Chapter 41
forty-one
. . .
Mason
“Jake and Craig, swap out for Dylan and Tristan. Adam, run the same drill again,” I yell across the ice. My eyes are glued on the puck as I watch it go from Tristan, to Dylan, back to Tristan, and finally over to Adam. He goes for the shot — a one-timer that has the puck flying into the top right corner of the net. Beautiful. The two freshmen have certainly managed to improve their game ever since I gave them their shot against UCONN a few months ago.
“Good. Now run the next play. Adam, start behind the net. Pass to Tristan and then to Dylan. Dylan, take your shot whenever you see an opening. Keep running the drill until that puck hits the net. Ollie—” I call out to our goalie who looks right at me. “Don’t go easy on them,” I warn.
Jake, standing next to me, smirks as our goalie stops Dylan’s first shot attempt with ease. “Damn Coach, taking it out on the freshmen I see.”
“Every player has to be ready if we want to go to the Frozen Four this year.”
“We will be. Adam and I have been watching tapes every night for the past two weeks. UCONN has only gotten better since we last played them. But so have we. No other team has worked harder than we have this season. It’s going to pay off. It has to, right?” Jake looks hopeful.
I don’t have the heart to tell him sometimes hard work doesn’t pay off. “It will. If Dylan manages to get his slap shot in order.” My voice reverberates across the arena.
“Loosen up on your grip a bit, Dyl. Don’t be afraid to let your stick do most of the work.” Jake advises his teammate, catching me by surprise. A few seconds later, I watch as Dylan gets one past our goalie, a small celebration breaking out on the ice.
“Damn that was nice boys.” Jake cheers, tapping his stick on the boards in encouragement.
“Not upset it’s not you out there?” I ask, raising my eyebrow. Jake from a few months ago would have been foaming at the mouth to upstage his teammates.
“Every player has to be ready. And every player deserves their moment.” He shrugs, amending the words I had spoken earlier.
“I like this side of you, Keeley. I’m sure the boys appreciate it too.”
“Yeah, yeah. Don’t get too emotional on me Coach. I can always go back to being a menace.” He winks before skating back on the ice to give Dylan some more pointers.
I let out a laugh that doesn’t quite match the way I feel inside. Any day now Coach Jameson will tell me whether I made the cut as assistant coach or if I should start dusting off my LinkedIn profile. While I feel more comfortable coaching now, I still have moments where I feel like I’m pretending to be a coach. I go through the motions: contribute my opinions during staff meetings, shout plays from the sidelines, and give heartfelt pep talks during games. From the outside, I appear to be a seamless fit. But on the inside, I’m scared shitless.
Coaching had started off as a job that I needed to pay my bills post retirement, but it’s quickly turned into something I love. Something that’s made me feel things I haven’t felt since I was in the NHL. And with that love came this overwhelming sense of fear. Fear that one of my calls will cost us the game. That my line changes will ruin the rest of our season. That I will let my players down. Fear that I would have another thing that I love taken from me again. I’d like to believe that my fear hasn’t impacted some of my recent decisions, but I knew that was wishful thinking.
Two weeks ago Coach offered to let me serve as Head Coach for the Hockey East Championship tournament. I told him I would think about it. From the disappointment on his face, I knew he was hoping I would immediately jump at the opportunity, but I couldn’t silence the thoughts in my head about whether I was ready. Whether I could lead this team on my own. Winning the Hockey East Championships was crucial as it would secure our spot in the Frozen Four. It felt too important to use the tournament as a test of whether I was cut out for the job. Really, I was doing the responsible thing by letting Coach Jameson continue his lead. Or at least that’s what I kept telling myself. If I felt the weight of the world on my shoulders when I was a captain at Westchester, as their coach it felt like I was carrying the whole universe.
“Mason.”
I startle at the sound of Coach Jameson’s voice. “Yes, Coach?”
“Send the boys to the locker room and meet me in my office.” His voice gives no indication of whether I’m receiving good or bad news.
“Let’s pack it in, gentleman.” I wave everyone toward the benches and highlight the strengths and weaknesses of our practice today before sending everyone home.
I walk into Coach’s office and take a seat across from him. For five minutes he shuffles around the paperwork on his desk before making eye contact with me. He hadn’t explicitly said anything, but I had a feeling in my gut this wasn’t good.
“I’m afraid I have some bad news, son.”
“You’re retiring?” I joke, trying to lighten the mood.
“I spoke with Don Neeley last week. He heads the athletics department and manages the budget.”
“I’m sure that was a riveting meeting.”
“They’re trying to hire a new football coach to revamp the team, which means our budget is taking a hit.” Coach shakes his head.
“I see.” My chest feels both deflated and tight at the same time.
“But Don said he could probably figure something out if we wanted to hire someone else.”
My chest reinflates. “That’s good.”
He pinches the bridge of his nose. “I told him we wouldn’t need the extra money.”
“Oh.” My mouth goes dry, and I feel my heart sink to my stomach. He doesn’t need the extra money because he won’t be extending my contract. Fuck. Coach Jameson was one of the last people who still believed in me after I got injured. One of the last people to give me another chance. And I blew it. “Can I ask why?”
“You tried very hard Mason. I could see that.” His words are meant to comfort me, but they fall flat.
Coach hesitates like he doesn’t want to hurt me.
“Go ahead and say it, Coach. I can handle it.”
“You have an eye for the game, there’s no denying it. I’m just not sure if I can trust your judgment as a coach. You’ve had a few good suggestions, ones that have helped make a difference, but every time I give you the opportunity to take the lead and really be a coach you deflect the responsibility back to me. You rely on me too much to make decisions, and I need a partner who is independent. I already know that I can do this job, but the question is can you ?”
Honestly, I wasn’t sure. I wanted to believe that I could be just as good of a coach as I was a player, but everything he said was true. I don’t even think I can look him in the eye. I thought I felt passionate about coaching, like it had replaced the emptiness my retirement left me with, but maybe I was just lying to myself. Maybe I didn’t want it bad enough and that’s what Coach was seeing. Or maybe it was all the moments I second guessed myself. Despite all my accomplishments with this team I haven’t been able to silence the voice in the back of my head that said, ‘Who are you trying to fool into thinking you could be a coach? Everyone knows you’re a fraud. Nothing but a washed-up ex-hockey player.’
I had thought I’d been able to keep my insecurities hidden. Had hoped Coach didn’t catch all the moments where my hands started to shake after I called out a play, terrified that my decision was wrong. All the moments I held back from speaking my mind because I didn’t want to mess things up. But he had. Coach caught all my moments of self-doubt. And it made him realize I wasn’t cut out for this job.
I look down at my hands. ”I’m sorry, Coach.”
“I know you are, Mason.”
“I should probably get going.” My whole body feels numb as I stand up and head toward the door.
“Your contract doesn’t expire until the end of the season. I better see your ass at practice next week.”
“You got it.” I give him a small nod before leaving his office. I bolt straight to my car, needing to put as much distance between myself and this arena as possible. The drive home gives me time to replay Coach Jameson’s words in my head.
When I arrive home, I dial a number I haven’t used in years.