Chapter 4 – Cooper
Chapter Four
Cooper
T he universe has it out for me. No, I’m not being dramatic; it’s the truth. I resigned myself to staying away from the beauty, I mean Ramona, for my time here in town. Of course, I ran into her at hockey practice tonight, meaning she has a son on my team. But at least she doesn’t have a ring on her finger because that would’ve been a disaster.
When Alise texted me she had a surprise for me at practice tonight, the last thing I expected was Ramona. I didn’t even know she existed before our chance meeting on the road this afternoon. It seems Alise has been holding out on me. No. No. I will not go down this road. Flirting is fun. It’s nice and harmless. Anything else with Ramona could be a disaster.
Coach James blows the whistle twice and calls for the boys to head into the huddle. “Coach Hendrix, are you good with being my guinea pig?”
“Depends on what you want me to do,” I say with a fake smile plastered on my face.
Coach James used to kill us at the end of practice. No, I’m not exaggerating. Sprints are the bane of any athlete’s existence. After a grueling practice, the last thing you want to do is speed drills, but they’re his favorite. I specifically came toward the end of practice, hoping he’d be a little nicer to the kids, but my plan backfired. He’s just as evil as he was back then.
“On the line, Hendrix.”
I don’t say a word as he brings the whistle to his mouth. I know what’s coming, and there’s no way I can tell him no, especially not in front of all these kids. Once I get to the line, I bend down to get into the push-up position. My knee protests slightly, but it’s nothing I can’t handle. I’ve been running similar sprints since Murphy cleared me to get back on the ice a few weeks ago. Bending my arms at a ninety-degree angle to ensure I get the best start possible, I nod at Coach to let him know I’m ready.
“I always end my practices with sprints. No goofing around or I’ll make you do more. Understand?” All the boys nod their heads in unison, eyes focused on me. “Usually, we run these up and back, but Coach Hendrix and his knee need the break. He’s only going to demonstrate to center ice before coming back.”
I grit my teeth, wanting to tell him that my knees are fine, but I don’t. I don’t want to appear disrespectful. It’s true my knees aren’t at a hundred percent, but I can still do sprints. I need to make sure that I get through these shorter sprints as quickly as possible. Coach James and my head coach on the Timberwolves are buddies. The last thing I need is him reporting back that there was something off about my skating today or any other time during my time here.
“Don’t give me that look, Hendrix. I know you can do it, but I don’t need Miller riding my ass for you re-injuring your knee.”
“I don’t have nearly enough layers to be laying on the ice for this long, so let’s get a move on,” I respond, causing him to chuckle. “Same routine as high school?”
“Yup. Do each one on a continuous loop to save some time, but turn around at center ice. Keep a good pace coming back. No need to go all out this time.” He winks at me before blowing the whistle loudly.
I shoot up off the ice and sprint toward the center line, stopping exactly on center ice before turning around and skating backward toward the goal. The minute I cross the goal line, I stop, spring forward on a full sprint back toward the center line, hockey stop, and then sprint back. I stop on the goal line and wait. Usually, we do some partner-assisted resistance sprints, but since it’s just me, I have no way of doing them.
My knee is screaming in pain as I wait to see if Coach James needs me to show them how to do something else, but I don’t dare show it. I haven’t put it through the paces like that in a while, usually only going about half the speed when I’m on the ice. But after Coach’s comment earlier, I needed to prove to him I could do it. I needed to prove to myself that I could do it, too. The only bad part is I’m going to be paying for it for the next few days. Hopefully, the trainer is still around, and I can grab some ice. If this bad boy swells, I won’t be able to move.
“How did I do, Coach?”
“It was adequate.” He smiles as I make my way slowly back toward the group. If he notices anything weird about my movements, he doesn’t say a word. “Since Hendrix is all alone, he did these sprints on a continuous cycle, but I’m feeling generous today and will let you have a break between each set. All of you will move as a team. Start together and end together. Understand?” He pauses and waits for the boys before continuing. “Line up. Three on each side of the goal. Make sure there’s an even number in each line.”
Coach blows the whistle loudly, and the boys spring into action, each one rushing to get into six even lines and wait for their next instructions. “First in line, get into the push-up position and wait for my whistle. The moment they start, next in line, get down. Everyone ready?”
“Yes, Coach,” the boys say in unison, eagerly waiting for the whistle.
His eyes remain focused on them as he asks, “How many do you think will move before the whistle?”
“These are a good bunch of kids; I have a feeling they’re going to surprise you,” I respond with confidence.
I was expecting there to be a distinct difference between these two age groups. Something like the Mighty Ducks and the Hawks in those movies from when I was a kid, but I was surprised. Sure, the kids need some work, but both teams are solid. I’ll be able to get a better assessment of my team when we practice on our own, but I hope we can have a decent season.
We continue staring at the kids, waiting for someone to fidget, but no one moves. “Well, that’s disappointing. I really wanted to make you do extra sprints!” Coach James shouts before blowing the whistle.
The first group of boys takes off, keeping pace with each other as much as possible, afraid of what Coach might do if they don’t. This is the worst part of sprinting as a team. There are just some players that are naturally quicker than the others, it’s inevitable, but what Coach is trying to do is push those slower players harder. If one of their teammates is too far ahead of them, that means a break in the line, which means more sprints for all of them. No one wants to be the reason the entire team must run more sprints.
Coach James continues blowing his whistle to let each group know they are set to start as the pain in my knee gets progressively worse. The dull ache has slowly turned into a sharp, constant throbbing that is almost impossible for me to ignore. I just need something else to focus on, anything to keep my mind off the pain. Just until the end of practice so I can at least sit down. Parents wouldn’t look down on me for taking a seat during the meeting, right?
My eyes instantly start scanning the stands, looking for Alise and my beauty. My beauty ? What the actual fuck am I thinking? Beauty—no, Ramona, is not only a distraction I do not need right now, but she’s completely off-limits. If she’s here, she’s probably one of the boys’ moms, but which team? It would be a goddamn disaster for me to have a fling with a player’s mom. Not only would it look bad on the club, but there’s nothing on God’s green earth that could stop my mother from getting wind of it. And once she gets wind of it, she’d start bugging me about bringing them over for dinner to meet her while she picks out wedding colors.
Okay, that last one is an exaggeration, but nothing good could come of it. She lives here in Redwood Falls, and my life is in Portland. Once I get this mess with the team figured out, I’ll be back on the ice and won’t have time for anything or anyone besides hockey. It’s the way it’s always been and the way it will always be until I’m six feet under.
Coach James blows his whistle in two short bursts, and the team stops immediately, each one of them turning their attention toward us. “Hit the locker room. My team has practice on Monday, Wednesday and Friday every week. Coach Hendrix will talk with your parents about the schedule during tonight's meeting.”
Fuck. I had planned on going over the information Scott left in the office for me during practice, but I was too busy showing off to even crack it open. I really hope there is something in there about open rink time and practice schedule or I’m fucked. The head coach for a couple of hours and I’m already screwing things up big time.
“No need to panic, Hendrix. Right now, you’re scheduled to practice at the same time as my team, but ?make any changes you like. Last year’s coach and I split the rink for most of the practices. We also let the boys play a friendly game during the season to keep them on their toes.”
“I wasn’t panicking,” I grumble as every muscle in my body relaxes. Coach James has a way of sensing what’s wrong with his players. I’m not much different from the cocky kid I was in high school. The teenage boy who was sure he knew everything about everything, but really didn’t know a damn thing. Man, that’s a hit to the ego if I ever had one.
“Sure, you weren’t.” He chuckles, slapping me on the shoulder. “If I didn’t think you’d make a great coach for these boys, I never would’ve recommended you for the position.”
“You did?”
Well, this is a new development. Scott made it sound like this was all his idea. The perfect way to put more butts in the seats for games and bring more money in for the club. The fact Coach James believes I’d be a good influence on these kids… I’m not sure how to feel about that honestly. One thing I know is the pressure to make this the best season yet is even worse. The future of my career probably hinges on how this season goes, but the weight of not disappointing one of my biggest heroes… Nothing I can’t handle, right?
“Scott wanted you to be my assistant coach, but these boys deserve someone who has played the game. Not some single dad who is only here to snag a date with one of the single moms.”
“Yeah. Shame on them,” I chuckle nervously, rubbing my hand across the back of my neck. “Thanks for believing in me, Coach. I’m excited to get to know these kids better. Hopefully, I can make a difference.”
The moment that words leave my mouth, I know I mean them. Yes, I would much rather be on the ice with my brother and teammates in Portland this season, but I’ve been given the opportunity to do something amazing with the kids. Helping the next generation of hockey players find their places on the ice, helping them to become the best possible players they can be. Will they all become professional hockey players? Maybe. Maybe not. Either way, I have the honor of helping them get there, wherever there might be.
“Don’t you think it’s about time you call me by my first name?” Coach’s voice brings me back to the present.
“I’d say the same about you.”
There’s no way in hell I’ll ever call Coach by his first name. Never. Not in a million years. Partially because Momma put the fear of God into me about respecting my elders and specifically instructing me to never call an “adult” by their first name, but Coach James is different. He was the one person I could confide in, who understood exactly what was going on with me during my freshman year in high school. He got me in a way my friends, brothers, and even my mom never could. I have a level of respect for Coach James that, to this day, I’ve never had for another human being besides... well, who that person is isn’t important.
“You’ll always be Hendrix to me, son. I’ve watched you grow into the man you are today. A man I know your father would be proud of.”
There it goes. The ache that has sat in the center of my chest since that night a little over fifteen years ago. The night that changed my life for good. The night I refuse to speak about, ever. The night I caused my dad’s death.