Free Frostbitten: The Complete Series by Ilia Bera Page B

eight to twelve months in a dark room—with no television, no reading, and no anything—no hockey. Being out for a year meant missing the rest of the season—and most of the next one as well.
    The Ice Caps couldn’t afford to keep an injured player on the roster that would be out for that long—especially not an enforcer.
    Michael’s contract was nullified, and he found himself on a bus back to Snowbrooke.

CHAPTER TWELVE
A GOOD MAN ALWAYS FORGIVES
    Ping!
    Another puck rattled off of the crossbar as Michael fought through the lingering pain in his muscles. If The League wanted highly skilled players, then Michael would make himself into a highly skilled player.
    He was absolutely determined to make it back into The AHL.
    The back door of the house opened, and Wade walked out in his unzipped coat, holding his briefcase.
    Michael and Wade had the same eyes, the same nose, the same ears, the same dark stubble and the same head of thinning hair. There was never any question that Wade was Michael’s father.
    Wade stopped to zip up his coat, placing his briefcase on the snowy deck and watching his son line up his next shot. Michael took a deep breath, and then released the puck powerfully into the back of the net. Sweat dripped off of his face.
    “You need to work on your follow-through,” Wade said to his son.
    “What do you mean?” Michael asked as he caught his breath and wiped the sweat off of his cold forehead.
    “You need to keep the face of the blade down as you release.”
    “My follow-through is fine, dad.” Michael turned back to the net and prepared another puck.
    “Shoot top shelf crossbar,” Wade said.
    Michael looked up at the top right corner of the net and took a breath. Then, he pulled the puck back and fired.
    The puck went into the top corner, just narrowly missing the crossbar.
    “Close,” Wade said. “You need to bend those knees more too.”
    “Dad—No offense, but I had one of the best coaches in the NHL show me how to do this…”
    “That doesn’t mean that he knows everything.”
    “It means he knows a hell of a lot. He actually told me I had nearly perfect technique.”
    “Nearly perfect and perfect are two different things.”
    Michael turned around and rolled his eyes away from his father.
    “Just try it,” Wade said.
    “Try what?”
    “Bending your knees—Put your body weight forward.”
    Michael sighed. “Dad, c’mon.”
    “Just try it.”
    Michael looked forward again. He took a deep breath and lined another puck up. He dipped his knees down unenthusiastically and then took another shot, missing the intended spot in the net.
    “Happy?” Michael asked.
    “You didn’t even try,” Wade replied.
    “I tried.”
    “No you didn’t. I’ve seen Bantam kids make better shots than that.”
    “That’s good for those Bantam kids.”
    “Why are you being so snarky?”
    “I’m just tired, dad.”
    “Can I tell you what you need to work on?”
    “Bending my knees—I know.”
    “Respect.”
    Michael looked at his dad for a moment. “Respect? Respect for who?”
    “Respect for me.”
    “I do respect you, dad. You know that.”
    “Then you need to act like it. You’ll never be successful if you don’t respect the people teaching you.”
    Michael sighed.
    “Let me show you. And watch closely.”
    Wade walked up and took the stick from his son. Michael laughed as his out-of-shape old man crouched down and lined a puck up with the blade of his stick.
    “Don’t hurt yourself,” Michael laughed.
    Wade gently pulled the puck back, cupping it comfortably with the concave blade of the stick. He pushed down on the stick, making it flex.
    Michael looked around impatiently. “Today, dad.”
    “Respect,” Wade reminded.
    Michael rolled his eyes again.
    Wade looked up to the top corner, and then released. The puck fluttered slowly to the side of the net, missing the target completely. Wade stood up and stretched out his shoulder, groaning in pain.
    “Nice try,