The news is saying Parker might be the new starter. You okay?
I stare at the message. Another conversation I’m not ready to have.
The overhead lights come on, and players start gathering their bags. Parker’s still riding high on his win, talking excitedly with Carter about the saves he made.
I close my eyes and imagine a world where that’s still me. Where I’m the one celebrating, where I’m the one the team can count on.
But that world feels further away than ever.
Maybe it’s time to accept that it might never come back.
TEN
zane
“Zane,”a familiar voice calls out.
I turn in the mass chaos that’s erupted at Play It Forward for our team event and spot Carter and Jack Larson talking to two other guys. My eyes widen when they turn around. Sam Hartley from the Oakland Saints and his fiancé, Brixton Scott, lead singer for Sin City.
Carter waves me over and makes the introductions.
“Thanks for coming,” Sam says. “It means so much to the kids.”
I look around at the impressive facility. “This place is amazing. You should be proud of what you’ve done for the community.”
“Well, it was actually Jase Maxwell and Lucas Bentley’s passion project to start. But when they brought the idea out here from where they play in Cincinnati, we picked it up fast. Play It Forward has been doing this for years. Bringing professional athletes into underserved communities, providing equipment and coaching to kids who’d never otherwise get the chance. It’s the kind of program that reminds you why sports matter beyond statistics and contracts,” Sam says, a smile stretching across his face.
“I used to volunteer at a place like this when I was growing up. I’m happy to be part of it.” NFL stars, NHL stars, rock stars. Jesus, there’s a lot of A-list power behind this place.
Sam nods. “Carter tells us that you’re new to the coaching staff. How’s that going?”
“It’s still new. I’m just trying to get to know the players, get a feel for the way the team works. But it’s…good.”
“It’s always hard being a new coach and trying to figure out the vibe. But you’ll get there.” Sam smiles.
“Who’d you play for?” Brixton asks. “You were pro, yeah?”
I nod. “Never made it to the NHL but yeah, I played in the minors. An injury took me out of the game and I’ve been coaching ever since.”
The guys nod but Carter watches me carefully. I shift under his stare. He hasn’t cornered me about Tate but he’s perceptive. And I don’t like when people are too perceptive. It makes things a hell of a lot riskier for me.
“I hope you have fun,” Sam says. “As you can see, there are plenty of kids excited to play and learn.”
They go their separate ways and I stand in the doorway of the main gymnasium, watching Oakland Raptors players scattered across the space with dozens of kids aged six to sixteen. The energy is infectious. Kids shriek with laughter as they try to maneuver oversized hockey sticks, pucks slide across the polished floor, players explain basic techniques.
A smile lifts my lips as I wander through the crowd.
My dad used to bring me to community centers in Detroit every other Saturday, back when he was still working two jobs to keep us fed after Mom died.
“Hockey gave us opportunities,” he’d say, lacing up skates for kids whose families couldn’t afford proper equipment. “Time to pay it forward.”
My dad never made it past high school hockey, but he understood the game better than most college coaches. He could read a play developing before it happened, knew exactly what adjustment to make when a kid was struggling with technique. I learned more about goaltending watching him work with those Detroit kids than I did from any of my own coaches.
He’d be proud of this event, happy to hear that I’m working with kids again. Not that I can tell him about it, since any contact would put him at risk. And even if I did manage to see him, would he even remember?
My phone buzzes, and I grab it, letting out a breath when I see it’s a spam text about car warranties.
Morrison’s latest text still has me on edge.
