Page 93 of If You Love Me

I’m about to tell Ryker to protect his left shoulder, because I see what Grace is planning, when Roman shouts, “Ryker, your five hole!”

The puck goes sailing past Ryker’s left ear.

I blow the whistle directly at Roman.

He raises both hands. “Sorry, Coach.”

“Can you repeat that for me, please, Goalie?”

The corner of his mouth twitches, like he’s trying not to react. But I see the heat in his eyes and hope like hell no one else can. “I’m sorry, Coach Forrester.” His voice is all gravel.

I stay firmly in coach mode, the interaction with Donnie still sitting heavy in stomach. “Don’t apologize to me; apologize to Ryker for giving him the wrong cue. You know as well as I do that Grace doesn’t need to wait until the puck hits the ice to shoot it. Those fractions of a second are all it takes for your opposition to score a goal and put our team at a disadvantage.”

Roman lowers his head in deference. “Sorry, Ryker. That goal is on me.”

I give Roman my back. “Ryker, if Hammerstein hadn’t been playing armchair coach, what would your instincts have told you to do?”

“Protect my left side, because Grace has mad stick-handling skills, and he was moving right, which tells me he’ll likely try to fake me out.”

“Good call. Trust your gut, Ryker.” I toss a puck to Grace. “Let’s try that again.”

The rest of the session goes smoothly, and I’m feeling positive when the guys hit the locker room.

Dred stops by to pick up Callie and brings me a sandwich soI’m going into the game tonight with food in my stomach. I’m lucky to have made such wonderful, supportive friends.

We still have a few hours before the game, so I decide to head up to my office to review strategy. If all goes well, we’ll pull out a win tonight against Philly.

“Forrester, I’d like to speak with you,” Vander Zee barks.

Heat works its way up my spine and my stomach twists at the look on his face. I step inside the office. “Sure. What can I do for you?”

“Did you come from the ice?”

“Yes, sir.”

He crosses his arms. “Why wasn’t that run by me first?”

“I checked with Boxer?—”

He cuts me off. “I’ve already talked to Boxer about this. You’re an assistant coach, Boxer is the goalie coach, I am the head coach. If you want to put guys on the ice for extra practice on a game day, you run it by me first. Boxer might agree that the guys need the time, but the final say is ultimately mine. Don’t go around me again, do you understand?”

If I could sink into the floor I would. “Of course, sir. I’m sorry. I just…I thought…I’m so sorry. My intention wasn’t to go over your head on this. I honestly just wanted to give Grace a little more time to work on stick handling.”

“I know you’re working hard to prove yourself, but this isn’t the way to do it. I’m always the last person to sign off on things like this. These guys get on the ice in a few hours. They need to be rested, and they need time to get into the right mental headspace.”

“It won’t happen again, sir,” I promise.

“It better not. I expect you to learn from your mistakes.” He taps his pen agitatedly on his desk. “Go review game strategy. I’ll see you in a couple of hours.”

“Yes, sir.” I leave his office, feeling a lot like I might vomit.

I stop at Boxer’s office and knock on his door. He looks up from the papers on his desk and his expression turns to empathy.I don’t know if that’s a good or bad thing. “Come in and close the door.”

I do as he asks. “I’m so sorry. I did not mean to get you in trouble.”

He raises a hand. “This is on me. I assumed you’d already cleared it with Vander Zee when you suggested the extra ice time.”

“I got ahead of myself,” I admit. It was a stupid error. One I wish I could take back.

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