Page 58 of Delay of Game

“I’ll see you later,” I say, and she waves at me on her way out.

“Here we are, this is your office, Coach,” Molly says a moment later, gesturing to a small room with a window, a desk with a computer, and two chairs.

I smile like a fool and take a seat in the chair behind the desk, spinning around. The wall to my right has a whiteboard with markers and there’s a small filling cabinet in the corner of the room as well.

“Holler if you need anything,” Molly says, and waves on her way back to the front desk.

My badge and tracksuit are neatly stacked on the desk in front of me, along with a booklet. I leaf through it and find my computer login and the schedule for training camp.

A knock at the door startles me and the deep chuckle coming from the man leaning on the doorframe brings me back in time.

“You haven’t changed one bit,” Coach Brian says, smiling, even though it’s mostly covered by his thick mustache.

“Tell that to my bum hip,” I joke, making my way to shake his hand. He surprises me, wrapping me in an awkward hug instead and patting me on the back.

“I’m glad you’re okay, kid. You had me worried there for a bit.”

“You had time to check up on me? Don’t you have enough hooligans to keep in line?” I try deflecting.

“You’ve always been my favorite and you know it,” he winks playfully. “Ready to take on a new challenge?”

I blow out a breath, nodding. “I am. To be honest, I’ve been going a little crazy without hockey for the past seven months.”

Brian looks at me, no traces of amusement left on his slightly wrinkled face. “That injury—I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy. I’m surprised you’re not taking more time to recover, but selfishly I’m glad you’re back. I could really use you to oversee the defense development, especially the penalty kill.”

“Really?” I ask, stunned. I hoped he’d have me working with the defensemen since that’s my expertise, but I didn’t expect him to put this much trust in me.

“You’re one of the most principled and patient people I know. Even as a player, you were always putting in the work, watching the tapes and giving me suggestions, for fuck’s sake. I may have seemed annoyed at the time, but trust me, your judgement was appreciated.”

I feel my cheeks are on fire from the praise and I look down, fiddling with the badge I put on earlier. “Thanks, Coach.”

“It’s Brian now. And don’t expect me to kiss your ass all the time, this job is hard. At the ECHL level, it’s all about attendance and the fun of it, drawing people in, showing them what hockey is. At the NHL, it’s all about winning, the stakes are higher than ever. But here—” He stops, shaking his head. “At the AHL, it’s all about the development. Sure, we want to fucking win, but we’ve got the top prospects in the palm of our hands, and we’re the ones responsible for shaping them, molding them into the players they eventually become.”

Brian pauses, letting me take this all in. It’s definitely more than I expected, but the idea of helping players develop doesn’t scare me away. If anything, I want to see them succeed.

“So, do you still think you’re up for the challenge?” he asks.

“Abso-fucking-lutely,” I say with no hesitation.

Alice

I breathethrough the pain and hold the plank position like the instructor tells us to. Why did I think a hot yoga class at eight in the morning was a good idea? Sweat pours in rivulets to the mat in front of me and I close my eyes, counting down the seconds until I can collapse back down. Hopefully never to get up again.

“You may now bring your knees to the mat and transition to child pose,” the instructor says in her low, sultry voice. At first I found it soothing, but now, at the eleventh hour of the class, I just find it grating. I’m hot, I’m sweaty, everything hurts.

I do my best not to whimper in relief when the class is dismissed. I wipe down my mat and roll it.

“What did you think?” Malia asks from my right, and I glare at her. She just smiles wide and shakes her head at me, her short dark brown hair with highlights barely touching the tops of her shoulders now that she got a haircut.

“Personally, I loved it,” Olivia pipes up from my left, and I turn my incredulous gaze on her instead. Traitors, both of them. If my friend Megan could make it to this godforsaken yoga class, she’d be on my side for sure. Instead, she’s enjoying the last week of summer break at the beach.

“You know, when I suggested a girls’ day, I meant getting brunch and maybe getting our nails done, not sweating like pigs and then going out in public.”

They both laugh at my antics and I sigh, realizing that of course they’d want to work out first thing in the morning. They’re both athletes.

“Good thing the arena is right next door, and I have access to the women’s locker room. We can go shower and change into our spare clothes there before getting brunch,” Malia offers, and I grumble. “What?” she asks, her hazel eyes sparkling with amusement.

“You and your logic. So infuriating,” I joke, lightly punching her shoulder.

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