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"Yeah, Coach Z's strategies are killer. Never thought I'd learn so much in a single season."
The mention of Pete caused my gut to tighten. "He's good at what he does,” I acknowledged.
Taylor paused, setting down the dumbbells. “There’s rumors floating around that he might be headed for the NHL. Did you hear about it? Got an inside scoop?”
I set the barbell down with a louder clank than intended and growled. Damn, I thought, it’s spreading like a wildfire.
“Think you’ll have to ask Pete,” I muttered, dismissing the topic.
Taylor picked up his weights again, and I sensed that he knew he’d touched a sensitive topic. "Sure thing, Coach."
I resumed my lifting but with far less enthusiasm. Each time I hoisted the weight, the gnawing feeling in the pit of my stomach grew. I thought there would be a reckoning with an NHL move eventually, but I expected it at least two or three years down the road.
If the league successfully snatched Pete, was everything over for us? And what did it mean for me?
"Good workout, Coach. See you at the game," Taylor said, racking his dumbbells and heading out, wiping sweat from his brow.
"Yeah, see you, kid," I mumbled and froze in place.
Finally, I reracked the weights and walked out, my workout unfinished and my questions unresolved.
* * *
After a restless night, our next game day arrived. During his pre-game strategy talk, Pete spoke like a man reading an instruction manual. "Stick to the plan, keep the defense tight, and aim for quick counters—no surprises from this team. We've practiced for games like this. Play your game, and we’ll win.”
We did stick to the plan, and hell, we even won. Following the victory over the Raptors, the locker room should've been a place of triumphal chants and backslaps. Instead, the atmosphere felt guarded and careful. We'd followed Pete's game plan to a T and secured a solid win, but the usual celebratory vibe was noticeably muted.
Pete walked over to me after his quick pow-wow with some of the players. "Good game, Hoss," he said, his voice flat but with eyes adding something more to the message that I couldn't quite grasp.
"You too," I responded, confusion on my face. It was like looking at a puzzle I couldn't solve.
Pete and I were ushered to the center of a makeshift interview area as the press filed into the locker room. The local sports media buzzed about our recent win, but the out-of-town reporters wanted to know about the NHL.
"So, Coach Z, another win under the belt for the Cold Pines Cougars," started Trish, a journalist from the local paper who never missed a game. "What was the key to the victory tonight?"
"Staying focused on the task at hand," Pete answered. "We've been working hard all season, and it's paying off."
Trish nodded and turned her attention to me. "Coach Hoss, you've been instrumental in helping turn this team around. How's the synergy between you and Coach Z?"
"We're a great team," I said, not missing a beat, "and we've got a team of tremendous players. So it's all coming together nicely."
A mix of murmurs and nods rolled through the group. A few reporters scribbled notes and adjusted their microphones. Then came the question we'd been dancing around all evening.
"So, Coach Z, there's a lot of speculation about a possible move to the NHL," a reporter piped up. "Care to comment?"
I glanced at Pete and watched his expression shift slightly.
"Right now, my focus is on the Cold Pines Cougars and our next game," he replied, skirting the issue with a practiced ease that left me more confused than ever.
The reporters appeared to accept his non-answer. They moved on to ask about strategies for upcoming games. They followed their script, but I knew they weren't entirely convinced, and neither was I.
Back at my apartment, I sat on my couch, surrounded by old trophies and framed photos of my teams, past NHL squads, and the Cold Pines Cougars.
It wasourteam, led by Pete and me. I wondered what that meant to him. I thought we were building something in Cold Pines, not just stringing together wins. We were building a real team, a sense of belonging, and a future.
I couldn't take it anymore. Picking up my phone, I hesitated for a moment. Was I ready to break everything open and deal with the consequences? I started typing a text message.
"Hey, got time for a chat? There's something we need to talk about."
