Page 17 of Lucky Laces
It was a total dick move, I know, making her stay late because I didn’t want to face this shit.
Didn’t want to deal with what I knew was coming to me.
A lecture.
Which doesn’t sound bad—I get that—especially when it’s given in her lilting voice I can’t help but get lost in the melody of.
But it’s fucking terrible because it’s also the beginning of the end.
Coach’s patience is up, I still can’t get it together, and…
Better to sit here smelling clean and fresh and not in sweaty ass gear while I face the beginning of my inevitable end.
Dramatic?Yes.
Deserved?Of course.
I just…
Fuck, if I’m not trying.
Fuck, ifnothingI’m doing is making one bit of difference.
“…and I really need you to take some time to focus on this new system,” she’s saying, gesturing at her iPad, the screen a mess of Xs, Os, and arrows that swirl, impossible for me to process.
Fuck.
Why can’t they just make sense?
Why can’t I get my shit together and just do my fucking job?
“I know it’s new and it’s tough to make these changes,” she goes on, voice firm but it’s nowhere near the screaming the guys and I endured with the last coaching staff.
That’s not Coach Dee’s style.Nope, she’ll lead by example, with encouragement.Not ignoring the problems or failing to address them—hence my ass currently sitting here listening to this lecture—just doing it in a way that means she’s not spending her spare time at work screaming at us.
It’d be easier if she was a bitch about it, easier if she was shouting or off-base or if her coaching was shit.
Instead, she’s really quite brilliant.Intuitive, yet not over-planned.Plenty of room for creativity but with a backbone of structure that means we have things to fall back on when shit goes wrong.
She’s even folded in some of Cam’s plays, something that went a long way toward building trust and camaraderie, and also something our old Coach wouldn’t ever have dreamed of doing.
If I could just get it all to stick in my damned head.
“…but focusing and getting this down will make it much easier for us to mobilize your speed and strength and get you on the ice more.”She tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear and leans back against the edge of her desk.
Fuck, she’s beautiful.
In sweats and an Eagles tee.
Sneakers on her feet and her hair mostly corralled into a ponytail.
Except for that one strand that keeps escaping, keeps slipping forward to dance across her cheek.
She pauses, raking that piece back again.
And I realize I’m staring.
That I’m so caught up in the beauty of her, I haven’t processed she’s expecting an answer.
