“What did you expect?”
“I don’t know. Some old guy with a whistle and a clipboard.”
Coach Anders smiled, and it transformed his whole face. “I do have a clipboard, and if you prefer, I’d be happy to bring a whistle.”
Despite myself, I laughed. “Great. Just what I need.”
“Our first session is scheduled for Wednesday at sevena.m.,” he said. “Is that too early?”
“Nope, that’s fine.”
“Good. I was thinking we could meet every other day for now. Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. That gives you time to practice what we work on during regular team sessions.”
I shrugged. “Every other day works.”
“Good. We can adjust it later when needed. We’ll start with some basic positioning work and see where that takes us.”
As he walked away, I watched him go. There was something about the way he moved, confident but not cocky, that made me think there was more to him than the polite surface he showed. And he was good-looking. Very Scandinavian, with that tall, blond Alexander Skårsgard look, and a pair of eyes that were a mix of green and blue. Not that it mattered since I didn’t swing that way. But a guy could appreciate another guy’s looks without it meaning anything, right?
“So?” Tank skated up beside me. “Verdict?”
“He’s not terrible.”
“Oh, that’s high praise coming from you.”
“Shut up.”
The thing was, I’d been expecting to hate this. I’d been ready to prove that I didn’t need some fancy coach telling me how to play hockey. Because I was already good, the best player on this team. Hell, the best player this program had seen in years. I didn’t need help.
When I hadn’t been selected for the draft, I’d been disappointed, but it had made sense. My high school hadn’t been on the radar for most scouts, so I’d hoped that going to Millard would make a difference. It hadn’t. The scouts had been there and they’d seen me play, but I still hadn’t been drafted. Too raw, they’d said. I needed more development.
I thought that’s what I had been doing: developing. But what if there were things I didn’t know? What if the reason the scouts passed me over wasn’t because I lacked talent, but because I was missing something else entirely? My chest tightened.
“You okay, dude?” Tank asked, studying my face. “You look like you’re planning something.”
“Just thinking,” I said.
“About what?”
I glanced toward the tunnel where Coach Anders had disappeared. “About Wednesday morning.”
“You’re gonna work with this guy?”
“I’m gonna see what he’s got. If he can teach me something that’ll get me to the NHL, then hell yeah, I’ll work with him.”
“And if he can’t?”
I shrugged. “Then I’ll prove I was right all along.”
Coach Anders might have some skills, but that didn’t mean he was better than me and that he could teach me something. No, the jury was still out on Nils Anders.
3
NILS
My alarm buzzed at five-thirty, but I was already awake, staring at the ceiling of my modest bedroom. The HEMNES bed frame creaked slightly as I sat up. According to the reviews online, that would get less over time. I certainly hoped so as it had woken me up a few times. Not quite at the same level as my bed back home… and it had taken me a few hours to put together, too. My royal training had not included instructions on assembling IKEA furniture—clearly an omission.
Through the window, Buffalo was slowly waking up, the late-August air already carrying hints of the autumn that would soon transform this place into a hockey town.
