Page 103 of Taking Sides

“Yes, you.” She threads her fingers through mine and squeezes. “You’re kind and generous and so much braver than you give yourself credit for. You already did the hard thing. You survived this place and became a professional hockey player. Coming back here and honoring your coach is just one more example of you doing right by the people you care about regardless of what’s easy or comfortable.”

“Coach Carson did a lot for me too.” I let out a slow breath. “What if I get up there in front of everyone and choke?”

“You won’t.”

“I might. Just the thought of standing up there and looking out at all those people has my throat tightening.” With my free hand, I run my fingers down the front of my neck.

“Then keep your eyes on me.”

“Okay.” I nod, steadying my breathing. “I’m ready.”

Like everything else, the high school hockey arena hasn’t changed a bit. Whitney and I are led past the ticket table to the weight room. She squeezes my hand as we step inside. Chairs have been pulled into the middle of the room for seating, but everyone stands. I scan the group of people quickly, my pulse picking up speed.

Coach Carson is the first to speak.

“Conrad Shepard!” He starts toward me, grinning from ear to ear. He looks exactly the way I remember, only grayer and a little softer around the middle.

“Coach C.”

We shake hands, and he pulls me into a hug.

When we break apart, he shakes his head and gives me a once-over. “Look at you. I barely would have recognized you if it weren’t for seeing you so often on ESPN.”

“It’s good to see you,” I say to him.

“You too. Thank you for being here tonight. It means a lot.” His stare slides to my right.

“Hi. I’m Whitney.” She lifts a hand in a wave. “I’ve heard so much about you. It’s nice to meet you.”

“You as well.” Coach Carson’s smile returns to me.

“Whitney is a high school hockey coach too.”

“No kidding?”

“I coach JV,” she says like she doesn’t want him to get the wrong idea. Always underestimating herself.

“That’s where I started. Tough job.” He crosses his arms over his chest. It’s like a flash in time, and I can see him out on the ice in his coordinated sweat suit, barking out orders during practice.

“I didn’t know that,” I say.

“It was before your time. I’m older than I look.” He winks, then speaks to Whitney. “I coached JV for three years before I moved up to varsity. It taught me a lot. Keeping kids excited during that transition phase is tough, as I’m sure you know.”

“It’s my first year, so I’m still learning.”

“She’s great,” I tell him.

Some of my old teammates have edged closer. Coach Carson opens his stance to let them say hello to me. It all happens in a blur. I shake hands with each of them. They weren’t all terrible to me, but I’ve lumped them all together as being a part of that phase of my life I never wanted to revisit. I suppose that isn’t really fair.

Whitney doesn’t leave my side through any of it. One guy named Mick, who graduated a year ahead of me, lets his gaze linger a little too long when I introduce him to her. I decide continuing to hate him is okay.

When they usher us out of the waiting room, I break out in a cold sweat. Made worse when Whitney’s guided away from me. They seat her in the front row beside the bench as I follow the others toward the tunnel that’ll take us out onto the ice.

The current principal gives us the rundown of events as mats are laid out for us to walk onto the ice, then a podium and several chairs. The teams come off from warm-ups and head to the benches. I find my parents in the same seats they sat in when I was playing. Mom waves, and Dad gives me a head nod.

“It’s time.” Someone hands the principal a microphone and then the music is lowered and the announcer begins.

I barely hear most of the introductions and I blacked out during most of the overview of events, but when the principal welcomes me back, I know it’s my cue.