Page 7 of Behind the Bench

My eyebrows lift at the accusation. Does he seriously think I only got this job because of who my dad is? A hateful comment sits at the tip of my tongue but I refuse to stoop to his level. I take a deep breath and focus on why I’m here. This job is more important than some stupid childhood rivalry.

“Link, I’m not here to run any show. I’m here to help. There’s nothing I want more than to help turn this team around and make us a playoff contender again. I believe I’m the person for the job. I’m ready to get to work. Just let me know when you’re ready.”

Link removes his hands from my desk and takes a step back, clearly shocked by my response. I take advantage of his silence and move around my desk so we’re standing next to each other.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go grab some things from my car before the coaches’ meeting.”

I can feel Lincoln’s eyes on me as I walk away but I don’t give him the satisfaction of looking back.

What the hell is wrong with all these men, thinking women are incompetent when it comes to hockey?

I’m flattered he thinks I have a pretty face, but there is so much more to me than that. Link of all people should know that. I was the best damn defenseman in our league growing up and stopped him more times than I can count. Either he has a shit memory or he’s just a prick.

Probably both.

How the hell am I supposed to work with this guy?

I make it to my car and remember I have absolutely nothing in here to grab. Taking a moment to calm my beating heart, I lean against the door. Frustrated, I silently scream into my hands. I pull my phone out of my pocket and call the one person who can give me some perspective.

The phone rings a few times before he picks up. “Hey, baby girl, how’s your first day going?”

The sound of my dad’s voice instantly calms me. “Hey, dad. Um…it’s going.”

“Well, that doesn’t sound too reassuring. Talk to me.”

I don’t know how to tell my dad that I’m questioning if I can do this job. I may have faked it back there in my office, but I really don’t know how we’ll be able to work together. I’ve worked my entire life to get to this point, only to be placed into a situation that almost seems impossible. I know this sport inside and out, and I’m damn good at what I do. But how can I be my best self with Link next to me, questioning my value?

“Dad, do you remember Lincoln Scott? We played against each other growing up and then he went to U of M on scholarship before being drafted?”

He doesn’t even take a second to think about it. “Of course I remember him. You guys would chirp each other allgame long. It was pretty damn hilarious actually. Why do you ask?”

Hilarious? I didn’t quite see it that way. I ignore the comment and tell him what’s going on. “Well, it turns out he was hired by the Bobcats too. As the head coach.”

“You’re kidding me!” I have to pull my phone away from my ear. He’s oddly excited about this news. “What a small world. I guess I don’t see what the problem is, sweetheart. Lincoln is a damn good coach. He’s been doing it even longer than you have since his injury took him out of the game six years ago.”

Why does my dad know so much about Lincoln? Sure, we all saw the gruesome injury on ESPN after it happened, but how does he know how good of a coach he is?

A question for a different day.

“I don’t know, Dad. Lincoln and I never got along. It goes way beyond any childhood hockey games. We pretty much hate each other. How the heck am I going to be able to do my job when the head coach can’t stand me and thinks I’m no good at my job. The players will feed off that energy. That’s no way to rebuild a team.”

Saying it out loud makes me realize how true that statement actually is. The guys don’t deserve a coaching staff that doesn’t believe in each other. If there’s no trust, there will be no success.

“Well sweetheart, if there’s one thing this life has taught me, it’s that you can’t keep looking back. You have to move forward. Is your animosity toward Lincoln something you’re going to continue to carry, or is it something you should leave in the past? What good can come from holding onto all that hatred?”

His questions give me a new perspective. This is exactly why I called my dad. He’s the only one who can talk sense into me when my anger gets the best of me. I’ve been working on it for a long time, but I still know when I need some help.

“You’re right, Dad. I know you are. I can’t let anyone get in the way of my dreams. This team deserves better than that, and so do I.” Feeling reenergized, I straighten and start making my way back into the arena.

“You got this, Ellie. If there’s anyone that can prove people wrong, it’s you. You’ve been doing it your entire life. Now go make a believer out of Lincoln.”

“Thanks, Dad, love you. Talk soon.”

“Bye, baby girl.”

My dad is right. He almost always is. I’ve been proving everyone wrong since I first stepped onto that frozen pond at age three. I have to make Lincoln see that I am exactly who he needs next to him on that bench.

Now the only question is, how the hell am I supposed to do that?

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