“Not unless…what?” I hold my helmet in my hand and study her face.
“Not unless the Cannons start filling up the arena.” She says it quickly, so quickly I almost don’t hear her.
But I’m starting to catch on. “And people are more likely to come to a hockey game if their team has a winning record.”
“People love scoring,” she says. “They love watching their team put the puck in the net. Last year, it felt like we went weeks without a legitimate shot on goal. But since you joined us, it’s been…exciting.”
Her cheeks flush, and I grin.
“Just on-the-ice exciting, or exciting in other ways?” I tease her.
She crosses her arms over her chest and puts on her professional face, the one she always gives me when I get too close or push too far. “Thegames,” she emphasizes. “And our ticket sales have gone up. I know that’s not good news for you, though. And I do understand your position with your dad, more than you know.”
I can tell she’s sincere even though I have no clue what she means by that last part. So I focus on the previous statement. “If us winning saves your job, then I’ll do everything I can to make sure we never lose again. I’ll go out with a bang like you said. In fact, I think we should go for broke and try to win the whole damn thing. What do you say?”
Her mouth drops open. “Cam, by ‘bang’ I meant maybe aim for the playoffs. We haven’t even made the postseason in years. Trying to win it all is too much. The Cannons haveneverwon the title. Not in their entire history.”
“That’s because they’ve never had Cameron Wild on the team.” I laugh at her eye roll, and she smiles.
“You really think you can bring the championship trophy to Climax?” she says to me, her chin rising in challenge.
“I know I can.” I put on my helmet, buckle my chin strap, and stand up. But before I return to the ice, I lean in and whisper in her ear, “And the best part? I’ll be doing it for you.”
Her green eyes turn the color of the Minnesota forest as she stares at me in silence.
I wink at her and hop over the boards.
For the rest of practice, I’m single-mindedly focused on hockey. No more getting caught up in thoughts of my dad and his dreams for me or dwelling on the war he and I have been engaged in since I was a kid. The battle between us has been going on for so long I hardly remember what it’s like to have a non-combative relationship with my father or with the sport of ice hockey.
I flick my wrist and the puck at my feet sails off my stick and into the net.
“That’s it!” Coach shouts as he steps into the middle of the ice. “You’re getting it. Wild, you’ve hit a groove!”
As he calls for the end of practice, I take off my helmet. My hair’s plastered to my head with sweat, and I’m breathing hard. I feel good, though, better than usual.
“Hey, Wild.” McLain skates next to me as we reach the boards and leave the ice. “You coming out for beers?”
Normally, I would say no. Like I told Savannah, I’m trying to build a business while working a day job and playing hockey. All I usually do when I finish for the day is go home, head for my garage, and work on the furniture pieces I’m making for my clients.
But I have a second agenda tonight. One that involves learning more about the coach’s assistant.
“One beer,” I agree.
* * *
An hour later, I buy a second round of drinks at the Climax alehouse down the street from the ice rink. Fifteen of us are seated at a long wooden table in the back of the bar, and conversation turns to our coach.
“He’s not so bad,” Wayne, the oldest guy on the team and long-time captain, says. “None of us were here when the last guy ran things, but I heard he was brutal. Bruce knows a lot, and it doesn’t sound pretty.”
My ears perk up.
“But he sure could coach, man,” Wayne adds with a shake of his blond head. “Took the Cannons to the finals three times. Just couldn’t get over the hump until he moved to Colorado.”
“Coach Craig seems kind of threatened by him,” McLain says.
Wayne laughs. “He should be because Craig’s never fucking won anything. Supposedly, the last coach was an up and down kind of guy—a real surly, nasty type, but he was also gregarious. Charismatic, you know?”
“Savannah’s dad?” I ask him. “That’s the coach you’re talking about?”
