“Copy that.” I flip the page on my clipboard to find the group one player bios. I’ve been over these pages so many times, the numbers and names blur together.
Until I catch one that stands out.
#19 – Noah Miller: Local. Fast. Inconsistent puck handling.
That’s the kid who fell right in front of me during the final drill, but his speed was undeniable. My eyes lift from the clipboard and scan the ice.
Players are warming up, and pucks are already banging against the boards. I take roll call in my head: #22, #1, #8…but no #19. “Hey, guys, anyone got eyes on nineteen?” I ask into the mic.
“Not on the bench,” Coach replies. “Might be a scratch.”
Strange.
I read his bio again.
Local kid. No travel barrier. The weather is cold, but the roads should be clear, so that’s not an excuse. I frown but shift my attention back to the drills as the first shooter, #12, takes his shot.
It’s smooth.
Then another. And another.
I glance down. #12 – Axl Erikson. Nebraska.
“Boy, that kid from the Midwest’s got hands,” I say into the mic as I’m already marking a check next to his name.
“He’s a lock,” Coach says, sounding satisfied. “No question about that one. If we don’t grab him, someone else will.”
I nod, about to make a note about his speed when “Excuse me!” a voice calls out from behind me.
I ignore it, thinking it’s not for me.
“Hi! Sorry! Uh—hellooooo?” The voice is getting closer.
I press my earpiece tighter, trying to hear the guys as this person is now next to me and is being awfully loud.
“Hey, Mr. Baker?” the voice continues, and I turn slowly, already bracing myself to be irritated. When I glance up, my breath stalls.
It’s Ruth from yesterday. That kid’s mother. She’s wearing the same beanie on her head, and her cheeks are flushed pink to match her coat. She’s grinning, but it’s the kind of smile people wear when they’re faking a good day.
Before I have a chance to say anything, she exhales in a rush. “Yes. Hi. I’m sorry to interrupt you. I know you are very busy with super important things like running this team, and this is not the time, but, uh, I must talk to you about my son, number nineteen.”
I lower my clipboard, half-annoyed, but my curiosity is certainly piqued. “He’s not on the ice.”
“I know. He’s had a school thing.” Her words cut off all choppy, like she’s already choking back tears. “He’s eighteen, but still in high school, and he got called into a meeting about his grades. It was the only time he could meet with the teacher and the counselor. I couldn’t move it, so I, uh, told him I moved the tryout.”
I squint. “You what?”
“I told him I talked to you, and you agreed to move it to later,” she says, her cheeks fluster into a deeper shade of red. “I didn’t want him to miss the school meeting, and I didn’t want him to panic, because he has a serious anxiety disorder. Once he has a panic attack, it’s over. Okay, I know how that sounds. I do. But I needed him to go to the school, because if he doesn’t get his grades up, he’s not eligible to play anywhere.Shoot, he might not even graduate. And I have worked too many night shifts atthe diner to have him not graduate. So, failing math isn’t an option. And I thought maybe I could somehow ask very nicely…” Her words fall off, and she stares at me, batting these thick lashes that make me double take.
“Let me get this straight,” I say slowly, as I’m more entertained at this point than I’m annoyed. “You assumed you could reschedule a professional team tryout?”
She winces. “When you put it like that, it sounds so rude, but yes, sort of. But also, I didn’t really assume. Assume is such an imposing word. I will assure you; I don’t want to be an imposition to you. I’m more than happy to find a way to make this up. I wasn’t assuming anything. It was definitely a hope and a prayer situation more than an assumption.”
There’s a beat of silence.
Then, involuntarily, I huff out a laugh. I get he is her son, but that isn’t fair to the guys who were here on time. They all had other stuff to do too, but they made my team a priority, as they should if they want to work for me.
Her eyes dart up. “Why are you laughing?”
