Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79621 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79621 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Our season didn’t technically begin until late November, but our weekly scrimmages with Pinecrest were soul-suckingly awful. We’re talkin’…I wanted to scrub my eyes out with soap and unsee every missed pass, missed block, missed goal.
“Suggestions are welcome,” I huffed at the unofficial meeting I’d called at the diner with the coaches from Elmwood Rink. “We’ve got one player who’s consistently engaged. The rest are in la-la land half the time. They like each other and they love hockey, but they don’t gel on the ice. At this rate, I don’t know how we’ll eke out a single win all damn season.”
“You need more coaches,” Riley said, twisting the straw in his Diet Coke. “I haven’t been able to hire anyone new, and unfortunately, the athletic director gig requires time and attention from Court and me.”
“Sorry you’ve had to do so much alone,” Court chimed in. “Football season is killing us at the high school. The parents want to start a booster club, and everyone has ideas about how that should happen. As Ivan says, it’s been…a lot.”
“Ouch. I promise we won’t turn into psycho sports parents when Alec is old enough to play.” Vinnie winced and checked his phone. “Huh. Nolan should’ve been here by now.”
“Alec has the sniffles, not the plague. It’s a routine doctor visit. He’s fine, and Nol will be here soon. Stop worrying so much, Dad.” Ronnie patted Vinnie’s hand, chuckling when his best friend tossed a sugar packet at him.
Ronnie Moore was a balding, happy-looking dude in his forties who happened to be Vinnie’s business partner at Elmwood Rink and his brother-in-law. They had a good thing going at the rink with a nice staff of former pro players who coached at every level. That included everyone at this table except me.
Two months into my new gig and I was still the only full-time coach at Elmwood High School. I was happy with my decision to stay, but I had to admit I felt more like an ineffective gym teacher on ice than a real coach most days.
Vinnie flipped his best friend off and shifted on the green leather booth to peek at the entrance. “Look…maybe we could send over a couple of recent grads to help out. Most of our guys went to college last year, but I think a few stayed and picked up construction jobs in Wood Hollow.”
“Worth looking into,” Court agreed. “It’s brutal going from feast to famine mode. We have too many coaches in summer and nowhere near enough in winter.”
“It’ll even out eventually, but in the meantime, let’s take turns with assistant duty and try to find a few locals with experience.” Riley sipped his drink and reached for the decimated pile of fries in the middle of the table.
Vinnie stood, flicking his gaze between me and the parking lot. “Sorry, guys. I gotta track down my husband and my kid. Let me know if I can help, Smitty.”
“I should go too.” I left some cash on the table and said my good-byes, following Vinnie outside.
Vinnie was an inch shorter than me, but he was still a big, muscular dude and he’d struck fear on the ice in his NHL heyday. It was mildly disconcerting to see the former D-man so obviously distraught. I felt sorry for the guy.
He shoved his sunglasses on his head, his eyes locked on his phone. “Sorry, in spite of my best intentions, I’ve turned into that dad. Alec had a fever last night and was barely eating this morning. And let me tell you, that is not normal. So now they’re at the doctor, and I should have gone with them.”
“How old is he?” I asked politely.
“Almost twenty months. He’s a little bruiser—always smiling, always curious. He gets into everything. Since the day he learned to walk, it’s been nonstop bonkers at our house. He’s got so much energy and when he’s not feeling well, it fuckin’ breaks your heart. I swear to God, I don’t recognize myself sometimes.” Vinnie huffed with chagrin. “My son probably has a cold, but I can’t concentrate on shit ’cause what if it’s worse? I don’t know if I can handle two kids.”
“You’re having another one?”
He blew out an exaggerated breath. “Not yet, but soon. I’m not getting any younger and Nolan is—oh, thank fuck. There they are. Hey, one last thought on coaching stuff…talk to Bryson. His son, Jake is always great about helping whenever he’s in town, and I think he’ll be here soon to visit. I bet he’d be happy to lend a hand.”
Yeah, probably not, I mused, watching as Vinnie strode toward the white SUV turning into the parking lot.
He kissed Nolan, and opened the rear door to unbuckle a toddler from his car seat. I should have waved and moved on. I had a coaching idea swimming in my head and I wanted to act on it, but my feet felt like cement blocks. I couldn’t move.