Page 11 of Heart Taker

Ten minutes was a long fucking time in a hockey game.

In a final? With a one-one tie? Every minute felt like forever.

I wasn’t surprised by Kallinger’s comeback goal. Even though I was pissed at the result of that play, it was hard to find fault. Silas had done, well, pretty much what I’d have done in his position. I’d been on the other side of the ice as a d-man myself, and I understood the pressures that came along with it.

Silas was talented, but I still questioned if he was right for this team and the next level of play. For college hockey, he was good. For the pros? After two semesters of coaching him, I still didn’t have a definitive answer. Good wasn’t enough. And if he wanted to go all the way, only great got you there. Silas had a keen sense of awareness when it came to protecting his zone; he was aggressive, sometimes too much, and played hard. But something was missing. As to what that was, it was difficult for me to pinpoint. I didn’t want to tell him “Sorry, you’re too old” because I wasn’t sure his age was the problem. No doubt taking a year off didn’t help. But he’d stayed in peak physical shape, and his skating form over the last two semesters had improved exponentially.

It had taken him a long time to mesh with his teammates though. I saw the change recently, and had high hopes that I’d see him break out. That’s why I’d given him extra practice time. Him and Finn. I wanted to see them both return at their best for their final year, but I had tough choices to make. New guys came in every fall, and competition at this level was fierce. My job was to take the best of the best and make them even better.

I got the sense that Silas was fighting something hard. Exhaustion no doubt. Silas had family obligations, and more responsibilities than any usual twenty-two-year-old would ever dream of. I respected that, but I also knew his mind was probably not always focused on the game. When I was his age, I’d been drafted to play for Chicago and with a contract in place and my ego pumped up, I was a cocky, wild brat. I lived like I played: full-on, full force, no thinking about tomorrow. Responsibility? The only one I had was to my team, and to winning. And to my then-girlfriend, who became my wife a year later, and my ex two years after that.

My focus was always hockey, first and foremost. From the time I was seven, that was it. I was Canadian by birth, born and raised in Belleville, Ontario, by a widowed dad. Hockey was a way of life, my family’s obsession, and then, mine. My father coached, and my siblings played too. I had an older brother, Trent, who now worked as a physiotherapist in the league, and a younger sister Olivia, who, like me, coached university hockey. Except, she was off coaching in Switzerland and probably doing a better job. Then again, here I was at the national finals, so it was tough for me to find fault with that.

I didn’t have reason to feel less than anyone else. Coaching hadn’t been my end game. I anticipated playing hockey into my thirties and after that? Well, I never thought that far ahead.

Not until that fateful day that changed everything.

I didn’t live my life on brash impulse anymore. I planned and plotted. Everything was done with precision, direction, and control. I’d reached the highest highs and lowest lows as a player, and I had no desire for a repeat as a coach. When I hit rock bottom, I decided rollercoasters weren’t for me. I’d stay on steady, firm ground from here on out.

A loud whistle suddenly pierced the air, and I shook off my musings and focused on the game in front of me. I glanced at the clock and called for a time out.

We needed a goal, and we needed it now.

“Rowland, Lund, you’ve broken college records this semester. Now’s not the time to stop.”

A familiar refrain of “Yes, Coach” rang out.

I gave another round of encouraging instructions to the rest of the guys and paced the bench before the play was about to resume. Scanning the ice, I noticed Jace and Axel with their heads together, sharing words. Thankfully, they were both smiling and not arguing like they used to. There was still plenty of bickering between the boyfriends, but it was teasing rather than hostile. Like our goalie, Maddox, and our d-man, Kayden.

Given the way players were matching up on my team, it felt like I was a dating coach, not a hockey one. Not that they needed any advice in that area from me of all people. I sucked at marriage and relationships in general.

How could I give anything to anyone when hockey was my everything?

The crack of the puck hitting the ice snapped everyone into action, me included.

Eight nail-biting minutes passed.

Ethan and Colin were on fire today, but even their best moves were challenged. Sneaking past Strong, Ethan’s shot got blocked by Gerard. Kallinger’s goalie was consistently cool under pressure, but I expected nothing less.

The minutes ticked by, but no one came closing to scoring again, on either side.

Kayden made an aggressive play and nearly came to blows with two of Kallinger’s forwards. Thankfully, Dane and Silas intervened, and the situation settled.

Then I glanced at the clock.

Two minutes remaining.

With no goal on either side, I made a line change.

Jace faced off against Gross. Kallinger’s forward was fast, but no match for our center, who took control of the puck and blasted down the ice like the rocket he was. Jace was hitting his stride in this game, with his lethal combination of skating speed and skillful stickwork. Axel and Dane were aggressive, pushing hard, not letting anyone get the drop on them. Silas and Kayden too, taking hits and distracting the opposition so our guys could take the lead.

Axel deke’d around Kallinger’s defense and nearly got a stick in his face from Koskiken. The ref didn’t call a penalty, and I screamed my head off in response. Fuck, that could’ve been a bad outcome for Axel. I hated nasty behavior like that. But I also knew what it meant: desperate teams got sloppy and resorted to cheap tactics.

And then, as fast as I was angry, I was shouting for another reason.

Jace suddenly got boxed in, but he managed to sneak the puck to Axel, who took it down and dropped it, right between Gerard’s legs.

The buzzer sounded off, the music blasted, and everyone from Sutton went crazy, me included. Axel’s teammates crowded around him, offering hugs and smiles.

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