We hold onto each other until our breathing comes down. Mason takes his time zipping up my dress, wiping off the smeared makeup on my face, and trying his best to tame my frizzy curls before turning the elevator back on. When we reachour floor, he scoops me up into his arms bridal style, carrying me to our room. “My legs work perfectly fine you know,” I tease.
“I know. But I like taking care of you.” He opens the door to our room. “Especially after we just?—”
“Screwed each other’s brains out?” I offer.
He rolls his eyes. “Ever the romantic, Violet Amin.”
“Sorry,” I whisper sheepishly. “I love you.”
“I love you too, Angel. I love you too.”
forty-one
. . .
Mason
“Jake and Craig,swap out for Dylan and Tristan. Adam, run the same drill again,” I yell across the ice. My eyes are glued on the puck as I watch it go from Tristan, to Dylan, back to Tristan, and finally over to Adam. He goes for the shot — a one-timer that has the puck flying into the top right corner of the net.Beautiful.The two freshmen have certainly managed to improve their game ever since I gave them their shot against UCONN a few months ago.
“Good. Now run the next play. Adam, start behind the net. Pass to Tristan and then to Dylan. Dylan, take your shot whenever you see an opening. Keep running the drill until that puck hits the net. Ollie—” I call out to our goalie who looks right at me. “Don’t go easy onthem,” I warn.
Jake, standing next to me, smirks as our goalie stops Dylan’s first shot attempt with ease. “Damn Coach, taking it out on the freshmen I see.”
“Every player has to be ready if we want to go to the Frozen Four this year.”
“We will be. Adam and I have been watching tapes every night for the past two weeks. UCONN has only gotten better since we last played them. But so have we. No other team has worked harder than we have this season. It’s going to pay off. It has to, right?” Jake looks hopeful.
I don’t have the heart to tell him sometimes hard work doesn’t pay off. “It will. If Dylan manages to get his slap shot in order.” My voice reverberates across the arena.
“Loosen up on your grip a bit, Dyl. Don’t be afraid to let your stick do most of the work.” Jake advises his teammate, catching me by surprise. A few seconds later, I watch as Dylan gets one past our goalie, a small celebration breaking out on the ice.
“Damn that was nice boys.” Jake cheers, tapping his stick on the boards in encouragement.
“Not upset it’s not you out there?” I ask, raising my eyebrow. Jake from a few months ago would have been foaming at the mouth to upstage his teammates.
“Every player has to be ready. And every player deserves their moment.” He shrugs, amending the words I had spoken earlier.
“I like this side of you, Keeley. I’m sure the boys appreciate it too.”
“Yeah, yeah. Don’t get too emotional on me Coach. I can always go back to being a menace.” He winks before skating back on the ice to give Dylan some more pointers.
I let out a laugh that doesn’t quite match the way I feel inside. Any day now Coach Jameson will tell me whether I made the cut as assistant coach or if I should start dusting off my LinkedIn profile. While I feel more comfortable coaching now, I still have moments where I feel like I’mpretendingto be a coach. I gothrough the motions: contribute my opinions during staff meetings, shout plays from the sidelines, and give heartfelt pep talks during games. From the outside, I appear to be a seamless fit. But on the inside, I’m scared shitless.
Coaching had started off as a job that I needed to pay my bills post retirement, but it’s quickly turned into something I love. Something that’s made me feel things I haven’t felt since I was in the NHL. And with that love came this overwhelming sense of fear. Fear that one of my calls will cost us the game. That my line changes will ruin the rest of our season. That I will let my players down. Fear that I would have another thing that I love taken from me again. I’d like to believe that my fear hasn’t impacted some of my recent decisions, but I knew that was wishful thinking.
Two weeks ago Coach offered to let me serve as Head Coach for the Hockey East Championship tournament. I told him I would think about it. From the disappointment on his face, I knew he was hoping I would immediately jump at the opportunity, but I couldn’t silence the thoughts in my head about whether I was ready. Whether Icouldlead this team on my own. Winning the Hockey East Championships was crucial as it would secure our spot in the Frozen Four. It felt too important to use the tournament as a test of whether I was cut out for the job. Really, I was doing the responsible thing by letting Coach Jameson continue his lead. Or at least that’s what I kept telling myself. If I felt the weight of the world on my shoulders when I was a captain at Westchester, as their coach it felt like I was carrying the whole universe.
“Mason.”
I startle at the sound of Coach Jameson’s voice. “Yes, Coach?”
“Send the boys to the locker room and meet me in my office.” His voice gives no indication of whether I’m receiving good or bad news.
“Let’s pack it in, gentleman.” I wave everyone toward thebenches and highlight the strengths and weaknesses of our practice today before sending everyone home.
I walk into Coach’s office and take a seat across from him. For five minutes he shuffles around the paperwork on his desk before making eye contact with me. He hadn’t explicitly said anything, but I had a feeling in my gut this wasn’t good.
“I’m afraid I have some bad news, son.”
