Chapter Forty
Matt
My stomach was going to fall out of my ass.
I wanted nothing more than my spot on the starting line back, and I wasn’t leaving Coach’s office until I got it.
My mind was spinning, reeling, as I murmured under my breath the script that I’d been practicing for days now.
But the second I walked into the locker room, I nearly froze, overwhelmed by the jitters that were jolting me down to my bones.
Two weeks were all I had left to get back on the ice before the tournament. I was running out of time to change Coach’s mind, and if it wasn’t going to happen today, it was never going to happen.
And I couldn’t accept that.
The sun had hardly settled over the horizon and the guys were filing in slowly like zombies during an apocalypse.
But I was wide awake.
I strode in hot and heavy as if the bottom of my feet were on fire. I didn’t even knock before shoving Coach’s door open.
“Coach,” I announced my arrival, focusing on remaining confident, even though I was afraid he was about to break my heart.
He glanced up from his desk. “I wanna be back on the ice.” There was no immediate reaction, and the silence was pinching me.
“I’ve been going to therapy. Cody and I have sorted things out. I’ve been putting in the work, Coach.”
Still nothing.
Something was slowly starting to crack inside me, but I wasn’t going down without a fight.
My entire hockey career, entire life, had been leading up to this tournament. Every open skate, every practice, every game had brought me to this point in my career. Countless hours and bruises, blood and pain, had been poured into this sport. I loved it. Every second on the ice, I loved it.
I knew the league was waiting for me, but I couldn’t head to the Minnesota Wild with unfinished business here.
“Please, Coach,” I pleaded. “Let me play.”
He smacked his lips together, spinning side to side in his chair. Again, he had a pen between his teeth. “You’ve been staying out of trouble.”
It sounded more like a fact than a question, as if he’d been keeping eyes on me.
“Yes, I have.”
“You’ve got your shit figured out?”
That one was definitely a question.
I didn’t have every piece of myself sorted out yet. I was still learning about myself every day, every therapy appointment, understanding more and more what made me tick and why. But I’d been making a conscious effort to be better for myself and those around me.
My whole life, I’d felt like an uncontrollable monster. And finally, I was at a place in my life where I was starting not to feel that way.
I stood tall, clutching onto the little hope I had left. “I’m doing my best, Coach. I really am putting the work in.”
The length of silence was making me itch again, but even worse this time. I didn’t want to fall to my knees and beg, but his stoic expression was making me consider it.
Coach tossed the pen on the desk. “Okay,” he said. “You can play.”
My victorious smile broke free. Those were the words I’d been waiting to hear for what felt like forever. I was so happy, I could’ve leapt forward and kissed him if it wouldn’t have made him beat my ass again.
“Thank you, Coach.”
A hint of a smile ghosted his lips. “Don’t make me regret it.”
“I won’t.”