“No, fuck. Why do you automatically assume something bad happened? Maybe he’s just running late. Maybe he was interviewing potential assistant coaches and the time ran over.”
Our AC was recently hired for a head coaching position out in Texas, and had left last week. Coach Mackenzie has had Nigel St. James filling in temporarily, but we all know he’s actively looking for a more permanent member of staff.
“Maybe,” he agrees, although he doesn’t look convinced. I shake my head, opening my mouth to try and talk him down when Vas catches our attention.
“Coach Lawson!”
“It’s just Lawson, Vas. We talked about this,” a low, amused voice responds.
I turn around, and watch Anthony Lawson and Coach Mackenzie walk around the outside of the practice arena. Lawson is a couple steps ahead of Coach, who’s staring at his back and not out at us. I relax at the sight of him. Just because I was trying to make Micky feel better doesn’t mean I wasn’t actually worried. Coach Mackenzie is as reliable as the sunrise—he’s never once been late before.
“Oh, look,” Micky says on a soft exhale, bumping against my shoulder as he skates closer. I follow his line of sight and immediately smile. Lawson is carrying a puppy.
That does it for me, and I skate over to the boards as quickly as I can. I fuckinglovepuppies. So do my teammates, apparently, as every member of the team makes some variation of a cooing noise and moves in for a closer look. Lawson hands the little red bundle off to Coach Mackenzie, grinning as he does. He reaches over the wall to put a hand on the back of Max’s neck and give him a little shake. Max grins at him, muttering something I’m too far away to hear.
“I apologize for being late,” Coach says seriously. The puppy snuffles against his neck and attempts to lick his chin. “It won’t happen again.”
“Is that your dog?” Chris Timmons asks, craning his neck to see around Vas. Nobody cares about the time anymore. We care about the puppy.
“Yes,” Coach replies, looking down at the dog andsounding faintly surprised. “He’s new to the family. I thought you might like to meet him.”
There is a general murmur of consent. If there is one thing we can all agree on, it’s a desire to meet the puppy. Coach smiles faintly, squinting around at us all clustered around him. His gaze lands on Micky and pauses. Silently, he holds the puppy out to him.
“I don’t want to drop him,” Micky says immediately, shaking his head. “I might hurt him.”
“You won’t,” Coach replies. The puppy wiggles in his outstretched hand, giving a sharp little bark as Micky takes him carefully.
He clutches the puppy to his chest protectively, chin tucked as he stares down at the little face. I skate a little closer to look, wanting to know what kind of dog it is. Vas moves nearer as well, facial expression soft as he watches. He leans down to put his face on the same level as the dog, and reaches a finger out to stroke gently between the puppy’s eyes.
“Hello, little one. I am Henri,” he introduces himself. The puppy chews happily on one of Micky’s fingers, unconcerned.
“Is that an Irish setter, Coach?” I ask. I really want to hold that fucking dog, but definitely won’t be the one to take him away from Micky. Lawson smiles at me.
“It is! Good eye.”
“Badass. They’re cool dogs. Crazy smart.” Lawson nods, eyes flicking toward Coach, who’s watching Micky and Vas with an inscrutable expression on his face. He clears his throat and Vas straightens immediately, snapping to attention.
“He’ll be staying with friends of ours until he’s bigenough to go to obedience school,” Coach tells us carefully. Lawson moves a little closer to him, leaning against the boards casually and watching.
“You must learn your manners?” Vas asks the puppy.
“Is he a hunting dog?” Juno, one of our senior forwards, asks. Coach Mackenzie inhales slowly, bringing his shoulders back and looking as though he’s preparing to give us a speech. The puppy yips, the sound echoing over the ice, and a few people laugh.
“No. He’s just a family dog. But he’ll be trained as a support animal. A…a Seeing Eye dog.”
Max breathes in so sharply, I can hear it even though he’s several people away from me. Confused, I look from the puppy to Coach Mackenzie. We’re silent as everyone tries to figure out what he’s attempting to tell us.
“For your friend?” Timmons asks. “The one you said would be taking care of him?”
“No, for me,” Coach says, an almost painful undercurrent to his voice. Uncomfortable, I fidget with my glove. I stay silent, and so does everyone else. Uneasiness radiates from the group, but Coach soldiers on. “I don’t have great vision, so he can’t stay with us full-time until he’s trained to not walk under my feet.”
Vas’ face is scrunched up as though he’s in pain listening to this. Micky still has the puppy cupped in his big palms, held up to his face to receive cheek kisses. The puppy is the only living thing in this room who’snotuncomfortable right now.
Everyone waits for Coach to continue, but he looks like the admission took something out of him. I’ve never once seen Coach Mackenzie looking less than confident andresilient. He’s the one who holdsusup. It feels strange to be confronted with the fact that he’s just as human as we are. I clear my throat.
“What’s his name?” I ask, aiming for a way to get the heat off of Coach Mackenzie for a second.
Behind his back, Anthony Lawson smiles at me and just like that the tension is gone. Coach squints in my direction, before looking back at the puppy. Micky holds him out as though thinking he wants him back, but Coach waves him away.
