Page 63 of Taking It To Overtime

“As a fucking heart attack. Get out.”

This time he puffs up his chest, clearly finding some sense of bravado. I don’t care that I’m not a brawler, that my team employs other enforcers. I guarantee I can mop the goddamn rink floor with this asshole. Without even breaking a sweat.

“You can’t get rid of me. You need a second coach and you only have assistants.”

“We can handle the kids. Jack is twice the coach you can ever dream of being. At least we have their best interests at heart. Now leave or I’ll escort you out myself.”

Brad goes, muttering curses under his breath and slamming the door to the locker room. I don’t breathe right until he’s gone and Spags skates up next to me.

“You up for this?” I ask him.

He shrugs. “Guess we’ll find out. There’s only the rest of today and tomorrow’s scrimmage. You did the right thing.”

I know I did. I can feel it in my bones, but there’s one more thing I have to make right. The teens are due back on the ice any minute now, but I don’t want to put this off until the end of practice. Brad was wrong about so many things, but he was right about two. Marlowe has it in him to make it in the pros. And he was dragging today.

“Can you get them started for me? I have to handle something.”

Spags nods and gives me a thumbs-up. “You got it, Dad. Go talk to Marlowe.”

I wait for him by the rink entrance. The teen is usually the first on the ice, leading the pack. Today he’s one of the last.

“Will,” I call his name as he tries to duck his head and slink past. “Let’s chat.”

He holds back as the rest of the players take the ice and then follows me back into the locker room. The testosterone funk is strong in here, bad enough that I try not to breathe through my nose.

“What’s up, coach?” He asks, sitting heavily on one of the metal benches. “Sorry, my head’s not in it today. I’ll do better.” He leans his weight forward, bracing his hands on his thighs, and goes to stand.

“Where’s Nora?”

The kid freezes, a deer caught in headlights.

“Dunno.” He says, shoulders slumping. “Doesn’t matter. I’m here to play.”

“Are you?”

The kid winces and, dammit, this is coming out like a lecture. It’s not supposed to be like that.

“I want to tell you a story,” I say, sitting on the bench next to him. Our shoulders are almost touching, but I’m facing the opposite bank of lockers. I thought it would make us both more comfortable. “That okay?”

He nods, keeping his gaze straight ahead, refusing to look at me.

“Are you familiar with the name Vera Novak?”

He shrugs again. “I dunno. Isn’t she a model or something? I think Nora follows her on Insta.” His ears pink up under his helmet.

“She is,” I nod. “And a long time ago, when I was about your age, she was my Nora.”

That gets his attention, his head snapping up so fast I worry he gave himself whiplash.

“She was my best friend, and my girlfriend, and while I think her home life was a lot better than Nora’s, she came to all my practices and all my games.”

Marlowe drops his chin in the tiniest nod of understanding.

“I liked having her there. I knew how to find her immediately in a crowded arena, no matter what she wore or where she sat. I thought I played better when she watched. I was also a lot like you. Talent pouring out my ass, and scouts studying my games, and so for a while it was fine that she was always there.”

Marlowe jumps to his feet, showing more energy than I’ve seen all day. “Look sir, you can spare me the lecture. CoachB already talked to me about it. She won’t be back today or tomorrow.” Under his breath he adds, “or ever.”

I stand up too, clapping my hand on his shoulder.

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