Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 105697 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105697 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
“Sure, he does. He’s listening. I’ve seen adjustments he’s making when you’re not looking. The coaches have been watching playbacks.”
“If you’re trying to woo me into coaching, I’m not done on the ice yet.”
He pats me on the shoulder. It’s nice not having to be the one to do it all the time. “When you are, let’s talk.”
I’ve never thought about coaching. I didn’t have to because I was playing well. Am I still playing my best? Fuck yes, I am. But it’s been interesting to be included in the development of other players.
As the players take the ice, Coach takes the spot where he stands during games and watches. The players swap without me having to direct their every move. Nice change from me telling them to pay attention, learn how the pros play, and learn the cues. They have a coach, not a babysitter.
His eyes stay on the play ahead when he asks, “How’s the relationship, Sutton?”
It’s a loaded question, not for him to ask, but for me, since a war has been waging in my chest. I was doing okay the first week; calls and videos were working. It’s gotten worse over the past two weeks. Hanging up feels bittersweet—glad I heard her voice or saw her face, but the loneliness after is consuming my nights.
“Good.” Generic is best.
Looking me over, he asks, “Good?”
“Yeah.” I shrug like he’s not seeing right through me. “Good.”
His eyes return to the ice. “Where is she located again? Ashford?”
“Mountain Laurel Cove,” I reply, following Crosby toward the goal. “Ah, fuck.” I clap. “Good play.”
He claps. “That’s right,” he says, picking up where he left off. “Mary and I went there once.”
“Mary’s the one who found the rental for me.”
“My wife was sad we didn’t get to meet her at the party.”
Telling that story isn’t going to land like it did that day, so I don’t bother. “Next time.”
“You know.” Here we go . . . “Mary has gotten into some new age stuff, manifestations, and that kind of thing. She fully believes she helped us make the playoffs last time.” He chuckles to himself, peering at me out of the corner of his eye.
“Are you going somewhere specific with this, Coach?”
“I’ve seen a change in you. When you get on the ice to show the guys a skill, you’re keeping the aggression on the move and the puck, focused on scoring, not on the other players on your team.” I’m not going to give him the satisfaction of smiling, but it has been fun. “Can you admit that maybe spending time with young talent isn’t so bad?”
“It’s not so bad.” I’ve poured my energy into this scouting program. The nights suck without Summer, but the days keep my mind occupied and off what she might be doing.
“Let’s remember this talk when preseason kicks off in September, and there are new guys on the team.” His eyes swerve with the players on the ice. “Come on, Landers. What the hell are you doing out there?” He looks back at me. “You’re right. He’s good. But like you, he needs to learn that it’s a team game. Not a solo sport. We’re pulling him up from the minors and offering him a contract next week.”
“His life is about to change forever.” I don’t know if that’s a good or bad thing anymore. Having all the money I could dream of didn’t fix my past, but it changed my future. That sky-blue dress and matching eyes, white sneakers, tanned legs, and a smile that knocked me on my ass. My future comes into focus from the mere mention of it.
“It is. Speaking of, are you ready for your meeting tomorrow?”
“I know what I want, and I know what I’m worth. I’m bringing my attorney to make sure they’re ready to meet the demands.”
Shaking his head, he looks down. “I’ll put in a good word. You’ve done a good job helping me build the next championship team. Good luck, man.” When he glances at me again, I can see the approval in his eyes. He can make jokes about me being a shit human only because we share a level of respect between us.
Waving two fingers, I say, “Thanks.”
He slips out when I’m talking to Crosby about not letting Landers cut him out of his position. I glance at the tunnel, then up at the seats where he was watching, and scoff with a grin on my face.
“I got the money,” Summer says.
“That’s good.” I’m left in an awkward state of trying to sound happy for her benefit while hoping not to fall apart for mine.
She didn’t want to video, claiming she looked terrible and that’s not how she wants me to see her. But I hear the sadness in her tone even when she should be excited about tomorrow.