Coach nods, and his eyes soften.
He’s been where I’m at right now, a new coach fresh out of the NHL. But his story is different. He had a much longer, successful career with the Blackhawks, and it didn’t end the way mine did. His didn’t end on someone else’s terms.
“It might not be what you imagined, Wilder, but something tells me that this is where you were meant to end up. You’re a damn good coach, you know that?”
“Not sure I’d say that.”
He shakes his head as he angles his body toward me. We’re similarly built, and he might have fifteen years on me, but he’s still got the athleticism of when he played.
“I will. Not everyone can step into this role. They might be incredible on the ice, but that doesn’t mean they’ll be an incredible coach. A leader. But even in the short time that I’veseen you interacting with these kids, teaching them… I can tell that you’re one of the people who have what it takes. I know it might not be where you want to be, or it didn’t happen the way you wanted it to, but I think you could learn something from them as well.”
I want to scoff and tell him that there’s nothing these fucking kids can give me except a headache, but I keep my commentary to myself, nodding instead.
He reaches over, clapping me on the shoulder. “Enough of the mushy shit. I just wanted you to know that. Guys will be out here any minute for warm-up. Let’s do this.”
Even after he’s gone, I’m still thinking about the conversation. I don’t think I’m at all equipped to be even a fraction of a coach that he is, and honestly, it’s not what I’m here for anyway.
I’m here to play nice and get out.
That’s it.
After pulling Savoy aside and having a word with him about what we went over at practice on Tuesday, reminding him to predict and not react, I walk back to the boards. Propping my elbows on the top, I scan the ice, my gaze moving over every single guy on the ice and what he’s doing to warm up.
Most are stretching, doing a few laps around the ice, shooting pucks back and forth.
But then I spot Bennett fucking Legros leaning against the boards, a cocky smirk hanging on his lips as he reaches up and tucks a piece of hair behind the ear of a blonde standing on the other side.
It doesn’t take me long to figure out who that blonde is.
The one who always seems to appear at the most inconvenient times and makes my blood pressure sail through the roof, questioning every single ounce of self-control that I possess, which admittedly is not much.
Clearly. Or I wouldn’t be in this nightmare of a clusterfuck I’m in now.
She swats his hand away, but he winks, leaning in even closer as if it’s an invitation.
My fingers tighten around the tops of the boards, my knuckles flashing white beneath the dark ink on my hands, the wood creaking loudly.
Faintly, the edges of my vision turn hazy when she tosses back her head and laughs, the sound so fucking beautiful, so goddamn sweet, at whatever dumb shit he’s said to her.
Watching the two of them flirting, making eyes at each other like they’re in high school, makes me want to lose my shit.
Right now, I don’t give a damn if I have the right to feel the way I do. I don’t give a single fuck that seeing Maisie with him causes my stomach to coil, burning hotly beneath the surface.
Goddamnit.
She’s not mine, yet seeing him touch her, make her laugh, flirt with her, it pisses me off.
I let go of the wood before I splinter it and make my way down the boards toward them. As I get closer, I can hear him throw weak line after weak line at her, truly expecting her to bite.
Christ.
He’s got as much game as a fucking puppy who just got his balls snipped.
I clear my throat, and Legros’s eyes dart to mine, that smug smirk falling off his lips so comically fast I have to suppress a laugh.
He looks a little scared, if I’m being honest.
Good.
