Brody nods with a determined expression that ignites satisfaction within me.
Going pro was never my path in hockey. Not even when I had the chance to become a free agent.
This is. It’s fulfilling to train talented young players like these guys to help them sharpen their game. I want to leave a lasting impression on them for however long I hold the assistant coaching position.
We’ve only played one Friday-Saturday series since I joined the program as a coach. They won back to back against UConn. Watching their successful chemistry as a team made me feel like I’m winning with them.
Each player on Heston U’s roster has talent in spades individually. As a team, they’re incredible. There’s no question they’re good enough to make it back to the Frozen Four again this year.
It’s still sinking in that I get to be a part of that. They’re out there practicing hard on the ice and I’m buzzing with inspirationnow that I’ve seen what I’m working with. I arrived early again after a late night putting more effort into researching new ideas to bring to the table than I ever have.
From my college to high school teammates, even some as far back as junior league, I’ve always had the sense that they knew what they wanted compared to me. Even the Heston U guys give me the impression they know the direction their lives are taking, and they aren’t afraid to chase what they want until they get it. With this job, I think I finally have an inkling of what that’s like.
The other side gets a breakaway. I watch closely, assessing the play as it unfolds.
Theo Boucher passes to Keller when they cross into our end of the ice. Then Boucher needs to evade his opponents, so he sends the puck to the hotshot rookie center, Easton Blake. He receives it back when he’s deep in the zone as he approaches the net. Boucher’s cut off by Jake Brody racing in to stop him.
“Nice! That’s how it’s done!”
Boucher has no openings. He tries to push Brody on his own, testing ways to get around him. It doesn’t work.
Brody hits the puck away and another one of our guys picks it up to turn the tide. He doesn’t get far before Blake steals it back and goes for a goal with a wicked fast slap shot. His control is impressive as fuck. Reeves gets a piece of it, but it’s clean.
Damn, I think that kid will go far.
Pride explodes, filling me with exhilaration at Brody’s successful defense during the play. It grows when he turns to me with the look of someone that just figured out they’re capable of great things. His teammates bump fists with him and pat him on the back in the shuffle to reset for a face-off.
“Keep it up just like that, got it? You know how to be fast, you just need to go for it instead of hesitating,” I instruct.
“Yes, coach.”
My stomach clenches for a beat. It’s the first time I’ve heard one of them call me that. It feels damn good.
The scrimmage continues. David makes his way over for the rest of it. He surveys the game, occasionally tracking an individual player with a thoughtful hum before making notes on a legal pad tucked in the binder he carries. There’s no doubt about his reputation as a dedicated coach.
“Settling in?” he asks when time for the game is almost up.
“I am, thanks.”
He’s my boss, not my coach. I’m not a player anymore. Yet I can’t help but feel like I’ve got to prove myself and make a useful contribution the few times he’s done this since I started.
“Glad to hear it. You’re a good addition to our team.” His laugh lines deepen when his mouth curves. “The players have taken right to you.”
Sparks of happiness go off in my chest like tiny firecrackers. “That’s good.” A wry laugh shakes my shoulders. “A few of them have seen me around town outside of practice and follow me. Also, I’ve been meaning to tell you. Thanks again for trusting me with this job.”
David studies me from the corner of his eye. “You weren’t the first one I thought of to fill the position.”
A weight drops in my stomach. “Oh. Right, of course.”
Temporary, I remind myself.
“But I’m glad I called you in. So far, it’s a better fit than I could’ve hoped for bringing on a change mid-season.” He pats my shoulder. “Keep it up, son.”
After practice, I go to Benson’s microbrewery. The old brick industrial warehouse he turned into a thriving business with Jess in only four years still impresses the hell out of me.
“Yo,” I call.
He pops out of the office area with a clipboard in hand. “Hey. Have a seat over there. I’ll be out in a sec. Let me just finish bottle inventory.”
