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)
It’s a struggle not to laugh at such a silly moment of pride but I concentrate on how her enthusiasm overrides everything. Brittany and I are flummoxed as to where this interest in ice hockey comes from, but we’re rolling with it. “I saw, sweetie. You’re getting better every day.”
A commotion to the right catches my attention and I see King walking through the building. His tall frame is easily recognizable, even in a crowd. He carries a duffel bag over one shoulder and wears a friendly, confident smile that unfortunately encourages people to approach him. He willingly stops to sign autographs and pose for pictures, but I note that his mesmerizing eyes scan the area as if he’s looking… for me.
Those warm golden globes find their presumed target and he waves a hand in greeting just before sidling up next to a woman and a man for a selfie. I smile and wave back.
“Coach Willa.” I turn to find Max, an adorable six-year-old with curly brown hair and two dimples that had to be inherited from a parent, although I haven’t matched him up to an adult yet. That’s something I suppose we need to do and perhaps a social get-together is the way to do it. But that’s something I’m going to make Brittany handle because she promised to help and so far, she’s just interested in flirting.
“What’s up, Max?” I ask, leaning my forearms on the rink’s edge.
“My skate feels funny.”
“Okay, come on down to the gate.” I walk the length of the boards, Max following along unsteadily, his left hand on the rail to guide him. I haven’t put on my skates yet as I didn’t know what type of practice King had planned.
I’m wearing a good pair of tennis shoes—what I wore to the clinic today—and so I step carefully onto the slick ice. I squat so as not to get my pants wet and manage to tighten his laces. “Feel better?”
He nods and asks, “Can you do the other one?”
“Next time you put your skates on, buddy, you need to learn to tighten them from the bottom up.” I crane my neck to see King standing there by the gate. “Let me show you.”
King steps out onto the ice, carefully moving to the little boy, and he squats beside me. Max pivots slightly and almost loses his balance but King’s big hands grab his ankles to steady him. “You good?”
The little boy nods with a grin.
“This is how you do it.” King says, and then I watch as he instructs Max how to pull the dual laces tight, starting at the toe and working upward. “It takes a while, but it’s important that your skates fit well, or else your skating won’t be as solid. All good now.”
Max starts to turn away and I tap him on the leg. “Wait a minute. What do you say?”
“Thank you?” He asks it like a question, face screwed up in thought.
“Thank you, Coach King,” I say with a smile. “He’s going to help coach our team this year.”
“Thank you, Coach King,” Max says and then skates off, and noticeably, he looks a little steadier.
King and I rise together but whereas he’s suave and as at home on the ice as he is on the ground, I don’t get out to skate much these days. My foot slips out from under me, but King is quick on the draw, taking my upper arm and steadying me. My hand flails but lands on his abdomen until I feel my body regain balance.
“Sorry,” I say, instantly pulling my hand back and grabbing the rail. “Not used to walking on ice in shoes.”
“Maybe wear your skates to practice,” he suggests, taking my elbow and helping me through the gates. “I heard that guy last weekend refer to you as a figure skater.”
“Hack figure skater is what he said,” I say with a laugh once I’m on firm ground and have my complete balance. “And I brought them… I just wasn’t sure if I should wear them or coach from the sidelines with the expert here.”
Grinning, King leans on the rail. “Were you a hack figure skater?”
“I don’t think so. I tried out for the Olympics when I was sixteen but didn’t make it.”
His eyes flare with surprise and admiration. “Total hack.”
Laughing, I shake my head. “I’m proud of my accomplishments. Not that it’s an excuse, but I was recovering from an injury when the tryouts were held and I just didn’t have it. Still, it was an honor to be invited.”
“I’ll say.” He offers a low whistle of appreciation. “That’s incredible.”
The compliment flusters me because it’s been a long time since someone paid me a genuine one. I glance out at the ice, do a quick count and note that all our players are here. “Ready to get these kids learning?”