The overly large current team would most likely be split into two groups and then we’d play each other throughout the week. By Friday, some people would be put back down into the minors, while others would make the final Detroit roster and start in the preseason games downstate.
I looked down into the west side rink which was filled with little tykes drowning in overly large hockey equipment too big for their tiny bodies and chasing after low-weight blue pucks. They were a shaky group. I chuckled watching them all fall down like dominoes.
The east rink was busy with “loner hours” - what we hockey players called figure skating sessions because they were always so devoid of any conversation or laughter. Those girls were cut-throat. I couldn’t blame them though, I guess that’s what happened when you played an individual sport.
While scanning the figure skaters, I did a double take seeing a delicate looking coach with auburn hair tied up in a bun helping a little girl about half her size. I shook my head. Couldn’t be Ellie. I left her back at her place. But damn. I bit back a laugh. I was very clearly wifed up if I was already seeing her everywhere in everygirl-
“TJ!”
My head snapped up to meet Coach Petersen’s gaze before I could further study the east rink skaters.
I immediately walked toward his larger-than-life presence. He was the total opposite of Coach Johns, who had a Santa Claus belly and balding head. For a guy in his early fifties, Coach Petersen had an impressive build. If it weren’t for his telltale limp, one would think he could still play in the NHL. His stellar hockey career was kind of shrouded by an infamous hit he took in a game against South Carolina back in the nineties. The hit shattered his right leg and ended his playing career. But he’d always been known as a strategy player, and since becoming a coach he’d racked up three Stanley Cup Championship rings. I could only hope to be on one of his championship winning teams one day.
He was frowning when I walked up, and I wasn’t sure if that was his normal face, or just the face he chose to regard me with.
“Good to see you, son,” he said, stretching out his hand for a firm handshake.
“Excited to be here, Coach,” I returned.
About ten guys had wandered in and began stretching out.
“We like to do workouts at the same time as team meetings. All of y’all are too ADHD to sit too long,” hebarked.
I cracked a smile at the truth of that. I already liked this team. From observing my friends, I knew a lot of guys at this level did have either diagnosed or undiagnosed ADHD. I always thought maybe having that specific brain wiring helped when it came to hockey IQ- which was half strategizing and half putting your body in the right place at the right time.
“For this week there’s a red and white team. We have you on the red team, third line with Griff and Duke.” Two guys near him raised a hand. “You’re a center?” he asked, to which I nodded swiftly. “Play your cards right and you guys can get more ice time this week. Good?”
“Perfect,” Isaid.
“Alright then, looking forward to seeing what you can do out there, Vinny.”
I paused at Vinny; he must’ve known that wasn’t myname…
I went to speak, but Duke, whose shoulders were shaking with silent laughter, shook his head at me.
“Ready to play some Detroit hockey, Vinny?” the guy named Griff asked with asmile.
I shook my head affirmatively. I guess I’d be Vinny if that meant I could play in the Big Show.
I looked back at Griff then, trying to place where I’d seen him before. His short brown foe-hawk hair was spiked up in disarray and his eyes were so clear and light blue that it felt like he was seeing into your soul… I knew those eyes from somewhere…
He stretched out a hand to shake mine and cracked a grin. “I was a ref at the Ice League years ago. I wondered if you’d recognizeme.”
I felt my mouth drop open and wanted to further question Griff, but Coach interrupted by choosing that moment to yell, “Round up, boys!” And I didn’t dare interrupt or divert my attention away from him.
The team meeting went smoothly. I worked out hard but made sure not to pass up any old dogs and make enemies.
Griff, a team veteran for the past five years, seemed to take me under his wing and show me the ropes. It was nice having someone from the Ice League around; we had built-in common ground.
“We’re one of the lucky teams. Our preseason camp is in an awesome spot. You familiar with TC?” Griff asked after we were dismissed from the meeting.
“Eh, I was here for the first time for a wedding a bit ago. Greyson Scott’s wedding if you knowhim?”
“No shit!” Griff looked at me with a bit of respect then. “He was a tough son of a bitch on the ice. I remember him from the League. Played a season with him a couple years back in DC too,” he said. “You’ve gotta know Smitty and Maxie boythen?”
I laughed at that. “Yupp. Max is my boss in the off-season.”
“Good man,” Griff nodded. “You gottagirl?”
