“Sorry,” I grumble, tossing my phone back in my bag. I shove any thoughts of Hannah out of my mind. Hockey is my priority. “I’m ready.”
With one minuteleft on the clock in the third period, the game is tied.
The Loons came out with unanticipated aggression after having the last two days off while we’re gassed after a short turnaround from last night’s defeat. Liam’s playing well in net, only giving up one goal, but we’re coming down to the wire.
I take a timeout, using my whiteboard to plan out a play.
“We’re dealing the puck to Miller.” I draw an arrow from his dot toward the goal, signaling forward movement. “They’re going to try to crowd you in the corner. If you get boxed in, chuck it over to Richardson and see if we can sneak another five-hole goal past them. We got lucky in the second with that first one, but they’re anticipating Miller to do something flashy. We might be able to go two-for-two. We’re not going with an empty net, so Fitzpatrick and Hayes, I want you past center ice. If we can get a rebound off a miss, anyone can take it.”
“Hands in, boys,” Maverick says, and all their gloved hands stack on top of each other. “Perseverance on three. One, two, three.”
“Perseverance,” they chant, and I knock their helmets with my knuckles.
We win the face-off, and Ethan passes the puck to Hudson. Hayes sends it over to Maverick on the far side of the ice. He kicks it to Fitzpatrick who brings it back to Miller, and we’re down to thirty seconds. I glance at the jumbotron then back to the play unfolding in front of me, groaning when Maverick takes a shot that bounces off the goal post.
“Shit,” I mumble, lifting on my toes so I can see over the heads of the guys on the bench. They’re all standing now, hitting the boards with their sticks as Ethan attempts a shot that’s an inch too far to the left. “Someone needs to fucking do something.”
“Coach.” Riley elbows me, and I see it. “Look.”
Grant is just outside the right face-off circle, calling for the puck. Ethan passes it his way, and I watch Grant pull his stick back and fire off the prettiest wrist shot I’ve ever seen. A player from the Loons dives in front of the puck, but he’s too late. It’s already soaring to the net. Flying past two defenders and slotting into the goal, right past the goalie’s blocker as time expires.
The officials blow their whistles and the guys on the bench tumble over the boards, swarming the five on the ice and tackling Grant until they all fall into a dogpile. I pump my fist and Parker gives Mikal a high-five before reaching for me, patting my back in a celebratory hug.
“Fuck yeah, B,” he yells. “Damn good call making that lineup change.”
“Fucking ballsy of Everett to step up to the plate with that shot.” I lift a hand in a wave toward the Loons coach. “That was big time.”
“Hope it doesn’t go to his head.” Mikal laughs, giving Liam a fist bump as he skates past us to join the celebrations.
“Doubt it will. He’s humble as hell. Let’s try to get everyone out of here in one piece.”
The guys drench Grant in sports drink when we get back to the locker room. Maverick hands him the game-winning puck and ruffles his hair, telling him he’s proud of him before he gets pulled to do an interview. I sit in for a press conference where I’m hounded with questions about the lineup change.
By the time the mayhem dies down, I’m still buzzing with adrenaline. This is my favorite part about coaching and also what I miss the most about playing: the high a win brings. The camaraderie and excitement, and I take a breath before addressing the room.
“Good work out there, boys. Special accolades go to Sullivan for his forty-seven saves, and to Everett for the goal that gave us the W.” I pause so everyone can clap. Grant grins from his stall, bare-chested and unlacing his skates. “We have three days off, a West Coast road trip, then we’re back home for Thanksgiving to close out the month. Let’s keep this momentum going forward. We need to be thinking about the games in June right now, and tonight’s performance was an all-around team effort. You should be proud of yourselves. Bus for the airport leaves soon. No morning skate tomorrow, but we’re back in action on Thursday. Grab a shower, pack it up, move it out.”
There’s another round of applause from the group, and head for the office. I sling my bag over my shoulder and check to make sure I have my laptop and charger. My phone chimes and I groan, knowing it’s probably Kali giving me more shit. But when I pick it up, there’s a text from Hannah, and my heart races.
I’ve been avoiding our coaching session. The first week we were supposed to work together, I had a scheduling conflict and needed to cancel. Last week I panicked when I wondered what the hell we were going to talk about for an hour. I lied and said a meeting came up, and it’s been eating at me since.
Hannah is holding up her end of the agreement. She’s with my daughter four days a week, doing exactly what I asked, while I’m over here with a stick up my ass because I’m fuckingafraid.
I have no idea how to coach a figure skater who has competed at the highest level. I have no idea how to be around her for an extended period of time without Liv as a buffer.
All of this falls outside of my carefully constructed routine. It’s an interruption, and I don’t like interruptions.
But I hate disappointing people more.
I slide my thumb across the screen, reading her message.
H.E.
Is this the most excited you’ve ever been about anything in your life?
*Attachment: 1 video*
It’s a recording from her television taken after Grant’s goal. She’s zoomed in on me, Parker, and Mikal during our celebrations. You can see my obvious enthusiasm and I snort, firing off a quick response.
