Chapter 3
THREE
ADDIE
“You coming?”
“Yeah,” I say to JJ, frozen in front of the door to the arena. “Go get changed. I’ll see you out on the ice.”
He lets out a light laugh like it’s really clicking for him, like it is for me, that I’m his coach. That I don’t need to head to the locker room. That today is the beginning of a new era. “See ya out there.”
I don’t watch him step inside. Instead I focus on the words above the door.
Bolts Arena.
My cheeks grow warm and my chest expands. I did it. I’m really here.
“Big day.”
I spin around and grin as my Uncle Cade approaches, his arms outstretched.
“So everyone keeps telling me,” I say as I step into him and let him wrap me in a hug.
Like always, Cade is wearing a backward Bolts hat, a pair of black track pants, and a light blue Bolts long sleeved T-shirt.
“Thought you planned to actually enjoy retirement. Decide you want to keep tabs on me instead?”
He chuckles. “Nah, we all know you’ll put the rest of the coaching staff, past and present, to shame.”
Cade married my mother’s brother Declan and became my uncle when I was young. I don’t really have any memory of Uncle Declan without Cade. The two of them are also married to their wife Melina. Maybe their situation was scandalous at one point, but they’ve only ever been my aunt and uncles.
“Any last-minute words of wisdom?”
He reaches for the door and pulls it open. “Be on time.”
Laughing, I step inside. The moment the air hits me, I stop and close my eyes, then breathe in deeply.
Ice. Cold. Rubber. Cleaner.
Home sweet home.
When I open my eyes, Cade is smiling at me. “Feels good, right?”
“I’m going to have to work on my game day face so it isn’t obvious to everyone that I’m walking on a cloud today, huh?”
Chuckling, he drapes an arm over my shoulders. “Nah, it’s good to be excited. Best job in the world.”
It’s not. Being on the ice as part of the team would be better.
But Cade never played professionally, so I won’t point that out.
Already, I miss the rush of the game. As a goalie, I was usually on the ice through all three periods.
It’ll be an adjustment not being in the crease, but I made this choice when Gavin came to me and floated this idea.
I was still playing in the PWHL at the time and until that day, I figured that’s where I’d stay.
The NHL has never seen a female goalie coach.
Taking the job would allow me to blaze a trail along with the few other women holding assistant coaching positions.
That detail alone made it impossible to say no.
It’s not easy. It’s mostly still a boys’ club. Even in Bolts Arena, where my uncles and my father have worked hard to make all of their sports teams inclusive.
In a sport dominated by men, still watched mostly by men despite the increasing number of female spectators, I didn’t take the offer lightly.
This is my opportunity.
Most assume nepotism got me here, I’m sure. And maybe there’s some truth to it. Langfield Corp has employed the majority of our family members. That just means I have to work harder to prove that I deserve to be here because of my talent. That I can add value to the Bolts organization.
As we make our way around the rink, I take in every detail as if I didn’t practically grow up here.
The jagged lightning Bolts adorning the boards around the rink, the dusty blue seats, the Langfield scrawled across the score board.
My uncles’ jerseys hanging from the rafters alongside the banners for their Stanley Cup wins.
Aiden, my dad’s youngest brother, is considered one of the best to ever play. He’s an assistant coach now, but he played until he was forty, winning three Stanley Cups during his tenure. When he retired, the organization retired his number too.
“Guys should be out soon,” Cade says as he guides me toward to the team bench. “While there will be a few goalies from the AHL and junior team here to practice with us for these first couple weeks, JJ and Sidney are our likely starters.”
None of this is news to me. JJ and Sidney are our veteran goalies.
“But,” he continues, “there’s a chance that we’ll have an undiscovered new hotshot in our midst, so don’t rule them out.”
I snort. “You’re saying there’s a chance I get to send Hanson back to the AHL?”
Cade side-eyes me, blue eyes sharp. “I know you two have a history, but I figured since he’s living with you—”
“He’s not living with me,” I huff, the noise a little too loud in the empty arena. “You know how my father is. He offered him a room after I’d agreed to move in.”
Cade’s lips twitch like he’s trying to hide a smile. “Yeah, your dad does shit like that.” He chuckles. “Better watch out. He might be trying to set you up.”
A short burst of laughter escapes me. “Yes, my dad is known as the weird matchmaker, but I assure you, he’d never set me up with a married man.”
Cade isn’t wrong. My father has a habit of claiming responsibility for the coupling of just about anyone he knows. He even took credit when Cade got together with Declan and Melina.
I frown. “Wait, how did he set you guys up again?”
Cade’s blue eyes dance. “Mel needed a place to stay, and he offered her the guest room at Declan’s house without asking first.”
“Oh…” Eyes wide, I suddenly wish I hadn’t asked. “I guess I…no—”
“No what?” a deep voice asks.
I turn at the sound, grateful for the interruption. When I meet Uncle Brooks’s eye, I relax. “You guys are gonna give me a complex,” I tease. “Are you all going to watch my every move?”
He rolls his eyes. Like Cade, he’s dressed for practice in a long-sleeve Bolts T-shirt, though his is a darker blue.
His athletic pants are dark gray and his signature long hair is pulled back in a low bun.
“It’s all hands on deck for the next few weeks, kid.
Promise we’re not hovering any more than usual. ”
My muscles loosen a little at his assurance.
This position should be Brooks’s. I always assumed this was the next step for him.
Since he retired from the game, he’s been working for the organization, though he hasn’t settled into a single position.
As the Bolts’ most beloved goalie to date, it seemed logical that he’d be the next goalie coach.
Instead he’s continued to float. Sometimes he works with recruiting, sometimes he hangs with donors, and more often than not, he’s here, at practice.
The man has four kids. Maybe he likes the freedom that comes with what he’s doing now. It means he doesn’t have to travel, and I imagine his family appreciates that. Regardless, his decision worked in my favor.
“Fine,” I retort, “but call me kid in front of the team and I’ll put you in the net without gear and give Aiden free rein.”
Both my uncles let out raucous laughs.
“Understood.” Brooks dips his chin. “And for the record, you’re going to be just fine out there.”
As the three of us sit on the bench to lace up our skates, a cacophony of voices echoes loudly through the space, and a heartbeat later, players filter in. The guys are loud, talking over one another, laughing, and joking around. The energy is electric.
Most of these guys are returning players, and from the excitement in the air, they’re thrilled to be back at it.
For people like us, hockey is so much more than a game or even a career.
It’s a lifestyle. It’s an itch. Staying away from this rink is more difficult than showing up, even after brutal losses.
These guys need the short break they get between seasons, but they don’t want it. Neither did I.
This group includes a few rookies too. The guys from the AHL who are here hoping to prove themselves, eagerly awaiting the call that they’ve been moved up, and the draft picks.
They could be put anywhere. They usually end up on a junior league or in the AHL.
Very rarely do they get a shot at the show.
But this is where they want to be. Though the Bolts typically practice at the practice rink, day one is always held in the arena, on this ice.
This way the rookies get a taste of what they could have.
We show them how good it could be. And then we make them work their asses off for it.
They’ll be doing it for the next ten months.
I give myself a few seconds to imagine today through their eyes. To feel the hope that comes with the desperate desire to play for the Bolts, not a farm team. To see the kind of season that leads to the Cup. That’s what we’re working toward.
While this may not have been what I saw when I pictured myself in the NHL, I’m still here. I made it.
And it’s a huge accomplishment.
Bobby Dean, our star center, is, of course, the first out. Because he’s not in full gear, his hair is on display and styled to perfection. He’s loud and obsessed with fashion, and he has an incredible slap shot. And his brown hair does this wave that makes women go wild. Or so he likes to claim.
Per NHL league rules, we can’t actually practice on the ice today.
We have dryland training for five days before on-ice practices begin.
However, everyone’s got their skates on so that we can meet here before we break up into smaller groups for the various workouts we’ve got planned.
I’ll be taking my guys to the yoga studio.
Bobby skates toward us, a big smile on his face, with Maxim Lube, a Russian defenseman, following. Maxim is huge, even without his gear. According to his stats, he’s six seven.
Bobby rubs his hands together as he slides to a stop. “Big day, Addie baby.”
Beside me, Brooks glares at him.
I shake my head, but it’s Maxim who says what we’re all thinking. “Idiot.” His thick accent makes me smile, as always. He nods toward me then. “Welcome to team. Looking forward to having you, Coach.”
“Was that so hard?” Brooks says.
Bobby shrugs. “Sorry, it’s going to take a bit of getting used to after hanging out with you and Little Hawke all the time.”
He’s referring to Josie, and if her older brother Brayden heard him calling her that, he’d also call him an idiot. Before I can say as much, Maxim grabs the neck of Bobby’s shirt and pulls him backward on the ice. “Say bye-bye.”
He flaps his fingers up and down in a dramatic wave until Bobby does the same thing, making the three of us laugh.
A few more players make it out onto the ice, but I keep my eyes on the door, waiting for my guys.
Goalies are easily identifiable. They wear a hell of a lot more padding and a different helmet. Their sticks are different, and their gloves too.
My younger sisters used to call me the marshmallow girl, and for good reason.
I’m still smiling, relishing those memories, when I spot the first of the goalies.
My goalies.
They aren’t dressed in their full gear today, but I’d recognize our veteran goalie anywhere.
It’s no surprise that Sidney Howe is the first one out.
He’s the most senior, at thirty-seven, though it’s been a while since he’s played on our first string.
JJ was drafted out of high school and called up from the AHL after only one season.
In his first season with the Bolts, he and Sidney played pretty equally.
These days, JJ plays two games to every one of Howe’s.
While Sidney is a great goalie, JJ is phenomenal.
Not that I’ll ever tell him that. As his coach, I have no intention of coddling him. I won’t coddle any of the players or inflate their egos. If they’re looking for someone to tell them how great they are, they can chat with the puck bunnies.
My goal is to help them become the best they can be.
To study tapes so they’re prepared for every opponent.
To guide them in strength training and stretching, which I’m exceptionally qualified for since it’s what I focused on in college.
I incorporate a lot of yoga into my personal training, and in the next couple of weeks, every one of our goalies will be implementing it as well.
Sidney heads our way, saying hello to both Cade and Brooks and then giving me a friendly grin. “Welcome, Coach. Excited to have you.”
This certainly isn’t the first time we’ve met, but I appreciate the welcome.
He nods to the younger guy trailing him. “This is Jarred Kane. This is his third year on the AHL team. Jarred, this is our new coach, Adeline Langfield.”
Jarred is shorter than Sidney yet still a little taller than I am. He gives me a crooked smile, showing off a chipped front tooth, and instantly, I find myself at ease. I typically have no trouble sensing a person’s aura through their eyes, and Jarred’s brown irises are calm.
As I shake his hand, it feels as though I’m being watched, so I covertly scan the guys around us. Over Jarred’s shoulder, I find the blue eyes that seem to haunt me everywhere I go lately, and they’re focused intently on me.
Just as I could sense Jarred’s calm aura through his eyes, I can see the war in JJ’s. And I have no idea what’s caused it.
He stomps over to me, bypassing Cade and Brooks, who both try to say hello. “Can we talk?”
“Excuse me? No.” I brush him off.
Huffing, he clutches my arm. His hands are so big that his fingers touch, and I don’t have twigs for forearms. I’m strong. I have muscles. Though they have nothing on his.
“JJ,” I grit out in warning.
I can feel the scrutiny of every person in the arena.
I don’t know what the hell has gotten into him, but this is not how I want to start my tenure here.
It’s day one, and he’s already making me look weak.
From the outside, it might even look like we’re having a lovers’ quarrel.
Women in sports have always gotten a bad rap.
So many people believe that we’re only here to bag ourselves a player.
It’s a stereotype I’ve worked hard to avoid my whole career, and within minutes of meeting my subordinates, this asshole is peeing all over me.
“We need to talk,” he says, voice low. Deadly serious.
His tone and the way his jaw is clenched, all angles, hard and angry, put me on alert, and my annoyance drains away.
“Did something happen to Avery?”
He jolts back, horrified. “What? No. This isn’t about me.”
That’s all it takes for the aggravation to rush back in. “Stop talking in riddles and let go of me.”
A dark laugh floats around us. “Looks like some things never change.”
I suck in a breath at the familiar and completely unwelcome voice. Meeting JJ’s eyes, I finally understand the problem.
His blues are burning with rage. While a small part of me, buried deep, deep down, is desperate to soften, to give in and be thankful for the anger he feels on my behalf, I can’t do that. I’m his coach. This is my problem.
So I force myself to steel my spine and look over his shoulder, where I meet the cocky smirk of a man I never wanted to see again. The man responsible for my current predicament. He’s the sole reason I’m coaching rather than playing in the NHL.
Dirk Orr.