The Puck Drop by Jaqueline Snowe

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Michael

I wanted to kiss her. It was simple. Easy math. The way her tits pressed against the tight shirt in that small bathroom, shit, I wanted to yank her against me. Even the anxiety about talking to Coach after the game wasn’t enough to pull me from my attraction to Naomi. She sat next to me now, the third period starting, and my skin felt too small for my body.

“Helsing is having an off night,” I said, unsure if I needed to distract myself or Naomi. “He’s not making clean passes, and he’s unfocused.”

“Oh, I couldn’t tell.” She jotted something on her clipboard and furrowed her eyebrows. The gesture made my lips twitch because she had so many facial expressions. It was hard to keep up with them all, but I liked studying her.

Whenever she watched the game, her eyes narrowed and she leaned forward, like sitting closer would make it easier to study. I bet she sat like that in classes too.

“This might shock you, but I don’t watch a lot of hockey. I know the rules and understand the game, sure. I couldn’t tell you if a player was having an off night though.” She tapped her pen on the metal part of the board and frowned at me. “That’s bad, huh?”

“Bad? No.”

Me thinking about her mouth and what’s under her jersey is bad. I picked a nonexistent piece of lint of my jeans. “I’m surprised you’re agreeing to do this as your project. Don’t get me wrong, I love hanging out with you. But with the stuff with your sister and dad, it seems like the sport leaves a gross taste in your mouth.”

Yes, distract yourself with her problems. Way to go, man.

I shook my head, hoping to clear my thoughts.

She stilled, and my stomach tightened with regret. I was being a jerk because I couldn’t get my attraction to chill out. “Don’t answer that,” I said, too quickly. “If you don’t want to.”

“No, you’re right. My roommates would appreciate you calling me on my shit,” she said, a hint of a smile on her face. “Also, way to ask about the situation with Cami in a very smooth manner.”

“I did ask earlier but then there was a beer fiasco, a shopping trip, and the game.” I waved my hand in the air and cheered when Erikson scored. I stood up with my fist in the air, the only person to do in our section of the bleachers. I spun around, cheering louder, and smiled at the pointed glares from the home fans.

Tie game.

“I haven’t talked to her yet,” she said, her voice small and lacking what I now referred to as the Naomi energy. N-energy, if you will. Her posture went slack, and she scrunched her nose. “Tell me I’m being a chicken.”

“I’d flap my arms and bock like a chicken if I thought it’d be helpful, but it’s not.” The same surge of protectiveness I got around her the last time had me leaning back and putting my arm on the back of her chair. I wasn’t touching her per se, but it felt right. Like what a good friend would do to support. “Being afraid to have a hard conversation with someone you love isn’t being a chicken.”

The opposing team amped up their offense and were playing hard. Our goalie was on guard, and it felt like ten years before we cleared the puck. No one was stepping up on the ice. Not even Cal. I never thought I’d be able to watch a game and have a conversation with someone since hockey seemed to push everything else out of my mind.

It was nice being able to do both.

Naomi brought her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, holding the clipboard with her fingers and letting it dangle in front of her. “She’s my sister, so obviously I love her. I just… don’t like her. This makes me sound bitter, so please don’t judge me.”

“Hey, this is a judgement free zone.” I put a hand on her shoulder for one second and squeezed. She let out a little moan, and I had to let go because I started thinking about that damn sound and how sexy it was.

“She has it all, okay? The looks, the dance team, the guys. During the divorce, she and our dad had all these rituals and their things together, and while I understood we all dealt with it differently, I just,” she paused, and a little red colored her cheeks. “She has no reason to intentionally hurt me, but she does over and over and then expects me to want to see her? It’s bullshit. And my dad will say things like, if you could find time in your schedule to see your sister, she’s on the dance team and is way busier.”

“Ah,” I said, hating how my chest tightened at her confession. A flash of annoyance at her dad—my temporary boss—had me clenching a fist against my leg. While her specific situation didn’t apply to me, the feeling of abandonment was familiar. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” she said, her N-energy back in full force. “I know I need to talk to her, but it’s hard.”

“For sure it is.”

We got possession back, fucking finally. Cal had the puck, and Erikson was wide open on the left. Defenders came at Cal, forcing him to pass, but he didn’t. He maneuvered around them, took a shot, and missed. Erikson’s face was hidden by the helmet, but I could feel the annoyance radiating off him.

He shook his head and skated hard at Cal, swinging his arm up to point at his chest. Oh, words were exchanged. Cal shouted back. I couldn’t even fathom what I’d do if a freshmen punk yelled at a captain on the ice. Hot damn.

“This isn’t good, nope,” I said, putting my hand on her shoulder again. “I swear I’m listening and we’re going to analyze this sister thing to death, but this is bad.”

“We don’t have to analyze it, Michael,” she said, a little pouty edge to her voice. I moved my hand from her shoulder to her knee, my motives not really clear. To reassure her? To touch her? I patted her a few times and lingered too long before I let go.

She remained silent.

Coach barked orders to the guys on the ice, and when Cal and Erikson skated toward the bench, Coach pointed at Cal’s chest. If I had to guess, Cal was getting an ass ripping. Guys like him always wanted to be a hero.

I swore Cal looked up and met my gaze with a hint of red evil in his eyes. Okay, not like a real cartoon character, but a little bit. I waved back and winked. If the punk was going to blame me for his shitty attitude, this was going to be fun as hell.

The smug feeling left when Coach followed Cal’s stare. He flexed the muscles in his jaw and glared at me for two seconds before going back to the game. My stomach sank, and worry ate me inside out. I’d disappointed adults before. I was a wild teenager who was popular and played hockey. I’d been an idiot, but letting Coach down wasn’t something I wanted to do.

Especially since I was in a weird transition phase of not quite knowing what my life looked like after school. It was always hockey, then taking care of Ryann, and school. Ryann was on her own, I didn’t play hockey anymore, and it was my final year of school.

My neck burned as my mind went to the worst-case scenario. Maybe I’d be dismissed. Which, I wasn’t sure that could happen because the contract we signed explained what grounds for dismissal were, and it wasn’t over calling out bad behavior.

Okay, so if I wasn’t let go, I could’ve broken his trust. I did overstep. I ran a palm over my face, and a small, delicate hand touched my forearm.

“Hey,” she said, pulling me from the mental gymnastics routine where I tried to reassure myself I wasn’t fired.

“Hm?”

“It’ll be fine.”

“You don’t know that.” My knee bounced again. The final minute played out, and we won by one goal. It was a sloppy win, but I’d take that over a tie any day. Naomi wrote some stuff on her paper, and I stood, ready to face whatever came my way.

That was one lesson my parents taught me before they left this earth. Being a man was about owning up to your mistakes, not just celebrating the wins.

My entire body buzzed with dread, like I knew I was about to fail a test but went to class anyway because I had to. Everyone loaded the equipment on the bus, and Naomi leaned against the window. I had two options. Wait for him to talk to me or approach him first.

He laughed at something the assistant coach said as he walked up the bus stairs, but his smile faded as he looked at me.

I cleared my throat and stood. “Coach, could we have a word?”

“Sure thing.” He scooted over in the seat, his face neutral. No frowning, no pinch of annoyance between his eyes.

“Congrats on the win,” I said, wiping my sweaty palms on my thighs. “Sloppy, but a win is a win.”

“We were sloppy.”

“Look, I want to apologize for overstepping before the game. I understand how sacred it is between teammates in the locker room. Now, I won’t apologize for calling out bad behavior, but I’m working here under your advisement, and I was out of line.”

Coach stared at me with the same unreadable expression. Not a hint of a smile, nor a frown. He blinked, ran a hand over his face, and nodded. “Lesson for you, kid. What would you do to shift the culture right now? We won, but half the guys are still pissed.”

“Mandatory team get together. Clean up trash on a road or volunteer at a school. Retirement home. I’ve found that if you can count on a teammate in a situation that has nothing to do with hockey, you trust them more on the ice.” I smiled at a memory from years ago where we spent an entire day reading to preschoolers.

I had marker written on every part of my shirt, but I’d chatted with a senior that day while I was a freshman, and our friendship started because of the volunteer time. “Forgive my question, Coach, but why are your captains letting Cal act like that?”

“That’s one of six reasons I don’t sleep at night.”

“The other five?”

“Each daughter, the ending of Lost from a decade ago, my goddamn back, and my endless to-do list.”             

“Oh yeah, those are solid reasons.”

Coach smiled for a second before lowering his voice. “I’ve dealt with guys who think they’re hot shit. I know the drill. Cal is no different than Frankie G who played one year then went to the Coyotes. I’ve been doing this a long time, yet Cal... he plays at another level. He could be one of the greats.”

“Yeah, true, he’s good.” The same, nauseous feeling returned at disagreeing with him. “But I’d take six average players who played as a unit over Cal any day.”

“Okay, go on.” He leaned against the window and crossed his arms, studying me with narrowed eyes. “Tell me why.”

“Because...hockey isn’t an individual sport. It’s not like baseball or football where you have your pitcher or quarterback who can make or break a game. Like, they win as a team and lose as a team, but everyone knows if a pitcher has an off day, that contributes to a loss. With hockey, it’s not one person. Every part of the game relies on another teammate. If the goalie misses a block, where were the defenders? They’re a unit. A brotherhood. And one person thinking they’re too good for the team? That’s a cancer.”

“I think you found your coaching philosophy,” he said, smiling wide and putting a hand on my shoulder.

“Never thought about it like that,” I said, feeling my face burn hot at the way he looked at me. Like he was proud of me. Like what I said was right. Does Naomi ever feel this way with him?

“It’s a good outlook to have. Finding your philosophy is hard, and it can take you a while to figure out, but yours is solid. That takes character, Reiner. Your parents would be proud.”

Sucker punch to the gut. A ton of different emotions hit from both sides.  “I hope so,” my voice cracked, and I cleared my throat. “If you want me to apologize to the captains, I will.”

His brows disappeared into his hairline. “Not Cal?”

“No. I would’ve said the same thing to anyone I saw behaving that way. Like a piece of shit. So, no, I’m not apologizing to him.”

“I had a feeling about you.” He laughed to himself, and I wanted in on the joke. “It’s your call if you want to, but I don’t care either way.”

“Why not?”

“Because my philosophy is about cultivating leaders. Being good men on and off the ice. You need to do what feels right to you, but tell me you didn’t notice how Erikson and Helsing played differently tonight. They’re rattled. They know there’s an issue on the team, but they don’t know how to fix it yet.”

“So, you let them figure it out. What about play-offs? The record?”

“We’re winning, Reiner. It’s messy, and yeah, I’m anxious as fuck, but watching those guys learn how to lead a team is how I manage any sleep at all.”

I nodded, letting his words settle over me. I pushed myself up from the seat. “Thank you, Coach.”

“Tomorrow, nine am. Meet me and Hank at the diner to talk post-game.”

“And the stats from Naomi?”

He blinked, his gaze moving to the back of the seat, and for a moment, he looked sad. “Get the report and give me your thoughts.”

“You sure you don’t want her to join? She might have some good insight.”

“Sure, yeah.” He pressed his lips together tight and nodded. “Yeah, have her come along too.”

“I think that’s a great idea, Coach.” I grinned, waiting for him to nod before going back to my seat. Naomi had headphones in and her eyes closed, looking peaceful and cute all at once.

She bobbed her head back and forth, and her lips moved, like she was singing the lyrics to whatever song she had playing. Around her, my soul relaxed. I wasn’t worried about life and what was next. I could just be.

“Hey,” I said, pulling out an earphone and putting it in my ear. The string was short, so I moved my head closer to her, so close her breath hit my face. “Ah, punk music. My favorite high school genre.”

“Shut up,” she said, yanking the earbud back. “How’d it go?”

“You didn’t listen?”

“No, it was private. I didn’t think it’d be cool of me to eavesdrop on you,” she said, her voice small. “It went well? You’re smiling.”

“It did, and guess what?”

She narrowed her eyes, her expression looking so much like her dad’s it was a harsh reminder that any lusty thoughts of mine should be chucked out the bus window. “Hm?”

“You’re joining us tomorrow at the diner for our post-game chat. Bring those data sets, you cute little nerd. You’re officially invited to the jock table.”