It takes me a few long seconds to realize what she’s silently trying to convey.
“Oh, no. You don’t mean?—”
“You wouldn’t have to do much,” Danny says. “We’ve been playing together all season. We know our stuff.”
“They just have to have a coach listed on their roster,” Devony says. “And who better than a real hockey coach.”
“I don’t know.” I pull a face. “This season was rough. I need a break.”
“We’re already really good,” he says. His face is animated as he gives me highlights of the season and a quick rundown of the players. “Plus, Dad says I’m a great enforcer. And you should see Scottie center.”
“Is Scottie any good?”
“Scottie is the best.” Danny leans forward and lowers his voice conspiratorially. “Scottie once made a bully on the other team cry.”
I arch an eyebrow and glance at my sister. “I had no idea Pee-Wee was so cutthroat.”
“Sure you do.” She rolls her eyes. “You got your start playing in the Alaska youth leagues. No one knows them better than you.”
“Maybe I did once.” I scratch my jaw, the whiskers from my would-be play-off beard starting to itch. “But that was a long time ago. Things change.”
Not to mention, I’ve lost my magic touch if the sports commentators—and the recent scoreboards—are right. According to them, I’ve lost my spark. I’ve lost what made me one of the best coaches in the league.
It’s bad enough letting down my team and the fan base. I’d hate to let down a bunch of ten-year-olds. Especially with everyone in my hometown watching from the bleachers.
“I don’t know,” I say at last, letting my hand fall to the side. “I’m not sure it’s a good fit.”
“Sure it is.” Danny grabs my head and gazes up at me pitifully. “Please, Uncle Dane. You’re our only hope.”
When his bottom lip trembles for just one second, I crack.
“Okay.” I resist the urge to heave a sigh or roll my eyes. “I’ll do it.”
His face lights up like the arena after a home win. “You promise?”
“Yeah, buddy.” I tussle his hair and give his mom a quick glare before smiling down at him. “I promise. I’ll coach your team for the rest of the season.”
With any luck, maybe I’ll take one team to the playoffs after all.
The next day, I stand on the sidelines as a bunch of pint-sized players decked out in helmets and pads glide around the ice.
I only had a chance to meet a handful of them before it was time to start practice. I’m not sure I remember half of their names, which makes me feel like an ass.
They seem like good kids, though.
One player in particular—Danny’s friend, Scottie—shows particular skill. The way he moves around the ice, issuing commands to the other players.
And the kid has one hell of a backswing. Shit, I could probably ask him to give my players some pointers. Assuming I still have a job next season.
I’m about to call them in to talk strategy when a familiar face appears in the bleachers. A face that sends a simultaneous pang of longing and shot of desire through me.
“Gina,” I whisper.
I haven’t seen her in nearly twenty years. Not since the summer before our freshman years of college.
The summer when we decided to break up, because while we loved each other in the full, pure way you only can when you’re still basically a kid, we didn’t know what our futures held. We only knew they were taking us to opposite sides of the continental U.S. Her to Seattle. Me to Boston.
But here she is now.
