Maybe it’s meant to be praise, but all I hear is: expendable.
Not essential. Not indispensable.
The guy you use up while you’re waiting forthat guyto be ready.
My whole life, it’s felt like I have a beacon flashing over my head saying, “Only use in case of emergency.”
And that’s all anyone will let me be, no matter how much I ache to be more.
But if that’s what they want, I’ll show them just how dependable I am. Shut out my emotion. Be cold, steady, and solid.
But I won’t put my heart in it.
I can’t.
I’ll be the safety net, holding the line till Hall is ready for his debut.
And nothing more.
The final drill is a shootout. One player at a time, coming in fast.
I lock in.
First shot—poke check.
Second—pad save.
Third—glove.
Not a single puck gets past me.
When the last shooter coasts away shaking his head, a few guys clap their sticks on the ice. One yells, “Old man’s still got it!”
I skate off breathing hard, sweat dripping, a flicker of pride trying to build in my chest.
Then Otto walks up. Pats my back.
And passes me to talk to Hall.
“Good work today, kid.”
The flicker of pride goes out.
My chest goes cold.
I know why I’m here, and I won’t let myself get caught up in wanting more.
In the locker room, the guys are riding high from their first day—music blasting, tape balls flying, energy turned up to eleven. I sit on the bench with my back to the wall, heart still thudding, disappointment lingering in my gut like bad takeout.
I breathe in the stench of sweat and skate oil.
What am I doing here? I’m too old to still be hanging onto teenage dreams.
I take off my skates one at a time, slowly, deliberately. Not because I’m sore—though I am—but because I’m in no hurry to face more of this tomorrow. If I move too fast, I might break open, showing camp more than they bargained for.
I put my skates in my locker, and Hall plops down beside me. “You were on fire out there, Coach.”
“I’m not a coach,” I say, annoyance creeping into my tone.
