CHAPTER ONE
Michael
There was something about the way the cold air smelled in the rink. It cooled my lungs and settled my soul. Standing there and watching the younger guys skate caused a pang in my chest because that part of my life was over.
I wasn’t a hockey player anymore.
After my whole identity revolved around that for so long, it was like losing a limb. Without hockey, who was I?
“Reiner!” Coach Simpson yelled at me from a few yards away. His sharp tone had me standing up straighter, and I shoved my hands in my pockets. I could daydream about being on the ice later. I had shit to do if I wanted a future, and that meant starting my internship under head hockey coach of the Central State Wolves. Not daydreaming about being part of the team. That ship had sailed.
“Yes, sir,” I said, forcing myself to look away and focus on the man who I followed around all last year. Not in a creepy way but in anI-need-this-internship-please-like-mesort of way. It was my second year at Central State, and I learned a lot watching the team last year. The stern man had a winning reputation for a good reason. He liked to win, hated excuses, and ran a smooth hockey program. A little gruff, a little charismatic, and a little intense. I couldn’t think of a better person to shadow for my last year of grad school.Masters in sports management, here I come.
“This is hard for you,” he said, no bullshit in his tone. He stared at me, his dark eyes and almost-black eyebrows softening in understanding. His attention moved from me to the rink, and he nodded. “That’ll never go away.”
“The urge to play? No, I don’t think it will.” I sighed and looked at the ice again. “It feels like an amicable break-up where we still gotta hang out all the time. Hard to digest it or move on.”
“It’s in your blood, kid. You think I didn’t call your old coach to get a reference? I don’t accept just any goddamn intern.” He barked out a laugh, and the sound echoed in the hallway.
God, I missed the Northeast. The Midwest was fine. Illinois had all four seasons, and I could experienceeach onewithin a five day span, but it wasn’t home. Every time I thought about it, I wondered why I chose to attend school here. I could’ve stayed closer to my sister Ryann, closer to where we grew up, where I had friends. Something propelled me to move away from all the memories—the good ones and the bad. That was the thing about grief I’d never understood until it happened to me.
I wanted to grasp onto something just as fiercely as I needed to let it go. My past. My memories. The fact that our parents died in a crash when I was twenty, and ever since then, every memory back home held a twinge of sadness.
Here? At Central State? Clean slate. It was like a breath of fresh air most days, but once in a while, a comment would take me back. Like Moo U. I lifted my hat and ran my fingers through my hair before adjusting it. Coach Simpson arched one of his bushy eyebrows, and I tried not to look smug.
“I take it the call went well then.”
“You’re here, aren’t you?”
I grinned. “Sure am.”
“What’s your take on Cal?” he asked, shifting gears as he jutted his chin toward the freshman stand-out. Cal Holt, often referred to as The Bolt, possessed more talent than I ever had, but the problem was that he knew it. I might’ve only been at Central for a year, but I researched the players, the culture, and the legacy. Even if I didn’t get the internship, I would’ve followed the team because Coach was right. Hockey was in my blood and always would be.
I clicked my tongue and rocked back on my heels. “Is this a joke? Are you testing me right now to see how honest I’ll be with you? Or is this a different kind of quiz?”
“You talk too much.”
“My previous coach should’ve mentioned that,” I said, snorting when Coach Simpson closed his eyes for a beat. “My take. Hm. Talented, clearly. Fundamentals are top-notch.”
“And?”
My shoulders tensed. There was something about his question that had me pausing. I considered myself pretty emotionally intelligent. I had to be as an alternative captain, or the team dynamic could shift. But his question felt different. I cracked my thumb knuckle in my pocket and tried to figure outwhathe wanted. He was no-nonsense, gruff, and honest, so his inquisition didn’t feel like a trick. The truth was the best scenario. With as much confidence as I could muster, I said, “Older leadership could have issues with him if he doesn’t open up to the team. He refers to himself as The Bolt in third person. Not exactly encouraging brotherhood by acting like that.”
“How would you fix it?”
“Fix it? Not sure one person could.” I took a deep breath, the familiar smell of the ice easing the growing worry in my gut. Coach Simpson narrowed his eyes at me. This felt like a tryout.
Shit, maybe it was. I cleared my throat and told myworriesto fuck off. I knew my shit on the ice, in the rink, and if this was an attempt to see what I was made of, then I’d give it to him straight. I met his gaze. “He needs instances where he relies on the team, and vice versa. He might not see other players as useful, and until he realizes that, there won’t be a good dynamic on the ice. And, Coach? He needs to be on the ice.”
“Sacrifice my morals for a win?”
“Ah, I would never say that.” My ears heated, but the regret didn’t last long when he grinned back at me. “Plus, you’re the one making the dough here. You decide that call. I’m actuallypayingthe school thousands of dollars to attend. Quite different scenarios.”
He laughed and hit my shoulder. “Good insight. Lesson one of coaching a NCAA hockey team? Once the puck drops, your job is done. It’s every single little thing that happens between games that’s on you. Sure, Cal can have the best numbers in the league, but if I don’t create a team culture that fosters togetherness, those stats are shit.”
“Yes, sir,” I said, nodding and wishing like hell I’d gotten a chance to play for him. My body hummed with adrenaline, the urge to lace up almost getting me to the point where my hands shook. I was a junkie needing my next hit of ice.
“I know you just showed up and never really left, but we do have to go over your requirements for the practicum. I need to hop on a call and get transportation ready for next week’s away game, but meet me at aLogan’sthis evening. Seven pm. I prefer to drink beer if I’m looking over a goddamn syllabus.”
