“Adella. Why in the hell do I practically have to send out a search party to reach you?”
“I was working, Dad. What’s up?”
“I heard that shitty excuse for a coach my grandson has is telling the kids it makes no difference if anyone scores. What a crock of shit that is.”
I took a deep breath and walked in to my bedroom to continue the conversation away from Kyler. “Dad, he’s five. It doesn’t matter.”
“The hell it doesn’t! That’s the whole point of the game.”
My blood pressure rose, a usual side effect of a conversation with my father. “Just because you’re a hockey coach, that doesn’t mean—”
“The highest winning coach in the NHL,” he cut in. “I’m a damn good coach, Dell. And I won’t have my grandson taught to play like a pussy.”
The locker room noise in the background reminded me he had a game tonight. His mind should’ve been there, not on Kyler’s hockey mite practice.
“Dad, where did you hear this?” I asked.
“I have my ways.”
“Oh, my God.” I pulled the phone from my ear and let out an exasperated sigh. “Are you sending scouts to the hockey mite practice to spy? You need to stay out of this. I told you, I almost didn’t even let Kyler play at all, because I will not have you doing … what you do … to him.”
“What?” Dad barked. “Make him into a winner? Yeah, that’d be awful, wouldn’t it?”
“I have to go. We’re about to eat and you have a game.”
“You tell that coach—”
“Dad. Let’s talk about this another time. Have a good game.”
I hung up the phone and stared at it for a second. After all these years, my father still got a rise out of me like no one else. I buried Sadie’s phone under my pillow, but then thought better of it because of airport guy. So instead I stuck it in my pocket and headed for the kitchen. My father had an entire NHL team to coach. Why did he get so hung up on Kyler’s team?
Chapter 2
Luke
The locker room buzzed with the pre-game energy I’d missed. It wasn’t the same, because this wasn’t the team I’d sweated and bled with for the past six years, but I’d adjust. Kicking ass with this team was the way back to mine.
Tanner walked in and the room quieted. He cleaned up well, now wearing a gray suit and a red tie.
“You played like shit in our last game and I know you’re better than that,” he said. “Keep your fucking heads up and in this game. Show me some heart, boys. No one’s getting paid a fortune for this game tonight. Winning it won’t get us into a championship. You know why we’re here tonight?”
Everyone looked at him silently.
“We love hockey.” He shrugged. “That’s it. Go out there and play because you love hockey.”
Those simple words made my blood pump hard. I did love hockey. Sometimes I resented the way my dad had forced me into it, making me live the dream he’d grasped for just a month before an injury ended his career. But I’d grown to love it, and I could hardly wait to get back out there.
I’d stretched, gotten my knee wrapped and listened to the songs that were my pre-game ritual soundtrack. My head was in the right place now.
When the announcer called out the names of the starting five in a booming voice, my skin prickled with excitement as the crowd broke into an extra loud roar. I wanted to give them a good game.
The second the puck dropped, I was back in my element. I raced down the rink, my thirst for the game hardly quenched by yesterday’s no-contact practice. The first guy who touched me got a pissed-off shove in return.
“Fucking bigshot, right?” he muttered.
“Bigger than you, asshole.”
He slashed me with his stick and I gave it right back. Were the refs off tonight? What the fuck? Maybe the refs at this level were lax about fighting since the crowd liked it. Worked for me, ’cause I liked it, too.
The puck was passed my way and the guy I’d shoved stole it in a flat second. I was momentarily stunned. That shit did not happen to me. I got my bearings and headed back down the rink to get it back.
But it was an omen. The whole game, I was flat and slow. And the worse I played, the hotter my frustration burned.
I took the bench when another line took over and bowed my head between my legs. This was a fucking nightmare. The game was almost over, and we were down 4-1. And I hadn’t played so fucking lousy since high school.
No one spoke to me. Not even Tanner. We went back into the locker room and he launched into his speech about how bad we sucked, but I wasn’t listening. I was drowning in a sea of anger. I sure as hell wouldn’t be going back to my team now. Or possibly ever. Some guys never came back from knee injuries like mine, but I’d thought that since the pain was gone, I’d be okay.