Jack Keigan stared coldly out the window of his fathers petrol station, feeling like every last dream had slipped through his fingers. But his dad was right. Moving to Canada just to play a silly little game that wasnt even popular where he was born was just too risky. He would never make it in the SHL.
Jack was snapped out of his deppressive thoughts by a line of Bikeys pulling up to refuel.
"Oh great" he thought. Bikeys were always trouble in his part of town.
They began to muck around something fierce, but it wasn't the foul language that was bothering him, it was the fact they had pulled out the petrol hoses and were spraying it around the station. No one with any intention of paying would waste that much fuel.
"Hey, what the bloody hell do you think you're doing!" Jack cried as he rushed out to the pumps, shutting them off.
The biggest man Jack had ever seen in his life shoved Jack hard in the chest "just having a bit of fun tosser" he laughed, before his face went dark "you have a problem mate?"
Jack noticed the man's knife straight away. It glistened in the son, the biker was well practiced in its use, able to send a briggt glare spot right into Jacks eyes.
Any other day Jack might have left the heroics up to the police. But today was the day he gave up on his dream. If he couldnt be a hero on the ice, Jack would become a hero right here.
Jack lunged, going for the Bikers knife.

And Jack got it.

Jack was only 18 years old when he passed away later that night. Surrounded by a dispairing family, wondering what might have happened if he had only followed his dreams.