AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Ouch. Deep thoughts by Coach."
I opened my laptop and started a new document, not for the team, but for me. I typed, "What am I coaching for?"
It was a question I hadn't let myself ponder in a long time. Was it for the win-loss records? For the trophies? Or was it for the chance to make a real impact on young lives?
* * *
Unlocking the door to my apartment, I stepped inside and exhaled. The quiet that only a personal space can offer embraced me. There were no echoes of skates on ice, no buzz of the locker room, just silence. I flipped on the lights, revealing the walls covered in memorabilia, accolades, and photos capturing moments of glory and despair from my years in the game. They felt like silent witnesses to the choices I'd made.
Slipping off my jacket and tossing it onto the couch, I headed to the fridge and grabbed a bottle of water. Alcohol tempted me, but it wasn't the night for a beer. Not after the game, and not after…I sighed.
I took a long sip, my mind running laps around the events of the evening. Eddie's missed goal, the tension in the locker room, the silent war of philosophies between Hoss and me—each spun in my head, clamoring for attention.
I walked over to the window, peering out at the dimly lit streets of Cold Pines. It was a small town with a big heart for hockey, and here I was, at the helm of their pride and joy. My job was more than drawing plays and drilling techniques; it was about shaping the young players into men, teaching them the value of teamwork, resilience, and, damn it, even love for the game.
But what was I teaching them? To fear each missed shot? To view each game as a do-or-die scenario? Hoss had a point; nurturing could go a long way, especially in a high-stress environment. But I couldn't shake the idea that comfort could easily slip into complacency. Where was the balance?
Eddie, that kid had promise. There was a raw talent there that couldn't be taught, but it could be squandered. And that's what scared me. I'd seen it before—bright-eyed rookies losing their spark, weighed down by the relentless grind and the enormity of the expectations that came with a hockey career.
Even someone as talented as Hoss eventually buckled.
My phone buzzed on the kitchen counter, snapping me out of my reverie. It was a text from Hoss:
"We need to talk. Tomorrow?"
I hesitated before typing back,
"Yeah, tomorrow."
As I put the phone down, I felt a strange mixture of anticipation and dread. Whatever was brewing between Hoss and me was entangled with the team's future and possibly even the future of hockey in Cold Pines. I wanted to win, but I wanted to win the right way. The question was, could I figure out what that meant before the season slipped through my fingers?
Shaking off the weight of the evening, I headed toward my bedroom. The bed looked inviting, a sanctuary from the chaos of the day. I was beat, mentally more than physically, but sleep wasn't going to come easy. Not with my mind racing a mile a minute.
As I lay there, staring at the ceiling, I thought about the life chapter I was writing in Cold Pines. It was still early days, and the ending was far from written, but the story was unfolding, one choice, one game, one heated locker room debate at a time.
As sleep finally began to claim me, I knew one thing for sure: whatever came next, I had to be ready. Ready for the challenges, ready for the choices, and yeah, ready for whatever the hell was going on between Hoss and me.
Chapter7
Hoss
Before the game, the locker room buzzed like a live wire. Everyone knew what was at stake. We needed the win. It was as simple as that.
Our guys were busy with their pre-game rituals—some praying, some tapping their sticks, and some, like Jensen, complaining about the refs even before the game started.
That's when Pete stepped up to me. "Hoss, got a sec?"
I looked up from the clipboard I was scribbling on. "For you? I could spare a minute and a half, maybe two, but don't push it.."
He glanced around, ensuring no one was eavesdropping. "I'm starting Eddie tonight."
I raised an eyebrow. It was a surprise move. Pete was skeptical about the 19-year-old’s talents, particularly after he botched an opportunity in a previous game. "You think he's ready for this kind of pressure cooker?"
Pete sighed. "He's got the raw talent. You’re right about that, but he's wound up tighter than a two-dollar watch. I'm thinking a word from you could go a long way."
I nodded. "Consider it done."
Pete walked off to brief the rest of the team, and I made my way over to Eddie. He was anxiously adjusting his equipment, looking like he was trying to solve a complex equation in his head.
