Page 10 of Unforgettable Player

4

CONNOR

Isit in my car, watching the door to Coach Garvin’s rink, hyping myself up to go in. Part of me is itching to get out on the ice, but there’s another part that’s holding back.

I haven’t seen Coach Garvin since before I went to California. He knew I’d been dropped by Colorado, but he didn’t know I’d leave Harvard, too. Even though he’ll handle it with tact, I’ll still see the disappointment in his eyes. I’m not ready yet. I just need a minute.

Another car pulls into the lot. I watch a woman get out, followed by a little girl weighed down by her hockey equipment. The excitement on the little girl’s face makes my chest clench. I remember being that excited about hockey practice. Big dreams of making the NHL. They were just in the back of my mind at first, until I started believing I could actually do it. And I started talking about those NHL dreams, to everyone. And everyone started hyping me up, telling me I was gonna be a superstar. Yeah, well, here I am, coaching junior hockey camp in my hometown and taking a ‘mental health’ break from my sales job.

When more cars start pulling up, I bite the bullet and head into the rink, carrying my hockey stick with the curve I like and my own custom skates. Some of the parents recognize me and say hi. I try to look busy so they don’t stop me for a longer chat.

Coach Garvin’s already out on the ice, setting up for the first lesson. He looks up and sees me in the stands, his face breaking into a friendly grin.

“What are you doing standing there, Ryan? Suit up and get down here.”

I’m grateful for Coach Garvin’s brisk, no-nonsense attitude, relieved I don’t see the disappointment I’d been expecting.

I lace my skates up as quickly as I can and get down onto the ice to help Coach set up the cones for the kids’ skating practice.

“Test it out?” Coach asks.

My heart thuds at the prospect of fucking up. I’m going to be rusty. “Sure, Coach.”

The gaps between the cones are meant for smaller legs, but I do a good job avoiding them with my skates before heading for the goal and knocking a few targets off.

When I look up, a bunch of the kids are gathered in the stands, dressed in their gear already. They’re all gawking at me with wide eyes and open mouths.

“You wanna be as fast and accurate as Coach Ryan?” Coach asks the kids.

They nod.

“Okay then, let’s get started.”

Once we get them set up and talk through the drills, time melts away. I forget everything except helping these kids improve their skills. Their enthusiasm is undeniable. These kids’ parents have paid good money for them to be here. Coach Garvin’s rink might not look like much, but Coach’s reputation is stellar. And these kids must really love hockey to spend a hot day like today inside, sweating in their pads and thick, hockey socks.

It feels like no time has passed when Coach blows his whistle to signal the end of practice. I could have skated around here all day with these kids. Adrenaline pumping again for the first time since I left the Harvard Hockey team.

We finish scooping up the cones and carry the bag of pucks off the ice.

“You did good today, Ryan,” Coach says, slapping me on the back.

“Thanks, Coach. It was fun.”

Coach rubs his stubble, looking thoughtful. “They’re a good bunch. A few of them even remind me of you.”

“Oh?”

He clamps his hand down on my shoulder, this time leaving it there and guiding me to face him. “Connor, I know you’re disappointed about Colorado, but your hockey career doesn’t have to be over. You’ll just have to take a different route, is all.”

Everything in me bristles and begs to get away. I keep my voice casual when I reply. “It’s fine, Coach. I always had a plan B, anyway.”

“Oh?” He lets his hand drop from my shoulder, but he’s still focused on me so intensely it takes everything I have just to hold his gaze.

“Yeah, I’ve got a job, in California.”

“The tech thing? I thought that was just temporary.”

“It isn’t.”