Page 6 of Slapshot
The locker room is still loud, and no one is paying us any mind, but I glance around before answering. “He’s switching me and Roddy.”
The implication of that hits him immediately and he grimaces. “Shit, Lex, I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine. It’s fine,” I mumble, mostly trying to convince myself. “I’m playing like shit. I’m lucky he hasn’t taken me out altogether.”
“You’re not playing like shit,” he starts, but I level him with a look that calls bull. “Okay, you’re struggling a bit. You have to find your place on the team, get a groove playing with the guys instead of doing it all. You came from a team where you were the hotshot and you needed to do it all. Now you’re on a team with some of the best college hockey players in the country and you just need to be part of a bigger puzzle. You’ll get there. You’ll find your place.”
Hopefully that place isn’t on the fourth line. Maybe I’m expecting too much as a freshman.
I couldn’t be the star player here even if I wanted to. Some of these guys are just straight better than I am. Paxton Graham, for starters. He’s already been drafted to play professionally. The guy is a total powerhouse on our first line. Patrick may be the one people talk about when they mention the Graham twins, but Paxton has this quiet presence that I find really admirable. Plus, he has a wicked slapshot.
I don’t expect to be the team’s star player, but I want to contribute. I want to feel like I’m adding value. I’ve got my eye on that second line and I know I’m capable of getting there.
“Maybe I should skip the Biscuit, stay and work some drills.” I bet I could text Pax and he’d come back to help me. Work harder. It’s a motto that’s served me well. In hockey and in life.
“There’s more to life than hockey.” Tate stands. “Come on, first round is on me.”
3
Kaitlyn
“How’s your father?” Coach Keller grins from behind his desk and laces his fingers at his waist. I should have expected this, but it still stings.
I get this a lot. People give me their full attention, but only because they’re interested in knowing what the great Declan Dalager is up to.
Running a freshly manicured finger along the rim of the coffee lid, I force a smile. I probably should have dumped the coffee before my meeting with Holly or before coming straight here afterward, but if it’s the last one I’m going to have for a while, I’m going to enjoy every last drop.
“Great. He’s really good.”
“I haven’t seen him since they inducted him into the school’s Hall of Fame. Guess that was almost ten years ago. Now that you’re here, I bet we’ll see a lot more of him.”
I wouldn’t count on it.
Still smiling, I nod. “So, the job…”
“Right, right.” He sits forward. “Well, our last equipment manager dropped out of school and left a heap of dirty laundry for me to deal with. The freshmen have been rotating turns and you can guess how much they enjoy that.” He chuckles. “It’s not all laundry, as I’m sure you know. Sharpening skates, prepping practices and games, making repairs to gear when needed. Coach Garfunkle does the ordering but taking inventory and letting him know when we’re running low is also something that our past EMs have done.”
“Sounds easy enough.”
“Well, some of the guys are pretty particular about their gear, but I’m sure you understand that. Your dad re-taped his stick before every period without fail.” He grins like we’re sharing some inside joke.
I was five when my dad retired from the NHL. I’ve seen video, of course, and heard countless stories, but details like that—are little gems. I’d love to ask him to tell me more about my dad’s pregame routines, but I don’t want to let on like I didn’t already know either.
My dad stopped sharing those types of tidbits when I quit hockey at thirteen and told him I never wanted to step foot on the ice again. I guess you could say he’s been eternally disappointed in me since then.
“Well, I would love to be considered for the job. I emailed over my resume. I know that I don’t have experience, but I am a quick learner.”
“It’s yours if you want it.” He waves a hand.
“Really?” And here I was prepared to list all the reasons that I’d be a great employee. Okay, fine, there’s only one reason—I’m desperate.
He grins at my surprise. “You’re probably the most qualified person we’ve ever had apply. Nearly all of our equipment is Dalager.”
Right. Of course. Except the last time I was in the Dalager Sports office for something other than trying to get five minutes of face time with my dad was… so long I don’t even remember.
“Great.” My palms start to sweat at the realization I’m actually going through with this. It was one thing to make the appointment and show up, but am I really going to sign up for a semester of washing laundry and being the fetch girl for a team full of cocky and annoying hockey players?
“I’ll have Coach Garfunkle show you around this afternoon and then tomorrow we’ll need you here early to prep for our game. We’ve got two tough teams this weekend. It’s a great time to jump right in.”
