Page 81 of Second Chance with the Single Dad Goalie
Yes, he knows…
A groan rips out of me. "Oh, for God’s sake, can we just…"
"Team huddle!" Thomas cuts me off, clapping his hands. "Bring it in, boys!"
"What? No…"
Too late. They swarm, dragging me to the center of the rink. Thomas spreads his arms like some motivational speaker, the rest forming a circle around me.
Oh God, please…, no…!
Thomas starts singing the high school musical song “Get your head in the game…,” and then spreads his arms dramatically.
“You gotta, you gotta, get your head in the game…”
“You gotta get your, get your, get your, get your head in the game,” the guys alljoin in, clapping.
My jaw drops. “No. No, you guys are not…”
“…, gotta get your head in the game!” They chant, voices echoing off the walls.
I groan, dragging a hand down my embarrassed face. This can’t be real life. “Are you five?”
Thomas points at me. “Your line, Blake!”
I turn to Liam, desperate. “You’re seriously part of this?”
He shrugs, deadpan. “We’re a motivating and uplifting team.” Then he smirks. “Plus..., this is hilarious.”
They’re all staring at me now. Expectant. Ridiculous grins everywhere. I open my mouth, about to just say it to shut them up…
“All right…! Enough of the Disney musical!" Coach’s voice cuts through the rink. “Get off the ice -all of you!Blake - office. Now.”
A chorus of oohs follows me as I skate off.
“Saved by the bell,” Mario calls.
“Shut up, Mario!”
I pull off my gloves and push into the Coach's office, chest still tight. He’s hunched over some papers, pen scratching away. He doesn't even look up.
“Close the door.”
I do. The click echoes in the small room. I stand there, shifting on my feet, helmet tucked under my arm.
Silence. Just the scribble of his pen.
Then - without glancing up - he goes, “just talk to her.”
I freeze. My stomach flips. “I..., what?”
Coach sighs, sets the pen down, and leans back in his chair. Finally, look at me. “Boy, I’ve been doing this longer than you’ve been alive. I know a distracted player when I see one, - and I sure know when it’s about a girl.”
My face burns. “It’s... I.., there’s nothing to…”
“Cut the crap.” His voice is firm but not harsh. “Whatever happened? Sort it out. Fast. Playoffs are next week, and I need this version of you,” -he points at me, - “gone.”
I swallow hard. “Yeah. Okay.”
