The Puck Drop by Jaqueline Snowe

CHAPTER FIVE

Michael

Sitting outside the bench was weird. I’d been to one Central game since moving here a year ago, and I couldn’t say I enjoyed it. I’d watch them on TV, but being this close to the ice and not playing felt like watching an ex fall in love with someone else and flaunt it.

My friends from back home, Patrick and Paxton, were in the NHL. My sister’s boyfriend was about to play his senior year while I sat here, not even with the team, next to the coach’s daughter—a woman who had walls higher than my sister’s boyfriend.

Feeling sorry for myself again, hm? As I watched the team come back out for the second period, a deep longing had me in a funk. It happened from time to time. Grief did that to you. Ryann talked everything out and had Jonah to help her through those moments where she felt lost, just a vessel without a purpose. I used to have hockey. My chest tightened.

God, I missed my dad. Four years wasn’t that long ago, and the urge to call him never went away. Advice on school, life, girls. He had all the answers. My mom would roll her eyes and poke fun at what he said, but his words always helped me.

Figure out what you want and go for it. Make a plan to get there. That’s what he told me when I was eighteen and going to Moo U. I wanted to play hockey. That was it. That was my goal.

Once that chapter had ended, I needed to get the hell away from the memories. I achieved that. So, now...what was my goal?

“Oh, wow.”

Naomi’s eyes were wide, and she stared at the ice with her mouth slack. The chick had a cool-ass dad and was acting like she’d never been to a hockey game before. I deserved an award for not throwing her major shade. “You’ve seen a hockey game, right?”

“Of course,” she said, giving me a side glance. “But it’s been awhile.”

“Define awhile.”

“Years.”

“Why? Your dad is the coach,” I said, a little tense. Maybe I was feeling angry because I didn’t have my dad and she did. “I bet you could go to every game forever.”

“I could,” she said, her teeth grazing her very full bottom lip. “But I don’t.”

“Why?”

Erikson passed to Helsing, the puck went back to Erikson, and then he took a shot and—missed. Cal was right there, looking furious, and anger coursed through me. We had a lot of shots on the goal without making a single one. We had more possession without a lead.

I leaned forward onto my knees and mumbled to myself, “They need to get rid of Cal.”

“The best player on the team?” Naomi said, her voice going all high. “Aren’t there like articles all around about his greatness?”

“Probably. I don’t pay attention to shit like that. It’s poison and just gets in your head.  You should focus on yourself, your team, and the game.” My knee bounced at Cal’s pouting.

There would always be prima donnas in every sport. Despite the there’s no I in team slogan, there would forever be an element of personal stats to contend with. However, the NHL scouts and teammates knew showboats. Cal had one season as a freshman to turn his shit attitude around or he wouldn’t see playing time in the big league. I knew a part of me was bitter because I wasn’t good enough to go pro. I could have all the tools when it came to character, but Cal had natural talent I never did.

To see him waste it on a shit attitude was absolute bullshit.

“You were a captain?” she asked, her voice smaller than before. I glanced at her for a moment. She wasn’t watching the game. Naomi studied me with her large brown eyes fringed by long dark lashes. She had beautiful eyes, and they pulled me in like a damn magnetic field. Curiosity swirled behind the shades of golden brown, and my shoulders relaxed.

“Alt-captain.” I leaned back into the seat and watched as Coach pointed at some of the guys on the bench and barked at them. They nodded and got ready to go in. Peters, Hansen, and Pollock were all second string, but we could afford to shake up our offense since we weren’t scoring.

“You miss it.”

“Playing was like breathing, and now I’m figuring out how to breathe again without it,” I said, my muscles tightening at how much I shared with her. What the fuck? I just blurted those thoughts out to her? I normally kept my cards close, but damn… something about her made it just come out.

My ears burned, and I cleared my throat, but Naomi let out a little hum of understanding. The small sigh hit me right in the chest, and our gazes met.

She pushed her hair behind her ears and took a deep breath. “My parents divorced because my dad was too focused on his job, and I always felt… hockey was the reason our family broke up, so it’s never been appealing to me.”

“Fletcher is your mom’s last name,” I said, this little piece of information helping put together more of the Naomi puzzle in my mind. That made sense. Focusing on her and not my internal battle was way easier. “Okay, so answer this. If you hate hockey, why are you doing this project that requires you to attend games?”

“The same reason you’re interning here, I guess,” she said, her voice small and her attention moving toward the game. “To figure out what’s next. To figure out how to breathe without hating my dad.”

There was too much pressure in my chest, and I ran a hand over my heart, digging my nails in like that would relieve the tension. Two things struck me. The first—I was right about Naomi and I being similar. Our stories were different, but our wounds were fresh. The second observation was that every interaction I’d witnessed between her and her dad had felt awkward, but I couldn’t place why. Now I knew.

“Also, hey,” she said, her cheeks tingeing pink. She twisted her hands in her lap. “I was okay with you sitting with me. Earlier. When I said you didn’t have to—I just...it’s easier to push people away, you know?”             

Boy did I ever. I smiled and fought the urge to put my arm around her in a hug. It wouldn’t have meant a thing because I loved hugging people, but I didn’t want to go too far with her. Instead, I clapped my hands. “Fletcher,” I said, making my voice go a little softer.

“Hm?”

“We’re more similar than you think.”

She met my gaze, and I held it a beat, wanting her to understand that I could be her friend. The blush spread from her face to her neck, and she let out a little laugh. “We’ll see.”

Oh, I liked that challenge. I sat up a little straighter and found myself watching her more and more throughout the rest of the game. She took notes and scrunched her nose when she erased something. A few freckles on her neck peeked out every time she leaned forward.

The stupidest, briefest vision of dragging my tongue along those freckles had me adjusting my spot in the seat. I could think a friend was attractive and not imagine how good they would look naked. It had been done before.

It was easier to focus on her than the raging emotions about not playing. Hearing the skates on the ice, the sound when the stick hit the puck, the chatter between the guys where nothing else mattered but the team. That was my family. My home.

My phone buzzed in my pocket.

Ryann: Hey, I know tonight will be tough for you, but I’m proud of you.             

Ryann: Jonah said, and I quote, ‘he’d make a good coach,’ which let’s be honest, that’s like a five star review from him.

Thank god for my sister. Her endless support meant the world, and I took a quick selfie to send back to her.

“If you’re sexting, that was a horrible photo.”

“Naomi,” I said, letting out a loud cackle. “Please tell me you’ve never sexted if that’s what your impression is. God, I can’t even with you.”

She let out a little giggle, and I liked how it sounded. Soft, gentle, cute. She didn’t ask, but for some reason, I felt compelled to tell her about Ryann. “It’s my sister, Ryann. She knew tonight would be hard for me.”

“Does she live far?”

“Yeah. Back east. Thousands of miles away but we talk a lot. It was part of our deal when I came to grad school here.” I smiled at the memory of the sit-down I’d made my sister have, where we wrote out our expectations. She wanted independence and to not have a hovering older brother, but I felt protective of her beyond just a brother. It was hard to explain, but her happiness and success was mine too, maybe it because it was just us in the world. Not talking to her wasn’t a reality I could imagine. “She’s my best friend.”

“That’s wonderful, Michael,” she said, her voice soft. It was the first time she used my first name.

I liked how it sounded from her lips, more than I should’ve.

We didn’t chat about anything serious for the rest of the second period and intermission. She excused herself, leaving me alone for a while. It made no sense, but I missed having her around. There was a comfort I’d found with her in a short span of time that I just recently reached with Freddie after living with him for a year.

With her gone though, I focused on the game for the final period and caught myself going through what I would’ve done if I were on the ice. Hanson needed to settle down. He was too fidgety and wasn’t thinking before passing, like he forgot every drill he’d ever done.

Could be first game nerves, but it seemed like more.

Our goalie, Tyler Roland, had been having a hell of a game but was getting tired. He needed more drills to build stamina. To keep his movements sharp. I’d wager the other team would score by the end of the period based on how our defense was slowing down.

Fucking Cal though. The all-star wasn’t engaging with the team. He was there, going through the motions, but it was clear his heart wasn’t in the game. He was a stats chaser, wanting the most shots on goal. It wasn’t unheard of to have a cocky eighteen-year-old, but someone had to deflate his ego a bit. And not the Coach.

The best discipline a player could have on a team was to instill a sense of pride and family for the leadership on the ice. They could police the team so the coach could worry about coach stuff—plays, stats, winning.  Helsing was doing his job as alt-captain, but Erikson had to step up.

I wasn’t sure if Coach Simpson was going to ask for my insights from the game, but I got out my phone and started typing all my ideas. What I would do at practice the next day. The specific workouts certain players needed.

As I did all this, my mind raced with ideas. It was an explosion of thoughts and plans and underneath it all, excitement. That small flame of excitement felt foreign in my body after a year of moping without direction, and fuck, I wanted it to last.

“Why the maniacal smile?” Naomi asked, sitting back down as her lemon scent surrounded me. Her lips quirked up on one side, and damn, I liked how her eyes softened when she grinned.

“I’ve never thought of myself as a coach before, but jotting down notes has been weirdly fulfilling.”

“Is it common for hockey players to become coaches?”

“Can be, yeah. But it wasn’t a path I really thought about. I always wanted to be on the ice, not two feet away from it.” I cleared my throat. I wasn’t sad about it anymore and had accepted the reality, but a part of me always wondered if I went to the gym more, drank more milk, and had done just a little bit extra as a kid if it would’ve made a difference. “I wasn’t talented enough to go pro. I was decent, but I was more of a team player. I made others look better, and that was okay with me. I loved being that person.”

“I can see how you bring out the best in others. You have this quality to you that is… enigmatic.”

I raised my eyebrows as she blinked a few times, clearly embarrassed. Her words charmed me, and I gently nudged her arm with mine. “How thoughtful of you.”

“Shut up.” She crossed her arms, and I had a huge grin on my face the rest of the period. We won by one goal after the guys ran a play that put the puck in Erikson’s hands. He had such excellent stick control that he maneuvered around their defense for a shot with less than three minutes left.

That play gave the rest of the team the momentum needed to finish the game strong. That was the thing about sports. It took one moment to change everything. To shift the tide, the attitude, the tiredness. My body came to life at hearing the cheers and how the guys on the bench jumped and pumped their fists. The team was good at winning together.

Would they be the same with losing?

“Wow, that was a fun game,” Naomi said. Both of us stood and got ready to head to the bus area. It wasn’t clear how much we were supposed to be in the locker room or not, and I wouldn’t intrude without Coach telling me to get in there. The team moments were sacred, and I was an outsider.

What if I don’t want to be an outsider though? I briefly thought about what it’d be like to coach a team one day, but the vision didn’t take root. Not fully. I ran a hand over my face to regain my thoughts.

“Yeah, it was a great game. Lots to work on next week but a solid start. You get all your stats for your spreadsheet shit?”

“Don’t knock the spreadsheet shit, okay? Data is very sexy.”

“So is knowing the people on your team.”

“You think stats are dumb,” she said, taking a step back from me like I told her the earth was flat.

I held up a hand and lowered my voice. “No, I don’t. I think they’re a portion of the story. You need multiple data points to get a clear read on an athlete.”

“I’ve been reading all about the NHL and how they use data for trades. You’re saying it’s not helpful?” She arched a brow and crossed her arms over her chest.

“Not at all. I’m saying, Fletcher, that sometimes the numbers don’t tell the whole story. Look at Cal.” I made my eyes go wide. “Great stats. Can skate faster than anyone on the team, right? On paper, he’s the best. But do you see how the guys don’t include him in a cheer? I bet if he scores a goal, no one will go up and jump on him. It’ll be a lone celebration. He’s not a good teammate. Nathan though? The quiet defender who stays in his lane? Great teammate. Average stats. I’d take a million Nathans over Cals if I were building a team. Show me the numbers to tell that story.”

My breathing came out heavier than normal, and I realized how passionate I was about that. About stats. Maybe it was because of my personal journey, how my numbers were always meh but I had a coach who believed in what I brought to the team. I helped us win, but no data sheet would’ve told you that. I paused and ran a hand through my hair, leveling my gaze with Naomi. “Sorry to go off on a mini-rant there. I have feelings about this.”

“Clearly.” She grinned, lines appearing around her eyes and her lips curving up. “I can’t wait to prove you wrong.”

“Oh, a challenge, you say? You’re going to show me data that accurately tells the whole story?”

“Yes, yes, I am.” She took a step closer to me, and I looked down at her. She was a good ten inches shorter than me, and I wanted so badly to tip her chin up so I could see her full face.

It seemed that my new friend might be a bit competitive. “Bring it on then, Klutzy.”

She licked her bottom lip, and a wave of lust coursed through me. Whoa. I took a step back and welcomed the cool air of the rink. That was weird. One flash of her tongue and my body got all tight? No. No thank you. Coach’s daughter. Coach’s daughter who hated hockey and her dad. A major no-no. I held out my hand and waited. She placed her palm against mine, and I ignored the zing that shot up my arm.

It was just a soft hand that felt nice. Nothing more.

She puffed out her chest and spoke in the strongest tone I’d heard from her yet. “You’re on, Michael Reiner. I’m gonna knock you on your ass, hockey boy.”

This was going to be fun.