Page 70 of The Fake Date Agreement

As everyone leaves, I quickly change and make my way through our locker room and to Coach’s office. He’s speaking before my bag hits the floor.

“Trainer says you’re still hitting the gym every day.”

I take a seat in the chair opposite his desk. “Not on Sundays.”

At least, noteverySunday.

And that’s only because it’s so busy that getting to a machine means waiting for longer than I have the patience for. I do a workout in my room then.

For several seconds, he doesn’t say a word. Just silently observes me. Coach is fast approaching sixty, and while he’s getting grayer with each passing year and more lines creasing the corners of his eyes and mouth, he’s as sharp as he always has been. He’s a hard taskmaster, but no one loves the game more than Coach McIntyre.

He steeples his fingers together on the desk. “You know the reason I wanted you for the team?”

I blink at the change in subject. “You wanted to be champion and thought I could make it happen.”

“Wrong.” He releases a breath and sits back in his seat, crossing his arms as he studies me down the long length of his nose. “Or, not only. I saw myself in you, Boucher. Brilliant as a kid. Would be brilliant in high school, but a perfectionist. Sometimes that’s a good thing, but if you kill your joy, you can lose the magic you have.”

My smile is bitter. “But I wasn’t brilliant in high school.”

He arches his brow. “Your team lost to the reigning champions. Youtookthem to that championship.”

“But I didn’t carry them over the line.”

“I don’t want to see what happened to me happen to you. Passion is important. So is perfectionism. Don’t let one overpower the other. You still have love for the game. Don’t let it die.”

“You never talk about the days when you played, Coach.” He’s dropped hints over the years, but he never told us what made him quit to pursue coaching.

“Take off the next two days.” He shuffles papers on his desk. “I don’t want to see you, hear about you, or smell you anywhere near the arena or the gym.”

I sit up. “But…”

“Or I can bench you for the next game.”

“But I’m the captain.” It’s the last game before spring break. I need to know if I’ve fixed whatever the fuck was wrong with me.

“And it would be a real shame for the team to be without its captain,” he says, meeting my eye steadily.

He’ll do it. I’ve had years to know when he’s being serious and when he’s not.

To teach me a lesson he doesn’t think I’m learning, he’ll bench me.

He’s not just a coach. He has an open-door policy to talk about what’s on our minds because that feeds into how we play the game. I didn’t realize how much until this senior year. Now,something is broken inside me, and I don’t know what it is or if I can fix it before the big game.

I shove myself to my feet and snatch my bag from the floor.

The team likes to say I have a legendary glare. Coach has a legendary rage that would wipe the floor with anyone. Me included. I keep my mouth shut.

Before I can stalk out, he calls after me, “It’s for your own good, Caleb. I saw you with the girl before. Take her out. Get some fresh air, if you remember what that feels like, and do something fun. Hockey will be here when you’ve had the rest you need.”

The sun is setting on a late afternoon day when I emerge from the arena. Usually, I’d be at the gym or still on the ice.

But now?

I don’t know what the fuck to do with myself without hockey.

Fishing my phone from my pocket, I send a quick text, checking in with my mom. It’s something I try to do a couple of times a week. If I call her, she’ll want to know if I’ve met up with Christian yet, and she doesn’t need to know I’ve been dodging my little brother since I learned we’re going up against the Wisconsin Eagles—his team—in the championships. They’re the running champions, and while we’re competitors, I can’t be his big brother. Not while I have a team to lead.

Hockey has always been the biggest part of my life.

---