Page 11 of Unforgettable Player

“Oh.” He rubs his stubble again, looking confused. “Is that what you want to do?”

I shrug. It isn’t really about ‘want,’ not anymore. “Sure.”

“Sure,” he repeats—mutters—under his breath. He collects himself and squares his shoulders. “Well, it’s your life, son. Just don’t do anything too rash, is all I’m saying. Think about it. That door can still be open for you … if you want it to be. Might have to take the back road, but there’s no shame in that.”

Everything in me bristles. I do not want to take ‘the back road.’

I try to put our conversation out of my head as I tidy everything away in the equipment room. But it’s hard to ignore when I’m surrounded by the source of those stupid dreams. The little kid in me was awed by this gross, stinky room. Watching Larry—the equipment manager—sharpen our skates on that machine. The faint smell of metallic dust in the air. The heat if you got too close. The fustiness of borrowed skates and discarded pads and sweaty jocks and jerseys waiting to be washed.

I’m still lingering when Coach calls me from the hallway. Either he didn’t notice me standing there like an idiot, or he’s doing a good job at pretending.

When Coach starts introducing me to the parents, I put my best smile on to greet them.

“Is that little Connor Ryan?” one of the moms says.

“Hi, Mrs. Brown.” Emily Brown was somewhat of a legend when I was in high school. There’s no better way to say this, but … she’s hot. And teenage boys notice things like that.

She gives me a look that sends a jolt of heat to my groin. Okay, so I’d never go there with her, but it’s still nice to be looked at like that. “Wow, it is you. Haven’t you grown?”

Resisting the urge to rub the back of my neck, I offer her a beaming smile and remind myself I’m an adult now. I don’t have to be shy around a beautiful woman. I’ve even been with a few.

“What are you doing here?” she asks.

I swallow, my throat suddenly dry. “I said I’d help Coach out this summer with the kids.”

“That’s so kind of you. It’ll do the kids good to learn from a real hockey player. Give them something to aspire to.”

I open my mouth to explain that I am not and will never be a ‘real hockey player’ when Coach slaps me on the shoulder and cuts in. “That’s what I said. The kids look up to him already.”

I appreciate the support, but it’s misguided.

Emily Brown is looking at me with that gorgeous smile and big, expectant eyes. I can’t take it anymore.

“It was good to see you, Mrs. Brown⁠—”

“Please,” she says, holding up a perfectly manicured hand. “Call me Emily. You’re a grown man now.”

I gulp.

“Emily. Sure. It was nice to see you, but I’d better be getting on.” I look to Coach for help. He nods, understanding.

“Yep, yep. Got to … um, get that admin done … in the office. You go along.”

I make my escape, thanking Coach, God, and Gretzky—the holy trinity.

It’s about twenty minutes later when Coach finally comes in, looking exhausted after sending all the kids off home. “Looks like you got yourself a new fan.”

“Huh?” My neck prickles as I remember the way Emily Brown looked at me out there. I wonder if she’d still look at me like that if she knew how much of a loser I am now.

“I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that dating the parents isn’t allowed.”

“You don’t have to tell me, Coach. She scares the hell out of me. My entire friend group have had a crush on her since freshman year. One time, my mom caught us all staring at her sunbathing in her yard and made us apologize to her. It was mortifying.”

Coach laughs before sinking into his chair.

“You really need some help with the admin?” I ask. “I organized the files on your desk, but⁠—”

He waves his hand at me. “Go, enjoy the summer. You’re only young once.”