Page 91 of Her Coach

“Looking forward to the pictures!”

I quickly hung up the video call, but I didn’t pocket my phone. Instead, I pulled up the video record screen and decided to video the entire second period for her. Dani didn’t go anywhere and do very much. For a woman who had the kind of aspirations she did in college, she was a homebody. An introvert. I mean, you’d never know it while she was out in public. She was as charismatic as they came. But if you drained her of energy? Dani was the kind of person that needed hours of alone time and a strict routine in order to help even herself out a bit.

At least, that’s what she called it.

Evening out.

“Come ooooon!” I roared as the teams took to the ice once more. “Let’s get this party started!”

Watching Rhett zip around with that massive Minnesota Daredevil didn’t shock me. I mean, I wasn’t a hockey professional or anything, but it didn’t take a professional to clock the fact that the behemoth Minnesota man on the ice was strictly there to keep Jett locked up. On one hand, that was a good thing. It meant the other team recognized his contributions to ours.

But Jesus, it had to be frustrating.

Every time Jett went to make a shot, that man was there, blocking it. Doing the goalie’s job. Snaking himself right in the middle. And Rhett, bless his soul, did everything he could to get around it. They ran play after play, with Colton snatching boys off the ice and switching them out on a dime just to try and get a once-over on the Minnesotan team that invaded our city for the evening.

But when that motherfucker rolled up on Jett and damn near tripped him in the middle of a well-tuned snipe, I leapt to my feet.

“Don’t do it, Jett!” I bellowed.

Too late.

The instant Jett ripped his gloves off, it was game on. Rhett zoomed over from the other side of the ice, his stick discarded as Jett got shoved into the protective barrier that kept the spectators safe from projectiles on the ice.

“Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight!”

I raised my phone high to try and capture every second for Dani, but I didn’t pay attention to my phone. Rhett ripped that fucker off Jett and slammed him into the plastic shielding, earning a hearty cheer from the audience. Refs of all shapes and sizes skated out onto the ice. I’d never seen so many of them at once out there before. Granted, not all of them were in uniform because not all of them worked the game, but to watch them all stumble and stutter over the ice just to get to the growing pile of men beating on one another?

It truly was a sight to behold.

Whistles were blown and game clocks stopped. What started out as a fight turned into team on team, and before I knew it, I watched as the ref dragged Jett toward the penalty box. He slammed that man into the small enclosure, with Jett tripping over himself on his skates. And as he slammed himself down into the seat, I held my breath.

The ref came over the intercom and announced, “Number 12, Vipers. Penalty box for unsportsmanlike conduct. Minor penalty. Two minutes.”

The crowd booed before the ref continued. “Number 24, Daredevils. Penalty box for cross-checking, holding, and unsportsmanlike conduct. Double-minor penalty. Four minutes.”

I gasped and looked at the clock. Holy shit, the second period only had two and a half more minutes in it. Which meant we’d get Jett back for the last thirty, but they’d have to keep that mammoth of theirs caged up until the last period.

I let out a roar as the game commenced once more.

The crowd was on their feet for the rest of the period. While no one scored, the game was still tied, and I flopped down into my seat as the teams vacated the ice for their last break of the game. I stopped my video and emailed it to Dani, since it was the only way I could think of to get a video that long to her.

I kicked back and peered up into my mother’s V.I.P. booth.

I mean, I couldn’t see her. No one could see into those booths from the stadium. Mom had the glass of the rooms tinted some time ago, back when we realized that some people… couldn’t be trusted with clear windows overlooking a stadium. Especially if they booked the V.I.P. room with a significant other.

I’ll let your imagination run wild with that one.

Still, I hoped she enjoyed the game. I waved up there, just in case she was looking at me, and then my attention returned to the countdown clock. Fifteen minutes and counting. I watched our new maintenance man, Mr. Jimbo, putz out on his Zamboni, and the crowd went wild, cheering him on like the drunk fuckers they were as he slowly inched his way across the ice. Mr. Jimbo took his hat off his head and spun it around in the air, sending the crowd absolutely wild. It made me laugh, and for the first time in a while, I hadn’t thought about my father during a hockey game.

Well, much, anyway.

But all too soon, the break was over, and the teams took their places back on the ice for the final period. Jett wiggled around, happy to be out of his cage, while number 24 still had another minute and a half or whatever to go in his own penalty box.

I pulled my phone out and readied myself for another video. “All right, Jett. If you’re gonna pull moves, now’s your chance.”

The whistle blew, the puck dropped, and the entire stadium erupted into cheers. Rhett and Jett bobbed and weaved along the ice, passing the puck back and forth while the rest of the team kept the Minnesotans occupied. They threw a couple of men at them, but Rhett was quick on his feet, spinning around and passing the puck to Jett just so he could dodge. My jaw dropped open as they grew closer to the opposing team’s net. Closer than they’d been the entire fucking game. We were down by one, not a goal on the board, and I watched, almost in slow motion, as Jett snapped his stick back.

And for the smallest of moments, the only thing heard was the slap of his stick against the rubber puck.