her little cheerleading outfit frames her figure so fucking well. “See ya then, Slapshot.”

She spins around and bounces back out of the bleachers. Her pompoms and hair swinging behind her in a way that’s so hot.

I lean on a support pole and blow out a breath. I lean my hands on my knees and lower my head.

“Oh God.” I pant as I process the fact that I have a football cheerleader as girlfriend. My head shoots up and my eyes widen. “I have a cheerleader as a girlfriend!”

I search my pants frantically for my phone. I pull it out and scramble to call Peter. I walk out of the bleachers as he picks up.

“Pete! I need a date idea for Friday…Shut up!” I scowl and walk to my car.