Page 7 of Until He Scores

Or, it shouldn’t have been.

The rookies deserved that spotlight.

“Yeah, well, they’re doing what they get paid to do, make wild guesses,” I said, taking off my shoes before propping my leg up. A groan slipped from me the second I extended my leg, elevating it. The release of pressure and tightness felt good.

Dad cocked a brow, setting aside his tablet. “Bad?”

I shrugged. “It is what it is.”

His gray eyes filled with concern as he stared at me. Ever since his bout with cancer, making sure mom and I took care of ourselves, had been paramount in his life. He did everything the doctor told him including using holistic medicine aka vitamins, smoothies, and the occasional realignment of his chakra and acupuncture along with his chemotherapy, immunotherapy, and radiation. Now, if mom had the slightest cold, Dad made her the herbal tea his doctor used.

“I’m sure Dr. Long could fit you in for some acupuncture. Couldn’t hurt to try a different avenue of therapy.” He had a point. I’d done everything else, including sitting in a whirlpool for thirty minutes five times a week and aquatic therapy three times a week to help build up the resistance in the joint.

“I’m home now,” I said, watching the game. “Why not. Give him a call.” The worst that could happen was I’d still be in the same position I’d been in since I left Nashville.

In annoying pain.

Which could last for months, according to Dr. Jay.

“Here you go, sweetheart,” my mom said, placing the steaming mug of hot chocolate with giant marshmallows floating on the surface, in my hand. Damn it, she knew just how to hit me in the feels. She placed three pain relievers in my empty palm as well then patted my shoulder. “Takes down the swelling. Bet you need it.”

“Thanks, Mom,” I murmured, before shot-gunning the meds with the hot chocolate. Warmth spread from my mouth to mystomach as the sugar and chocolate snapped across my taste buds. In an instant I was eight again. Only instead of consoling me after a loss, my mom was helping me after knee surgery and becoming a minor league coach.

“That’s what mothers are for,” she said, her features beaming with pride. “We know all the tricks in the book.”

Yeah, she did.

She went back to whatever she’d been doing before I arrived while dad and I watched the game. Sir Duke Ellington, my parent’s Golden Retriever, laid curled up in front of the gas fireplace snoring away like he had a rough job. TheThunderbirdswere up by two in the second period. Howie had taken my spot on the right, next to Krüger, our goalie, and Riser took the left side. All three were sure footed and blended well together on the ice.

I could admit I was somewhat jealous.

Also wished I was out on the ice, rather than sitting on my ass.

Chapter 3

Thierry

After my faux pas with Pope, and he’d stopped playing, I strived to find what I had with my best friend again, with someone else. There was nothing like the feeling of being so in-sync with someone that blocking shots and protecting the goalie was effortless. There were days I doubted I’d ever find that genuine connection again.

“I don’t like him–the new kid,” Dad grumbled as I placed my mug on the waiting coaster on the side table. “Too much showmanship, not enough grit.”

I smirked, crossing my arms. “Next thing you’ll say is that they don’t make players like they used to.”

“Well, they don’t. I’ve watched all of them: Gordie Howe, Bob Suter, Mario Lemieux, Wayne Gretzky, Patrick Roy...” He motioned to the television, “These guys, they’re all about social media videos and trick shots. Not playing the game.” He then looked me in the eye. “You have that spark, son. You’re going to be in the Hall of Fame one day. Being a coach is just another stepping stone to greatness.”

The confidence my parents had in me was the boost I needed to get my ass back on the ice. I’d been throwing myself a pityparty since the injury, and I needed a swift kick in my ass. “Thanks, Dad.”

“Now,” he said, putting his tablet aside. “What do you know about your new team?”

That’s the million-dollar question. I hadn’t even researched the organization or their stats. I wanted to go into the venture blind. All I knew about theMountaineerswas their place on the leaderboard. They ended the previous season in fourth place in the Western Conference. Not bad. But not great either.Ifthey wanted to vie for a championship this year they had to do better.

Bebetter.

“I’m going in with a clean slate. I don’t want to taint my opinion of the team or the players,” I said, proud of myself for staying neutral. “Watching them on the ice will give me a better perspective for what they need to work on and how I can help them.”

“They’ve already sized you up,” he muttered. “Probably think you’re going to be a weak link because to them you’re still a player, not a coach.”

“Or,” I countered, “they’ll see me as the person who can carry them to a championship.”

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