Chapter 2 – Zane
two
Zane
I lace up my skates before I get up and snatch my helmet then walk out to the ice, grabbing my stick along the way. I slide onto the ice, going over to the coaches who are in a huddle at the side.
“Okay, we’re going to get this going,” Martin, the head coach of the LA Warriors, declares. “We will work on the same plays we talked about yesterday.” He looks at the five of us. “You two,” he points to Cam and me, “work with the defense.”
I nod at him, turning and skating toward the other side of the ice. “Defense.” My voice booms out and the defensemen come my way. Jaxon, who is the team captain, is the first one to me.
“What’s up, Coach?” He gives me a chin lift.
I look over at Cam. “You want to lead this?” I ask him because he’s been here longer than I have.
He’s also older than me. I mean, at forty years old, I’m the youngest on the coaching staff and everyone likes to remind me of this constantly.
They call me the rookie and even though it’s annoying, it just makes me want to do better.
“Nah.” He shakes his head and puts his arms on his stick as he watches me. “You can do it; you’re the young one.” I roll my eyes, waiting for the rest of the defensemen to join us.
“Are we missing anyone?” I ask the group and then look over to see two more guys coming onto the ice and heading toward us.
“We don’t have all fucking day,” I snap at them.
“When it says practice at ten,” I tell the guys who just showed up, “it means be on the fucking ice at ten.” I see them look down.
“Not five after ten.” I shake my head. “Next time, you’ll make the whole squad do suicides for fifteen minutes. ”
“Sorry, Coach,” they both say, and I accept it.
We work hard and do the drills that Martin set up.
I’m the only coach skating side by side with the defensemen.
Pushing them when I think they can do better, playing the puck with them, and frustrating them when they think it’s going to be easy.
Jaxon is heaving by the time practice ends and he looks over at me.
“Next time, go work with the forward line,” he wheezes between pants.
“Knox needs someone to push him.” He motions with his chin toward the forward players, who are all huddled around Martin, and not one of them looks like they are going to vomit.
“But then what fun will you have?” I ask him as we skate off the ice.
He shakes his head, and I take off my gloves and put my stick on the other wall, away from the players’ sticks.
I then make it into the coaches’ dressing room.
Taking off my gloves and handing them to the equipment managers so they can put them on the drying rack.
I grab a bottle of water and sit down on the bench, drinking it as Martin comes in.
“I need to see a couple of you guys in my office when you finish taking off your skates.” He looks at me and my eyebrows pinch together at his tone.
“Zane.” He looks at me. “When you are done here,” he says, “meet me in my office.”
“Sure thing, Coach,” I reply to him as he turns and walks out of the room.
I untie my skates as Cam sits down beside me. “I wonder what the fuck that is all about,” he says as he unties his own skates. I look over at him. “He sounded serious.”
“Maybe I’m getting fired,” I quip, trying to make a joke about it, but my stomach rolls. “Might as well happen now, right before the season ends, and not during the summer. That would suck, me being away and then boom I have to come back to pack up my shit.”
“Nah,” he replies, running his hands through his salt-and-pepper hair. “You’ve been working too hard with the defensive line, and they are up twelve percent since last year.”
“Yeah.” I ignore the rest of what he says. I get up after putting on my sneakers and head toward Martin’s corner office. I knock on the closed door, the whole time I’m trying to calm the fuck out of my beating heart and tell myself it’ll be okay.
“Come in!” I hear Martin shout and open the door.
My eyes go to him behind his desk, with his hands folded on top of it, and then he looks over to one of the chairs in front of his desk where Ken, the general manager, sits.
Yup, definitely getting fired, I think to myself.
“Sit down,” he states, pointing to the empty chair beside Ken.
I step in and try not to yack all over the carpeted floor as I sit down in the chair and rub my hands on my track pants. “Nervous?” Ken asks me.
“A little.” I put my hands on the armrests and try to act calm and collected, when inside it’s like a tsunami about to hit land. “Feels like I’m a junior again, and I’m about to be cut from the team.”
They both laugh. “You aren’t getting cut from the team,” Martin reassures me softly and then looks at me. “It’s actually the opposite.” He stops talking and then looks over at Ken to take the lead.
“Martin and I have been talking,” he starts, “or better yet, Martin has let me know this will be his last year with us.” My eyes go from Ken to Martin, who shrugs.
“He came to me at the beginning of the year and told me he was ready to retire, and I told him to hold off and see how he would feel.” My mouth opens in shock.
“Needless to say, he is still on the road to retirement.” Ken looks at Martin.
“Fishing and doing nothing sounds boring as hell.”
“Sounds magical to me,” Martin retorts.
“Anyway,” Ken continues, “we’ve been watching you for the last year.” I look back at Ken, not sure where the fuck this is going.
“You’re fucking good,” Martin praises. “You have a great handle on plays. You’re proactive and sense what is going to go down on the ice and call some fantastic plays.”
“Thank you,” I reply. “That means a lot coming from you.”
He smiles. “I want you to take over for me.” The minute he says the words my back sinks even deeper into the chair.
“I’m sorry, what?” I shake my head, not sure I heard the correct words.
“You’re going to be the new coach for the Warriors next season,” Ken clarifies, slapping me on the shoulder. “We’re about to make history with you being the youngest head coach.”
“I don’t know.” I shake my head, the disbelief filling my thoughts. “I don’t think I can.”
“You can,” Martin assures me. “We think you’re the coach that can build something amazing here and continue the legacy for a long time to come. You won’t need my help, but I’ll be a phone call away.”
“This is…” I try to think of the words. “It’s like a dream come true.”
“We’d like to announce it to the team today,” Martin says. “Some of the sports reporters have been sniffing around, since they know my contract is up at the end of this year.”
“Are you sure about this?” I look over at Martin, who leans back in his chair.
“It’s time. My daughter just gave birth to her second kid, so it’ll be nice to help take the first one to school. I can tell you one thing; it’ll be a fucking joy to not travel so fucking much.”
I laugh at him. “I don’t know what to say,” I respond honestly. “I’m fucking honored to be taking over the team.” I look at Ken, I just hope I don’t fucking suck at it. I want to say but instead I say, “I won’t let you down.”
“Trust me, if you aren’t up to par,” he replies, laughing, “you’ll know.”
“It’s a learning curve,” Martin notes. “There are going to be some hiccups because, let’s face it, you can’t win them all.
The wins will be big, but the losses…” He points at me.
“No one is going to remember the wins when you lose.” I nod at him.
“I wanted to tell you first and then slowly work down with the other assistant. I am going to break the news to Cam,” he tells me. “You want to be here when we do?”
“He should be,” Ken advises. “We have to be united in this.”
“I don’t want him to feel blindsided,” I tell the room, “by having me in here. Like I knew things were going to happen and didn’t tell him.”
“Okay, we’ll tell him and then call you back in here after we’ve broken the news to him.
That way we still stand united,” Martin says.
I think he says this because he probably knows Cam isn’t going to take this well.
If anyone should be taking over for Martin it should be Cam.
He has many more years of experience than I do.
“We break it to the team in fifteen,” Martin states, “be ready.”
“Got it,” I confirm, getting up and walking out of the room at the same time Cam is coming out of the coaches’ locker room.
“Did they fire you?” he asks me, and the door behind me opens and Ken steps out.
“Cam,” he says, “you’re up.”
I move to the side and head back to the locker room, my head spinning at this news.
At forty, I’m going to be the youngest coach in NHL history.
I close my eyes and put my head back on the cement wall.
I stare into space until I hear Martin shout my name from the hallway.
Getting up, I walk out, seeing him standing there with Ken behind him.
Cam is looking at me with almost a glare, which is quickly covered up.
“Congrats,” he says when he gets beside me, “going to be a fun year.”