“Why am I not surprised Killer and Red are two of the first people here?” Aubrey calls out from the back of the room when we walk in. Her legs are kicked up on the seat in front of her, and her hands are locked behind her head. She smiles at us as we make our way to sit in the back row with her.
“I’m surprised to see you here already. Since when did you learn to show up on time?” I tease, taking my seat. Grace sits on my other side.
Aubrey’s feet bounce, rattling the chair. “Only took me four years but think I finally got it down,” she laughs.
“Better late than never,” Grace chides.
The room quickly fills with old teammates and new, the volume rising with each new arrival. Most of the veterans gather toward the back of the room, our row filling in quickly, while the newbies sit at the front. It’s pretty separated right now, but once we get on the ice, this divide will cease to exist.
As soon as Coach enters, a hush falls over the room. Not out of fear, but respect. Alice Maver has been head coach for the Women’s Haulton Huskies longer than any of us have been alive. She’s tough, but fair. Hard, but kind.
She’s in her usual dark jeans and Huskies pullover with her well-loved binder tucked under her left arm.
“Well, isn’t it a good day to kick off a new season?” She looks around excitedly, and already her positive energy seems to have a relaxing effect on the anxious newcomers as many of their shoulders relax.
Coach starts her opening remarks, welcoming the new recruits and acknowledging the veterans. The door opens a few minutes in and I blink, not sure I’m believing what I’m seeing.
Austen, a senior and right wing on the first line, gapes as she murmurs, “Is that?—”
But before she can finish, Coach’s attention shifts to what, or who, everyone is now zeroed in on and smiles brightly. She beckons the newcomer in, and he strides into the room like each and every person inside is completely beneath his attention.
“Ladies, as you all know, Coach Renn retired at the end of last season, so I’d like to introduce you to our newest assistant coach. Everyone, this is Luke Holloway.”
She introduces him as if half the room didn’t immediately clock exactly who stands before us, hands tucked casually in his pockets.
He looks smaller in person than the memories I have of watching him play on the TV screen, although that has more to do with the lack of goalie pads than his actual build. He’s stillgotta be at least six two, and the parts of his arms that are exposed by his T-shirt are corded with muscle.
Coach claps him on the back and beams as she says, “I’ve known him since he was a young boy, before the million dollar contracts and shiny trophies.”
“Millions,” Luke corrects, and Alice hushes him.
The fluorescent lighting reflects warmly off the chocolate brown color of his hair that’s pushed off his forehead and flows effortlessly behind his ears. His dark eyes are partially shielded by his furrowed brow, but even from here, I can see there’s an emptiness to them. He doesn’t bother to hide it as he lazily glances around the room. Add in the slumped posture and the occasional yawn he doesn’t even bother to hide while Coach continues to chat away about adding him to our coaching staff, I start to wonder why he’s here.
Yeah, obviously, he’s more than qualified because everyone in this room at the very least recognizes the name Luke Holloway. He didn’t play for my favorite team, but I still know who he is. Conn Smythe trophy winner and Stanley Cup Champion. Best goalie in franchise history for the New York Flash.
But what’s he doing here? Coaching at our university? Our team?
Discreetly, I lean in and whisper to Grace, “Why isn’t he coaching in the NHL or something?” News of his retirement spread quickly a few years back, but I haven’t heard much about him since then.
She shrugs. “Maybe no one wanted him.”
“Doubt it.” I settle back in my seat and try to pay attention to Coach’s speech, but my eyes keep drifting back to where Luke stands.
Or I guess I should sayCoach Holloway. My mind already races with excitement, thinking about the things I could learnfrom him. Coach Renn was great, but she didn’t have the resume Luke does.
Very few do.
“Did you have anything you’d like to add?” Coach Maver asks him, handing over the floor to him.
Coach Holloway scraps a strong hand down his stubbled jaw and sounds exhausted as he says, “Appreciate the introduction, Alice.” He then scans the room, and as his eyes pass over mine, my breath catches momentarily. “I’ve never coached before, so I guess lower your expectations.” There’s more than a few laughs from the room, but one look at his face and I really don’t think he’s joking. Apprehension begins to cut through the initial thrill of the announcement.
Coach Maver waves him off and waits for him to say more, but instead he simply takes an empty seat at the end of the first row and kicks back. Grace and I share a look of uncertainty, while Austen and Aubrey eye him like he’s something to eat.
The rest of the meeting drags and my knee bounces wildly, itching to get on the ice. It’s been too long of a break since I last skated, and I’m over all the logistics of the season.
The rules, the schedule, the expectations. I already know them, have them memorized, and follow them to a T. That’s just who I am.
Grace’s eyes start to flutter shut next to me, and I elbow her sharply. She jerks awake and scowls at me, gingerly rubbing her side. “You have bony elbows,” she mutters.
