“I know it does. I remember when I was his age. My only goal was to play hockey. The thing is, he’s got some good qualities. Mainly his speed, but he needs some polishing. I’m hoping if he gets a little push, we’ll see more out of him.”
I swallow the lump in my throat. That doesn’t exactly sound like he’s on the team. With so many guys fighting for spots, it’s a long shot. Everything has been working out so far. I’m not giving up. Before I know it, he scoops up the last of his pancakes, glances at his watch, and sighs like he’s not ready. He smiles at me as he sets his napkin in the center of his plate. “You were right. These were the best pancakes I’ve ever had, but it’s only partially because of the taste.”
My head tilts as I’m not quite sure what he means about only partially, but I’m too afraid to ask for clarification. “I’m glad you enjoyed them,” I say, but it comes out more breath than voice. “You’re welcome back anytime.”
“You know something. I’m glad I stopped by. It was nice getting to visit with you.” He lingers for a second. Something flickers in his eyes. It’s tender, and maybe a little tentative. He gives me a last, quiet smile and walks out.
The bell jingles as the door floats to shut behind him. I stand still with my heart thundering in my chest. That man holds my son’s future in the palms of his hands.
Please be good to him, I pray.
seven
Bill
Snow blows vertically into the rink, like its mission is to bury us all. It’s not that light and fluffy snow either. This stuff is hardened into ice pebbles that pelt the side of my face. With myhood cinched up tight, I huddle on the outside of the rink and wait for tryouts to start. My honest assessment: it doesn’t look good. My boots are so snow crusted I can’t even tell what color they are. I mean, they’re black, but I can only say that because I saw the color when I put them on. Now, they are completely white.
Coach Carlson tugs on his scarf, pulling it tighter around his face as he yells over the wind. “This is miserable. Do you want to call it?”
Glancing across the rink, I see a full sheet of the best guys fighting for a spot on my team. Most of them are from out of town, flying in from every state from Maine to California. I know for a fact some of these guys could easily have full-ride college deals, but they are risking it for a chance to be here. Rubbing my hands together, it only takes a minute before I give up and reach in my pockets for my gloves. This is no joke, but I shake my head. “We can’t quit. Most of these guys spent hours traveling, so we’re giving them a tryout.”
Carlson shrugs as his gaze shifts back to the ice. “Your call.”
I step closer with my clipboard tucked under my arm. The guys are unstoppable, pushing hard despite the blizzard. I like that. It shows their work ethic.
I start jotting notes.
#9—Keeps head up, Tracks puck.
#65—Battles hard. Doesn’t back down.
Then I hear it, even though the wind is howling. Some cocky kid chirps. I fix my gaze on him. #20. “Might as well send him home now,” I mumble as I scratch his number off the list. I don’t care how good he is. Mouthy guys poison the locker room. I’ve seen it. I’m not doing that. If he’s mouthy when he’s not even on the team, I can’t imagine how much his head will inflate once he gets picked.
The wind kicks up, sending the snow pebbles pinging into the side of my face even harder, and I cringe. This is brutal. Within seconds, visibility drops to about ten feet in front of me, and I can’t see the center of the rink. On cue, Carlson retrieves his phone, checking the weather app. He turns to me with even more seriousness this time. “The wind chill reading has dropped. They’re shutting roads. The county will have a travel ban by nightfall.”
Having just begun, I don’t want to hear it. There are so many skills I need to see from these guys. This is arguably the most important day for my team. If I don’t get the lineup perfect, nothing else matters. I could reschedule but that sounds like a logistical nightmare.
I stare at the guys skating in disordered circles, refusing to quit.
That’s when it happens: two guys collide at full speed right in front of me and land smack on their backs. I can’t say I blame them because I can barely see either. I hold my breath for a moment as they scramble back up. They seem to be okay for now. I hate to admit it, but it’s not worth hurting the guys. I’m going to need them. “Never mind,” I grumble to Carlson as I drop my clipboard to my side in frustration. The paper’s soaked, and the ink all bleeds together. It’s pointless. “I’m over this. Get them off the ice before someone gets hurt.”
He blows the whistle and steps onto the ice, yelling, “All right, boys! Off the ice! That’s not a request!”
They start funneling off and huddle around us as they seem confused as to what to do next.
I don’t know what to do with them.
I wait till they’re gathered by the benches with their helmets off. All their faces are bright red. Then I say with heavy disappointment in my voice, “Due to the weather, we’re ending tryouts. I can’t think straight right now to make final decisions.We’ll be reviewing the notes we have over the next few days, and you’ll each get a call one way or the other.” I step back, but I wobble from the force of the wind. The storm's not letting up, and I can feel the cold working its roots into my bones. Some of the guys’ families step forward to collect each other, and they linger near the edge of the rink shivering.
A voice cuts through the air, “Hey, it looks like they just shut down the interstate. If anyone’s stuck or needs to wait out the storm somewhere before you can travel, my diner is just up the road, next to that truck stop off the interstate. I’ll have hot chocolate and coffee on the house.”
I turn toward the voice, but I already know it’s Ruth.
She’s wrapped in a giant fleece blanket that I don’t doubt covers a full-sized coat. Her regular white beanie is encapsulated with snow, but her eyes are bright. I don’t know what it is about her. If I were her, I’d go home. Instead, she volunteers her place to host my guys. It’s like she’s immune to chaos, and I can’t help but smirk.
She catches me staring, smiles my way, and calls right at me, “You’re welcome to come too, if you aren’t busy.”
I blink. I wasn’t expecting that. People don’t usually invite the boss to hang out. My cheeks heat as I ponder how sweet that is of her. “I, uh.” I look at Carlson. We’ve got more than enough work to do, since we must plan an entire roster from only the notes we already have.
