Page 25 of Crack the Ice

I stopped by The Penalty Box on the way here, and much to my dismay, Cecy wasn’t there. Lana said she was at the doctor, and it seemed invasive to ask what for, so I didn’t text her about it. I did, however, pick up enough cupcakes to reward this twelve U girls team after practice, if they can focus a little better than they’re doing right now.

“Come on, girls! You can do better than that,” I yell across the ice as they work on their board passes. Some of these girls have been playing for years, while some are relatively new. This, however, isn’t a team of rookies. Which means they should have better stick handling than what I’m currently seeing.

“Move with the puck, anticipate it. If you hit it against the boards too hard and have to skate after it, you’re giving your opponents ample opportunity to take it from you.”

I move around from player to player, doing just that. If the puck misses their stick by a hair, I’ve got it on my own. “You’ve got to stay loose, keep your grip on your stick firm but don’t choke it. If you can’t move it with one hand quickly, you’re squeezing too hard.”

I get to Lily, her blonde braid hanging down the back of her jersey, and I tap the top of her helmet with my glove. “Lana packed you up some Dunkaroo cupcakes.”

She smiles around her mouthguard before turning her attention back to the ice. “Watch this, Reed.”

She hits the puck against the boards, then catches it on the blade of her stick, moving it into the curve in one smooth motion before doing it again four more times. I get a lot of satisfaction playing the game, but damn, the older I get, the more joy I get from coaching these kids.

“You’re getting good at that. Are you practicing somewhere I don’t know about?”

She nods, but doesn’t stop to look at me. “Yeah, my teacher let me bring a roller hockey ball and a few sticks before my mom died. My friends and I play at recess sometimes.”

“That’s great,” I say, making sure I look around at the other kids on the ice. I’m not supposed to have favorites, but she is by far my favorite.

I tap her helmet with the blade of my stick before skating away. The shrill sound of my whistle echoes off the boards, making all the girls line up on the blue line without having to be told.

“We’re going to work on passing for a bit,” I hook my stick around Monroe’s hips and pull him toward me. “Quick wrist shots, keep the puck low.”

We demonstrate what we’re looking for a few times before Lily and one of her favorite teammates, Layla, line up at the face-off circle.

“I’ll shoot it to you first, Lils,” Layla says.

Lily nods and skates a few feet ahead of her. The second the puck hits the ice, Layla snaps it toward Lily, who quickly turns and heads toward the goal. They pass back and forth two more times before Lily flicks her wrist just write that the puck goes flying into the top of the goal, pinging the crossbar before falling to the ice.

“Beautifully executed,” I say, hoping she can see the pride on my face so I don’t have to embarrass her like all the other hockey moms when their kid scores.

By the time we get to conditioning, all earlier playfulness is gone, and in its place are heaving chests and tired pre-teens. They did good, more than earned their reward.

“Alright, ladies. That was a good practice. We’ve got a game this weekend, so make sure you’re staying hydrated all week. Eat well, and stay loose. Do your stretches at home, got it?”

“Yes, coach!” They all yell in unison.

I skate to the bench and pull out the cupcakes we picked up earlier. “Take your gloves off. Everyone gets one. Do not eat it on the ice. If you get crumbs on here, everyone is skating laps next practice. Got it?”

I get a cacophony of “yes” and “got it,” but none stand out from the rest as they rush toward the open boxes.

Monroe, Sammy, and I stand shoulder to shoulder as we watch them nab and grab whatever they want. When Lily makes it to the boards and subsequently empty boxes, her eyes widen. I watch her shoulders fall, but Monroe breaks the moment with his laugh.

“Lily Pad, why do you look so sad?”

“Reed said Lana packed me a dunkaroo cupcake, but I didn’t get one.” She pouts like she doesn’t get goodies from The Penalty Box all the time.

“Good thing she packed a secret box for you and your brother then, huh?” he says.

“Really?” She clasps her hands under her chin, batting her eyelashes at the three of us. And damn it, if Lana hadn’t packed them extra, that look would have guaranteed that one of our sorry asses would have headed straight there.

Sammy taps his hand on her helmet, pushing her gently toward the door. “Go change. I’m taking you home. Reed’s got some things to handle before he can turn into a pumpkin for the night. They’re in my car already.”

She throws her fist into the air as she steps off the ice, so much like Monroe does when he’s excited. It’s no surprise, I guess. Considering he’s been Uncle Lucas for almost six years now.

“Are you good to take her home, or do you want me to? I can push this off,” I ask.

“I’m good. I told Kait I’d pick up dinner. She wants orange chicken, and God help me if she tries to make it… I don’t know that our house would be standing when I got home. I can grab something for you guys, too. “