“Do you need me to repeat the question?”
Frustration boils my blood. “Why did you pull me? I know I should’ve stopped that last one but?—”
“You should’ve stopped all three,” he says casually, and it only fuels my irritation. “The first one was tricky because of the screen, so I’ll give that one to you. But the other two, they were mistakes. Costly ones.”
“So you had me pulled to punish me?”
“It’s not a punishment.”
My legs buckle, and I slump onto the bench, letting my head hang as I look at my hands. “It feels like it.”
I hear footsteps as Coach Holloway approaches, and the tips of his sneakers enter my line of vision. They’re navy blue, the same color as my goalie pads. He’s dressed casually for it being a game day. Typically, the coaches are in dress pants, suit jackets, button-up shirts, that sort of deal. Sharp, nice, professional.
Not him. He’s in black joggers and a grey Haulton Hockey sweatshirt it looks like he got from the university store. His hair is styled and gelled back though, like he knew he still needed to look put-together even if he was dressing casually.
“You were psyching yourself out.” His deep voice reverberates against the lockers and down my spine. “I could sense your rising frustration and panic after that last goal all the way by the bench. Do you think your opponents couldn’t sense it? It was about to be sharks circling in the water.”
I don’t have an argument to spit back. He’s right.
I hate it.
“I’d rather pull you before it got any worse for you. We have things to work on. That’s fine. Just take a breath.”
It all sounds so matter of fact. I wouldn’t expect anything less from him. “I don’t want to take a breath. I want to play.”
He sighs, the sound full of annoyance. “Lennon, it’s not the end of the world. Brush it off.”
“It’s not the end of the world, but it’s important, and I’m fucking it up.”
“Yes, but you’re not the only one out there playing.” I glare at his instant agreement that I’m messing up, but he simply shrugs likewhat did you expect?
“I’m not, but I shouldn’t be making mistakes like that. I know you don’t really know me, but I’m reliable. I’mgood.” My voice breaks, and I stare up at the ceiling, willing the emotions rising to draw back. “I don’t want to let my team down.”
Luke’s quiet for a moment, as if at a loss. “Why are you putting so much pressure on yourself? It’s only the third game of the season. We got months ahead of us.” He says that last sentence with a note of dread that almost makes me laugh.
Almost.
“You wouldn’t get it,” I mutter, and then wonder if that’s true. Yes, Luke Holloway is a winner. One of the greatest in his generation. But surely he’s had his fair share of losses. Right?
“Try me,” he says.
I push my hands across my forehead, smoothing back the flyaways that escaped from my ponytail. With a heavy sigh, I begin, “I’m not sure if Coach told you when you were hired, but we made it to the Frozen Four Championship game last year.” He nods. “It’s the first time the women’s team has made it that far, and we thought we could win. We thought it was our year.”
It was looking like it would be. We were unstoppable. Our season had the highest record in our school’s history, and although we were going up against the Redhawks, our biggestrival, we had already beaten them four times throughout the season.
“We were tied heading into the final two minutes of the game,” I explain. “We had been up two to one since the end of the first, but they scored on a power play at the start of the third. It rattled me a bit, but I thought I could keep it together.” I swallow thickly. “I trusted that the team could score, too. Austen had been on fire that night and…I don’t know. They just got their opportunity first.”
I replay those final moments in my head so often they’ve almost become blurry. Like a VHS tape that’s been rewound one too many times.
“It was a clean breakaway,” I say, voice straining. “Two-on-one, but I’d stopped a few others earlier in the game. I thought I’d stop this one, too. But—God, she didn’t even pass it. She took the shot. Went sailing right over my shoulder. Kinda like that last one today…”
Coach listens quietly, patiently, with a look of understanding in his eyes that I’ve never seen from him before.
“I should’ve stopped it. It was a clean shot. No tip, no redirect. I should’ve fucking stopped it.” Bitterness and self-loathing mix in my chest and squeeze my heart to the point of pain.
But it lessens slightly when he chuckles. “Yeah, I’ve had a few of those in my time.” I look up at him, and he leans back against the metal lockers. “Those ones are the ones that stick with you.”
“Do you still replay them in your head?”
