Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 83355 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83355 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
The man glares at me but turns on his heel, settling down next to a woman I assume is his wife. She looks absolutely mortified.
My heart is beating a little fast, but all in all, that wasn’t so bad. I turn back to the action on the ice, trying to yell out what encouragement I can to the players.
Great hustle out there.
Way to work as a team.
Stay focused and have fun.
You got this.
Not a single piece of technical advice but I’ll learn the game better and be ready for the next practice. I also take mental notes of some things the other coach is calling out.
Keep your stick on the ice and watch the puck!
Remember to look up before you pass and find your teammates!
Stay low in your stance and keep your balance!
Eventually, the game is over and because these are little kids and no one wants them to be discouraged, the score was capped at five for the winning team. We push the sportsmanship by having the teams line up on the ice and shake hands, us coaches at the end of the line.
I’m completely charmed when two twin boys actually reach out to shake my hand. “Good game, Coach.”
Three little words but they sound so mature, I can’t help but do a double take at them.
Freaking adorable.
When the handshakes are done, Izzy skates over to me and we exit the ice.x I walk slowly so as not to slip since I’m not in my skates and she chatters on at a hundred miles an hour. “Was I good, Aunt Willa? Did you notice I didn’t fall down once and I even hit the puck once with my bat?”
“Stick,” I correct her with a laugh.
“Stick,” she affirms. “But some of those kids pushed a little hard.”
I wince because that right there is one of the reasons I was worried about Izzy playing this sport. Boys can be stronger and tougher, and this is a co-ed league.
“We’ll have to figure out a way that if they push, you don’t fall down.”
“I’m not scared of them. I want to push them back so they know I can’t be intubated.”
Laughing, I pat her head. “You mean intimidated.”
“Right,” she says, and as we exit the ice, Brittany is there to pull her into a hug.
My attention is caught as Theo’s father clamps a hand on the boy’s shoulder and starts walking him out of the arena. “Unbelievable! Do you even know how to play hockey? Keep your stick on the ice, for crying out loud!”
I follow along, wanting to talk to him about this behavior. As we’re moving past the opponents’ bleachers, still half filled with Mini Blizzard parents, he yells, “You skated around like you were out for a Sunday stroll! When are you going to learn to look up before you pass? You made us look like a joke out there! I’ve seen better back-checking from a toddler. Get it together or you can forget about coming back to the rink.”
Poor little Theo is crushed by that last statement, a threat that he can’t play unless it’s to perfection.
“Hey… wait a minute,” I call out, reaching to grab Theo’s father’s arm. He turns around to glare at me and I’m painfully aware we’re standing right in front of the opponents’ flock of parents, so I try to keep it civil. “We didn’t get a chance to introduce ourselves properly. I’m Willa Montreaux, the coach, and I didn’t catch your name.”
“Isaac McVey,” he mutters and starts to turn away.
“Mr. McVey,” I say sternly. “If I can have a private word.”
He turns all the way around, his hand still clamped on Theo’s shoulder. “What do you want?”
I glance down at Theo, bending at the waist to smile at him. “You played a great game, kiddo. You’re going to be one of our stronger players and what a good role model you’ll be.”
“Oh, come off it, lady,” Mr. McVey snarls. “He played like shit—”
“Don’t you speak to him that way,” I snap at him. “This is a recreational league for new players and they can’t be held to a very high standard.”
The man leans into my space, his mouth twisted into an ugly sneer. “My kid has been playing pond hockey since he was three. He played like shit and he knows it and no one is going to tell me what I can and can’t say to my kid. Especially not some figure skater hack who’s trying to coach a sport she knows nothing about.”
I want to strangle the man because I never wanted this job to begin with. He had every opportunity to step up to the plate and he didn’t. I know I’m right in that he shouldn’t be talking to the kids this way, just as I know I can’t continue to argue with him. He’s not going to hear a word I say and now I’m dealing with an enraged bull.