“Hey,” I whisper, adjusting the pillow behind his back.
“I’m good,” Louis mumbles. He blinks up at the brass.
“Not as good as we’d like you to be,” Carson says, with a wry smile. “We want to talk about our situation.”
“Situation is an understatement,” Coach mutters, flipping open his planner.
Carson takes a breath. “As you both know, we’re up against it. The trade deadline is looming. I need to know where your heads are at so we can plan.” He looks directly at me. “Tanner, I’m not going to sugarcoat it. Can you carry the load with McWhittier backing you up? Or do I need to go shopping for another goaltender?”
My stomach drops. Being asked to justify your existence by the GM at 30,000 feet is a new level of pressure.
Before I can answer, Coach Shaw speaks up. “He can do it.”
Travis Shaw’s steely gray eyes drill into mine. “My gut says he’s ready. Sinclair’s a hell of a goalie.”
I exhale a breath I didn’t know I was holding.
“But,” Shaw continues, pivoting to Louis, “his success depends a lot on you, Lou.”
Louis blinks, struggling to track the conversation. “Me?”
“You heard me,” Coach says. “Sinclair provides the body. You can provide the brain.”
Ouch. Fair, but ouch.
“Tanner’s got the talent,” Shaw goes on, his gaze flicking to me before settling firmly on his starting goalie. “But he doesn’t have the miles. He needs your experience—weneed your experience. So as soon as you’re through the surgery, you’re not just a goalie on injured reserve. You’re coaching.”
Louis frowns. “What? You want me to coach?”
“We want you to mentor,” Carson clarifies. “Travis and his staff will handle the technical stuff. You’re going to handle the mental stuff. The pressure. You’re the best there is at that.”
Coach Shaw nods. “Truthfully, a lot of what we’re envisioning is stuff you’d already be doing if you weren’t injured anyway. But this will make it more official. You’ll travel with the team, take part in video sessions. You’re going to act like Tanner’s mental and emotional training wheels. Without your help in this, I don’t think we make the playoffs.”
Jesus Christ on ice skates.No pressure or anything.
Beside us, Rylan lets out a cough that sounds suspiciously like a laugh.
I snap my head toward him. “What?”
“Sorry,” Rylan says, waving a hand as his eyes spark with mischief. “I said the exact same thing the other night.” He looks at me and smiles. “Your natural talent is incredible, you know that. You’ve got the makings of one of the greats. And with Lou helping? You could be unstoppable.”
His gaze flicks between me and Louis. For one terrifying second, I wonder what he sees between us. Can he tell my knee is pressed against Louis’s? Has he noticed the way Louis is leaning toward me? Or how I’m hovering over him like a worried mother hen?
“How do you both feel about this idea?” Carson asks. I’m pretty certain the decision has already been made, but I love that he wants our feedback on this slightly unusual plan.
“I’m in,” Lou says without hesitation. “You know I’ll do whatever I need to do.”
Carson looks at me. “And you? What are your thoughts, Sinclair?”
“Um, yeah.” I clear my throat. “I mean yes. I think that sounds great. The more I can learn from Louis, the better.”
“Right. Settled, then,” Carson says. “Lou, good luck with surgery. I’ll be in touch.”
Carson heads back to the front. Coach Shaw gives us a final nod before following.
Mentor.
They want us to spend every day together. Video sessions. Traveling. Talking.
