Chapter 14Victor
Chapter Fourteen
Victor
I push open the gate to the player's box, the metal clanging shut behind me with a finality that echoes in my chest. The chill from the ice seeps into my bones, and for a second, I'm a statue, feet glued to the ground, heart racing like it's trying to outskate my past. But I can't stand still, and I push past every instinct that screams to bolt from this place that's soaked in memories.
"Move, Victor," I mutter under my breath, willing one foot in front of the other. It's just ice. Just kids. No big deal.
Except it is. I've avoided arenas like this for years—the sharp scent of cold air, the sound of blades carving up the surface, all of it. Now here I am, stepping into a role I never wanted, feeling more out of place than ever .
"Pull it together," I tell myself, eyes scanning over the glossy expanse waiting for the swarm of energy that is elementary school hockey players. I shove my hands into my jacket pockets, pretending I'm not about to have a full-on panic attack at the sight of a puck.
A thunderous eruption of noise signals their arrival, and I lift my gaze as the kids pour onto the rink, a blur of bright jerseys and flashing skates. Their laughter bounces off the walls, and I feel it—a tug at the corner of my mouth that I quickly squash. No room for softness here.
"Hey, over here!" I call out, a bit too loudly, maybe, and I cringe inwardly. They skate over, a disorganized flock, their faces lit with the pure joy of the game. It's infectious, and for a moment, I remember what it felt like to be one of them before life played its rougher games on me.
Their smiles falter as they take me in, their coach's absence hanging between us like a missed shot at goal. I see it in their eyes, the question of who I am to them, why I'm standing here instead of the man they trust. It stirs something in me—no, not now. I can't think about trust, about promises broken like thin ice.
"Where's Coach Marty?" The question is a puck thrown at me, and I feel the team's eyes locking onto mine. I straighten up, trying to seem more confident than I feel.
"Uh, he couldn't make it today," I say, and it sounds lame even to my own ears. "So, I'll be stepping in."
I brace myself for a storm of protest that never comes. Instead, there's a shrug here, an indifferent nod there. It throws me. I'm ready to list credentials I don't have, defend my position like I'm pitching to a boardroom of skeptics. But these kids aren't looking to invest; they just want to play.
"Okay," I start again, finding my footing. "What do we know about the other team?"
A fifth grader, helmet perched atop his head like a crown, pipes up. "They're from a fancy private school. They always win," he says matter-of-factly, no hint of defeat in his voice.
"Today," I tell them, feeling a spark of something warm in my chest, "we're going to do our best to change that. I've got some ideas."
I outline a play I remember from my own days on the ice—simple but effective. They nod, their faces lighting up with understanding and excitement. They're quick to catch on, and I can see them mentally skating through the motions.
"Alright, let's line up and get ready to warm up," I say. "We've got a game to win."
"Let's do this!" one kid pumps his fist in the air as they're about to disperse.
"Wait!" Another voice pierces the growing buzz of anticipation. "Aren't we gonna do a team chant? "
I hesitate, memories flickering. But then I smile, the first real one since I stepped into this arena.
"Alright, team," I say, "Huddle up real close."
Their skates scrape against the ice as they circle around me, their breaths puffing out in white clouds beneath the bright lights of the rink.
"What's the chant?" I ask, looking around.
The kids all shake their heads. "We don't have one," someone admits.
I survey their eager faces, trying to recall the words that once gave me strength. The words tumble out before I can stop them, a relic from a time when I thought hockey would give me a new life. Then they come back to me, all in a rush.
"'Ice in our veins, fire in our hearts, let's play hard and do our part!' Got it?"
"Got it!" they echo, grinning wide.
"Alright, on three. One. Two. Three!"
"Ice in our veins, fire in our hearts, let's play hard and do our part!" Their voices rise in unison, bouncing off the walls and filling the rink with an infectious energy.
"Go get 'em!" I shout, and like a flock of birds taking flight, they skate off to their starting positions, sticks at the ready.
My heart hammers in my chest. It's been years since I've been this close to the ice during a game. As the game starts, visions of my old coach flood my mind. His voice echoes in my head, his stern face softening with pride after a good play. I vaguely wonder where he is after all these years. Is he still alive?
I shake my head and look back out at the ice, focusing on what's in front of me.
"Defense, watch their winger!" I find myself yelling, my voice surprisingly steady. Every pass, every shot, I'm right there with them, living each moment. I bark orders, offer praise, and the kids—they listen. They actually listen.
"Great block, Jason! Keep your stick on the ice, Sophia!"
The periods roll by, and with each one, I feel something inside me shift. A weight lifts, replaced by a lightness I haven't felt in years. Sure, the ache of old losses, the sting of betrayal—they claw at the edges of my mind, but for now, they're just ghosts, and for the first time, I feel like I can keep them at bay.
"Skate, skate, skate!" I urge, pounding my fist against the boards. The kids are relentless, hungry for the puck, and damn if it doesn't remind me of the fire I used to have.
"Good change, good change!"
We're a team, somehow. Me, a guy who thought he'd lost his place in this world, and these kids, who just want to play and have fun.
The buzzer blares, and the score's a dead heat. There's only a few minutes left in the game. A few minutes to help these kids do something they never thought they could do.
They glide toward me, and they've got that look in their eyes—the "what now?" kinda stare. I can't help but grin; it's like they're handing me back a piece of myself I forgot was missing.
"Okay, listen up," I say, my voice more confident than I expect. "We're gonna switch it up. Tony, you're fast—use it. Draw their defense away. Mike, when you see the gap, pass it to Olivia. She'll be the one to make the final goal."
Everyone nods in understanding and scatters to their places on the ice.
"Victor?" Olivia's voice cuts through the noise, her eyes wide with anticipation and her skates frozen still on the ice.
"Right, Olivia, come here." I wave her over. Avery's presence looms behind me, setting my nerves on edge in the best possible way. I know she's been watching me the entire game, but I found myself not caring, getting so wrapped up in the game and the thrill of it all.
I lean down to Olivia, who mirrors my intensity with a determination that's all her own.
"Olivia," I murmur, just for her ears, "you gotta be sneaky, okay? Hang back, make 'em think you're not a threat. Then, when the moment's right, you dart in, grab that puck, and go for gold. You got this? "
Her smile's all the answer I need. She nods, fierce and focused, before skating off to her starting position.
"Three... two... one..." The referee drops the puck, and they're off again.
"Go, go, go!" I shout, pounding the boards as if my life depends on it. They're moving like they're part of some hive mind, every kid in sync, and I'm at the center of it all, orchestrating each play.
"Pass! Yes! Now!"
Then, like clockwork, Olivia slips in from nowhere, snagging the puck with a swift move that tells me she's been listening, learning. She's a blur of speed and tenacity, racing down the rink with the grace of a pro.
"Shoot!" I scream, my heart in my throat.
The world slows down, just for a heartbeat. The puck slides toward the goal, slipping past the goalie's flailing limbs. The buzzer sounds its long, final note, and the arena explodes into cheers.
"Olivia! Olivia!" The chant rises up from the stands, and the kids are swarming her, lifting her up like she's the hero of the hour—which, hell, she is.
I'm grinning so wide my face hurts, pumping my fists in the air, caught up in the tidal wave of victory. And then I remember—Avery.
I spin around, ready to share the win with her, to let her see the good that this game, these kids, have brought out in me—but the space behind me is empty. Avery's not there.