Ilya grinned. “What does Chompy sound like?”
Hayden ignored him. “Anyway. Crisis averted. But I’ll have to check my back seat before I leave from now on.”
“You’re a good dad,” J.J. said.
Hayden sighed as he poked a straw into his juice box. “Sometimes. I barely know what I’m doing most days, but I love them and would do literally anything for them, so that’s something, I guess.”
Ilya glanced down at the remains of his own sandwich. He made fun of Hayden a lot—for a million different reasons—but he secretly admired his ability to parent four young children. Hewasa good dad, as far as Ilya could tell. His kids were great; his wife, Jackie, was awesome. Ilya probably envied him, but he would never admit it.
“I’m pumped for this afternoon,” Max said. He pointed at Shane. “Our team is gonna destroy you guys.”
Shane smiled. “We’ll see, pal.”
The kids were being divided into four mini-teams, each led by two of the coaches. Shane and J.J. had one team, Ilya and Max had another, Ryan and Wyatt had one, and Leah and Hayden had the last group. They would be playing half-rink scrimmages, and, while officially the coaches weren’t supposed to play, they probably all would. Ilya was looking forward to it.
“Hey,” Max said, leaning over the table and dropping his voice. “Do you think it’s a good idea, putting Glencross and Tremblay on the same team?”
Jordan Glencross and Ben Tremblay had been clashing with each other all week. There always seemed to be two kids who had a history at these camps.
“Sure,” Ilya said easily. “It will bring them together.”
Max put his hands up. “All right. I’m just saying, those two kids are ready to choose violence.”
“Will be fine.”
It wasn’t fine. Less than halfway through the game against Ryan and Wyatt’s team, Jordan had Ben pinned on the ice, and was punching his facemask with his gloved hand.
“Seriously?” Ilya said.
Max reacted more quickly, and usefully, by calling out, “Hey!” and hauling Jordan off the other boy.
“He started it!” Jordan protested.
“You’re such a lying little bitch,” Ben spat back.
“Yo!” Max said. “We don’t use that languageat all.” He glanced at Ilya. “Want me to take them to the locker room, maybe?”
“I’ll do it,” Ilya said. “Come on, ding-dongs.”
He heard Max calling out instructions to the remaining kids as Ilya left the ice, shifting their attention from Jordan and Ben being disciplined. Ilya kept his body between the two boys as they walked to the closest locker room. Once they were inside, he made them sit on opposite sides of the room, facing each other.
“What is going on?” Ilya asked.
“He’s mad because I made the A team and he didn’t,” Jordan said.
“No I’m not!” Ben protested. “I’m mad because your dad fixed it so you’d get my spot.”
“He did not! You weren’t good enough!”
“I’m way better than you.”
Good god. What had Ilya gotten himself into? He knew he should assure the boys that nothing unfair had taken place and maybe talk to Ben about being a sore loser, but he was curious. “What does your dad do, Jordan?”
Ben snorted. Jordan mumbled something that Ilya didn’t catch.
“Sorry?” Ilya asked.
“He’s the coach.”
