Chapter 7 Bill
seven
Bill
Snow blows vertically into the rink, like its mission is to bury us all.
It’s not that light and fluffy snow either.
This stuff is hardened into ice pebbles that pelt the side of my face.
With my hood cinched up tight, I huddle on the outside of the rink and wait for tryouts to start.
My honest assessment: it doesn’t look good.
My boots are so snow crusted I can’t even tell what color they are.
I mean, they’re black, but I can only say that because I saw the color when I put them on. Now, they are completely white.
Coach Carlson tugs on his scarf, pulling it tighter around his face as he yells over the wind. “This is miserable. Do you want to call it?”
Glancing across the rink, I see a full sheet of the best guys fighting for a spot on my team.
Most of them are from out of town, flying in from every state from Maine to California.
I know for a fact some of these guys could easily have full-ride college deals, but they are risking it for a chance to be here.
Rubbing my hands together, it only takes a minute before I give up and reach in my pockets for my gloves.
This is no joke, but I shake my head. “We can’t quit.
Most of these guys spent hours traveling, so we’re giving them a tryout. ”
Carlson shrugs as his gaze shifts back to the ice. “Your call.”
I step closer with my clipboard tucked under my arm. The guys are unstoppable, pushing hard despite the blizzard. I like that. It shows their work ethic.
I start jotting notes.
#9—Keeps head up, Tracks puck.
#65—Battles hard. Doesn’t back down.
Then I hear it, even though the wind is howling.
Some cocky kid chirps. I fix my gaze on him.
#20. “Might as well send him home now,” I mumble as I scratch his number off the list. I don’t care how good he is.
Mouthy guys poison the locker room. I’ve seen it.
I’m not doing that. If he’s mouthy when he’s not even on the team, I can’t imagine how much his head will inflate once he gets picked.
The wind kicks up, sending the snow pebbles pinging into the side of my face even harder, and I cringe.
This is brutal. Within seconds, visibility drops to about ten feet in front of me, and I can’t see the center of the rink.
On cue, Carlson retrieves his phone, checking the weather app.
He turns to me with even more seriousness this time.
“The wind chill reading has dropped. They’re shutting roads.
The county will have a travel ban by nightfall. ”
Having just begun, I don’t want to hear it. There are so many skills I need to see from these guys. This is arguably the most important day for my team. If I don’t get the lineup perfect, nothing else matters. I could reschedule but that sounds like a logistical nightmare.
I stare at the guys skating in disordered circles, refusing to quit.
That’s when it happens: two guys collide at full speed right in front of me and land smack on their backs.
I can’t say I blame them because I can barely see either.
I hold my breath for a moment as they scramble back up.
They seem to be okay for now. I hate to admit it, but it’s not worth hurting the guys.
I’m going to need them. “Never mind,” I grumble to Carlson as I drop my clipboard to my side in frustration.
The paper’s soaked, and the ink all bleeds together.
It’s pointless. “I’m over this. Get them off the ice before someone gets hurt. ”
He blows the whistle and steps onto the ice, yelling, “All right, boys! Off the ice! That’s not a request!”
They start funneling off and huddle around us as they seem confused as to what to do next.
I don’t know what to do with them.
I wait till they’re gathered by the benches with their helmets off.
All their faces are bright red. Then I say with heavy disappointment in my voice, “Due to the weather, we’re ending tryouts.
I can’t think straight right now to make final decisions.
We’ll be reviewing the notes we have over the next few days, and you’ll each get a call one way or the other.
” I step back, but I wobble from the force of the wind.
The storm's not letting up, and I can feel the cold working its roots into my bones. Some of the guys’ families step forward to collect each other, and they linger near the edge of the rink shivering.
A voice cuts through the air, “Hey, it looks like they just shut down the interstate. If anyone’s stuck or needs to wait out the storm somewhere before you can travel, my diner is just up the road, next to that truck stop off the interstate. I’ll have hot chocolate and coffee on the house.”
I turn toward the voice, but I already know it’s Ruth.
She’s wrapped in a giant fleece blanket that I don’t doubt covers a full-sized coat.
Her regular white beanie is encapsulated with snow, but her eyes are bright.
I don’t know what it is about her. If I were her, I’d go home.
Instead, she volunteers her place to host my guys.
It’s like she’s immune to chaos, and I can’t help but smirk.
She catches me staring, smiles my way, and calls right at me, “You’re welcome to come too, if you aren’t busy.”
I blink. I wasn’t expecting that. People don’t usually invite the boss to hang out. My cheeks heat as I ponder how sweet that is of her. “I, uh.” I look at Carlson. We’ve got more than enough work to do, since we must plan an entire roster from only the notes we already have.
Carlson smirks and claps me on the back. “Screw it. We’ll go over the roster later. Cocoa sounds like team building to me.”
I chuckle, shaking my head. “Yeah. Team building.”
We follow the crowd toward the street, Ruth leading the pack as she gives several people instructions on how to get to her place.
The snow keeps hammering the side of my face, and I won’t argue a warm beverage sounds amazing.
We do our best to brush the snow from our coats and stomp slush off our boots before we enter Ruth’s Diner.
By the time I get there, players and parents cram into booths, and they sip out of mismatched steaming mugs.
It’s loud, as everyone seems to have something to say all at once.
The blizzard is still hammering Mapleton on the outside, but here, it’s cozy.
I slide onto the same counter stool I sat on the other day. I like it here, where I get a view of the entire place. Coach Carlson grabs the stool next to me. It’s only a second later, and Ruth pops up on the other side of the counter with a full smile on her face. “Coffee, cocoa, or tea?”
“Cocoa,” we say at the same time. She disappears into the kitchen and reappears with two blue mugs, setting them in front of us.
The only word that slips out of her mouth is, “Enjoy,” but the smile on her lips pins my gaze to her as she floats back around the counter with the coffeepot, refilling mugs as she passes through the long narrow aisle.
“Uh, oh,” Carlson mutters as he peers over the rim of his mug. “I think she uses real cream.”
“Are you allergic?” I half-smile, because I’m only half-listening. I’m too busy watching Ruth buzz around, talking to everyone like they are all her best friends.
“No, not allergic. More like obsessed.” He chuckles as he takes a sip and exhales slowly when he lowers the mug back to the counter. “I have a new addiction.”
I recognize Noah behind the counter. He’s still wearing his practice jersey, but I can’t help but notice how he pitches in, helping his mom by grabbing the plates out of the window like he’s done this a few times. It’s sort of nice to see a young kid working so hard.
Then I hear it behind me:
“Did you see that wrister I put top shelf?” a loud voice booms from across the room, clearly bragging, which I hate. Maybe he didn’t realize I’m sitting within earshot, but he needs to learn to shut his mouth if he’s going to be on my team. I can’t stand cocky guys.
Another kid chimes in, “I deked two guys on that last drill. They went flying in the other direction.”
Laughter erupts, and I toss a glance over my shoulder to the round table in the corner. I like confidence, but in my opinion their confidence is a little too loud. I make a mental note. #5, #41, #88. Cocky with egos.
Maybe they’re good.
Shoot, they might even be great.
I’m not building a calendar of pretty boys. I want to fill my locker room with guys who have the maturity to know when to shut their traps.
Almost instantly, my eyes drift back to Noah serving cocoa. That’s the kid who was fast but struggles with his stick-handling. He’s sure quiet, and a tad small. He did wipe out, but he got right back up. The best thing is, he keeps his mouth shut and gets to work.
A little girl at the booth directly across from me erupts in a wailing cry like she’s hurt. She’s probably a sibling to one of these guys. Noah’s behind the counter again, and his gaze skips right over me to the kid’s mom. “Is she okay?”
“She’s fine”—the mom sighs—“just crabby. It’s been a long week for her. We couldn’t get flights, so we drove from Texas in two days.”
One corner of Noah’s lips curls up into a thoughtful smile before he disappears back into the kitchen again.
I sip out of my cup, noting this is the best hot cocoa I’ve ever had.
Agreeing with Carlson, it’s because it’s made with real cream.
Noah reappears with a fleece blanket draped over one arm, and he walks it over to the little girl, handing it to the mom.
“Here, I totally know how she feels, so much so that I leave this blanket in the office for when I need a nap,” he says, not even waiting for a thank you before heading back behind the counter.
I watch with wide eyes as the mom wraps the child in the blanket, and she snuggles into her mom. The child is instantly soothed.
Something about it hits me right in the chest. It wasn’t about the blanket at all.
Kindness when no one asked for it.
That’s something you don’t see very often with these young kids.
Carlson leans over, nudging me with his elbow. “Something wrong? You’re staring at that kid.”
“He’s a good kid,” I murmur.
Ruth appears by my side with her coffeepot. “Everything okay here?”
“Everything is fine. Thank you.” I smirk. “I’m enjoying seeing what the guys are like when they don’t think anyone is paying attention.”
She parks her free hand on her hip and arches a brow toward the table in the back with the bragging guys. “Yeah, isn’t that scary sometimes?”
I laugh at that. She’s in a good mood with a full smile on her face, making her easy to talk to. “You seem to be handling the storm and the chaos well though,” I say, leaning back.
“It’s been one of the best days ever.” She blows out an even breath. “Some people just see the storm, but I got to see my son try out for his dream team. It’s a crazy surreal feeling, and I guess I owe it all to you. Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me,” I reply. “I’m not giving you anything. I’m doing a job. You’re the one who should be thanked, because you opened your restaurant to a whole team of frozen guys with no place to go.”
“No need to thank me.” Her eyes linger on mine a beat too long. “They looked like they needed it after standing outside.”
Before I can reply, someone calls her from the kitchen. She’s off again, moving with that same bright energy.
“Well,” I say to Carlson as I finish my cocoa.
“I need to take off. I’ll be calling you after I have time to review these notes.
Let’s get this roster set by tomorrow.” He nods while sipping from his mug.
I slide my wallet out and remove a few hundred dollar bills.
When she’s not looking, I slip the bills on the cash register where she won’t see them until later.
There’s no way she should be expected to absorb the cost for all these players.
Then I sling my coat over my shoulder, not bothering to put it on since I parked right out front, and left my SUV running to keep it warm.
I leave without saying goodbye to anyone.
There’s so much on my mind, I struggle to keep all the guys straight in my head.
As the cold air slaps me back into focus, one thought hits me a little louder than the others.
I want Noah on my team.
He’s quiet and still a little raw, but his work ethic is there. He’s also full of something this sport doesn’t always value enough: heart. I mean, what teenager would care to bring a toddler a blanket?
As I pull out of the parking lot, I know I have my first pick.