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“I’m not saying I will trade him. I’m saying the option is on the table. Zachary has proven himself as a top-notch goalie. You won’t be sorry to have him play for you.”
This was the part of the business I didn’t like, players getting traded around and talked about behind their backs. Zachary would get a say, of course, but he wouldn’t know until the last minute that his name was getting thrown around.
I knocked and waited for Dad to call out before I twisted the knob and entered. His office was a shrine to his job. Posters of his best players lined the walls and trophies filled the shelves. He sat behind a cluttered desk with his phone to his ear and his feet propped up on top of a stack of folders. He ended the call and waved for me to come closer.
Poor Zachary. The guy deserved to know he was up on the chopping block, but I wasn’t about to be the one to tell him.
3
ZACHARY
There was no way they were winning this game. I stretched out my arms and rolled my head side to side as the kids on the ice slid all over the place. They were having the time of their lives, but that would not win. Still. I grinned when my goalie smacked a puck back across the ice but groaned when that same kid left the net to help his teammates chase the puck.
I’d seen ducks with better organization. Oh well.
The buzzer sounded, signaling the end of the game. Grinning, I motioned for the boys to join me. They all skated over, several of them wearing looks of shame and defeat.
“Did you have fun?” I kept my grin in place and rubbed my hands together to ease the cold turning my fingers bright red. I’d forgotten my gloves again.
“Yeah!” Several kids shouted, while a few others mumbled and clacked their hockey sticks against the plastic partition.
“Well.” The word lingered in the air until all the kids looked up at me. “I think you did a great job.”
“But we didn’t win.” Brian, one of the oldest on the team, tipped his head to the side and regarded me with a grimace. “I wanted to win.”
“I know.” I clapped him on the back and motioned for them to head toward the locker room. “It’s fun to win. I like winning.” I knew better than to bullshit these kids. They might be eight to ten years old, but they were tough kids who knew when an adult was blowing smoke. “But having fun is important too. And you all played to the best of your ability. That last shot was a masterpiece, Dillon.”
The little boy grinned wide, showing the gap where he’d lost a tooth last week. “Thanks, Coach.”
Smiles started out slow, but the more I commented on their playing—highlighting the things they’d done right—the wider the smiles grew. That was what I wanted from my team.
Losing sucked, but that didn’t mean they should be sore losers.
I talked to the parents, fielding questions and giving encouragement where I could, as the kids switched from their hockey gear to street clothes. I needed to leave for practice soon, but I wouldn’t go anywhere until the kids were all safe with their parents. Or guardian. I had a few foster kids who were lucky enough that their foster parents cared enough to bring them to practice and games. I’d also lost a few through the years when they hit a rough patch and parents couldn’t afford the time or the money to keep up. I understood. Sports were a tough gig, and not all parents could get their kids to practice if it meant missing work.
I wished there was more I could do for them.
The last kid filed out of the locker room and I gave him a high-five before checking my watch. “See you next week, Ben.”
The kid jerked his head in a nod. “Later, Coach.”
Grabbing my duffel, I slung it over my shoulder and headed toward the front door. My thick coat made a shushing sound with every stride, and I shoved my empty hand into my pocket, flexing it until feeling returned.
I rounded a corner and skidded to a stop before I crashed into Lucy. My heart thudded against my ribs so hard I lost my breath.
Lucy tossed her hair over her shoulder and took a step back. “Hey. Sorry.”
“No problem.” I frowned as I took her in. She looked different today. More business casual and less preppy doctor. Her skirt hugged her hips and her high heels put her almost at eye level with me. Damn. As much as I suddenly wanted to stand here and talk to her, I desperately wanted to watch her ass as she walked away. “What are you doing way out here?” The question came out accusatory, and she raised her eyebrows.
One hand fell to her hip and she straightened her shoulders. “I could ask you the same thing.”
I thumbed my chest. “Youth coach.” I felt a moment of satisfaction when her mouth dropped into a perfect O.
“You coach the youth league?” She looked me up and down, her brows in an adorable pucker. “Huh. Well, maybe you can help me then.”
Must be my lucky day. “I’d love to.” Damn my mouth. I cleared my throat. “What do you need help with?”
“I have a meeting with the board in…” she checked her watch. “Five minutes. Any insight you can shoot my way? I’m here to advocate for more female participation in hockey.”
