Page 33 of The Trade Deadline
The younger coach took over, explaining the drills they hoped to do. The kids were Mites, no older than eight, and were mostly working on their skating with the puck.
“And they’d probably love to see you two shoot,” the coach added with a wink. “I bet I could find some of the older goalies who’d love a chance to stop an NHL player.”
“I don’t know if I could take it if they shut me out,” Lars joked.
“I can tell you nothing will delight them more than to stop even one,” he said. “C’mon, let’s see who we can find.”
While they looked for a goalie, Ryan caught up with the other coaches. He asked about their tournament schedule, about the returning kids from last season, and whether they needed any gear or funds he could help them with. Last year he’d managed to get the Blue Crabs to sponsor the teams’ jerseys, and hopefully he could convince Monroe to do something similar this year.
By the time they’d hashed everything out, warm-ups were almost over. They got on the ice in time to see the kids trailing behind Lars like ducklings.
“Let’s play follow the leader!” he called. “I’ll go first. Follow Uncle Lasse, okay?”
He picked up speed and went around the circles, the kids happily trailing behind. When he pivoted and switched to skating backwards, half the kids fell over. Lars weaved through the coaches, losing more kids as they crashed into each other, laughing in delight. After a few minutes, the coaches whistled for the practice to officially start.
As usual, Ryan was another set of hands to help the kids. Lars ended up more as a cheerleader, encouraging kids whether their shots went in or not. During a water break, Lars found his way over to Ryan.
“This is fun,” he said with a wide grin. His cheeks were rosy and his loose hair fell across his face. “Thanks for inviting me.”
“Any time. Though I have to ask…Lassie?” Ryan asked, unable to hold back a smirk. “Like the dog?”
Lars quirked his head in a not-undog-like tilt. “What dog?”
“Lassie. Always saving Timmy from a well or bears or whatever. I dunno, I never watched the show.”
“Show?”
“Yeah.”
“About a dog named Lasse?”
“Yeah.”
Lars frowned then shrugged. “It’s what everyone in Sweden calls me. Family and friends.”
There was a moment, brief and electric, where Ryan thought there was an invitation in Lars’s explanation. It was almost on the tip of his tongue to ask ifhecould call him that, but he chickened out. Then the kids were clamoring for their attention, and the moment had passed.
“Shootout! Shootout! Shootout!” they chanted with a wild look in their eyes that gave him seriousLord of the Fliesvibes.
They ended up breaking the group into two teams, Ryan and Lars each taking a group to work with them on their shooting skills in preparation for a competition at the end of practice. Ryan showed his group a few of his preferred shootout moves and had them practice, while it seemed Lars was more concerned with showing his group his favorite post-goal celebrations. The Mites didn’t have any goalies at practice that day, and the promised teenagers arrived. They were good sports, letting most of the younger kids score on them much to their excitement.
“Time for Coach RJ and Coach Lars to show us what they got!” one of the coaches said, earning delighted squeals from the kids and a lot of phones coming out from the parents.
“So…” Lars whispered at center ice. “Are we taking it easy on them or playing for real?”
Ryan watched the goalies, who were grim faced and determined. “Hard at first, then adjust. Make it look good, though.”
“I always do,” Lars said with a wink.
They didn’t actually need to be concerned: the goalies rocked it. Even when they were trying, they each only made two of their six attempts. The kids whooped loudly for every save as much as every goal, and Ryan was grinning ear to ear through the obligatory photo shoot at the end.
“How often do you do this?” Lars asked after they were finally rescued to the safety of the coaches’ office.
“Maybe once a month if we’re in town. Why, you coming back?”
“I might…” A lazy smile washed over his face. “If the beer is good.”
Ryan hoped he wasn’t blushing. “You really not going to let that go?”
