15. Hendrix
HENDRIX
" A gain!" My voice bounces off the empty bleachers. "And this time, maybe try not crashing into each other?"
I blow the whistle, watching my breath cloud in the frigid air of the rink as the kids zigzag through the orange cones. Half of them are dragging their feet, and Jake keeps checking his phone between runs.
"Hey! Eyes on the ice!" I snap, probably harder than I should.
The kids aren’t allowed phones on the ice.
They’re supposed to keep them in their lockers.
But I’m one to talk, leading with a poor example as I check my messages for the millionth time today.
I don’t know why I keep looking every time my phone buzzes.
It’s never Colette, even though I’ve been hoping against hope she’ll come around.
But the none of the notifications are from her.
They’re mostly from my agent, Derek, who’s been blowing up my phone since Saturday.
"What were you thinking?" he'd barked. "Showing up for a Knights versus Titans game? The press is having a field day! 'Ellis Shows Support for Knights Over Contract Dispute' - that headline's everywhere!"
Now there's speculation I was there to negotiate my contract in person, or worse – that I'm considering jumping ship to the Knights.
Shaking my head, I blow my whistle as Danny fumbles another pass.
"Keep your stick down! Focus on connecting with the puck!"
Todd Jensen wipes out on the ice, taking down two other players with him. I pinch the bridge of my nose.
"Get up, shake it off. You're fine."
I blow the whistle again, harder this time. "Everyone, neutral zone drill. Let's go!"
The headlines flash through my mind: "Ellis Shows Face at Titans Game - Contract Negotiations Taking a Turn?" and "Knight in Toronto: Family Reunion or Trade Talks?"
One stupid game. One night of wanting to watch my brother play, of sitting next to Colette, and now everything's spiraling faster than these kids on their sloppy crossovers.
Marcus skids to a stop, spraying ice.
"Coach, is it true you're signing with the Knights?"
"Get back to the drill," I say, but Todd Jensen pipes up from the other end.
"My dad says you're just using us as publicity stunts. To make yourself look good during negotiations."
The words hit harder than any check I've taken on the ice. These kids don't get it. They don't understand I was just trying to see my brother play, or that I ended up stranded at the arena because...well, because Colette left me there.
My phone buzzes again. Derek's face lights up the screen for the thousandth time today. I ignore it.
"Listen up!" I gather them around. "Whatever you're reading online, whatever your parents are saying - that's not why I'm here. I'm here because?—"
Jake smirks. "Because your agent tells you to be?"
I stuff the phone back in my pocket. These kids are as brutal as the Toronto sports media.
"Five laps, Miller. Now."
"Why don't you go back to Toronto?" he mumbles as he starts a lap. "Heard they miss you there."
Jake's words echo what Colette's been saying since I arrived in Brookking: "Just go back to Toronto, Hendrix. It's where you belong."
Yet I can't forget how she smiled at the game. Not her usual tight-lipped teacher smile, but something real and bright that made the whole box light up. That smile at the game haunts me. For a few precious hours, she'd dropped her guard and just... been herself. She'd forgotten to hate me.
She'd laughed at Maggie’s jokes, gotten excited over the catered snacks, and when Liam made that incredible save in the second period, she'd grabbed my arm without thinking.
I grip the whistle tighter, the metal biting into my palm. Thinking of Liam brings on the memory of Colette walking away, leaving me stranded…
Then there was that moment in Grannie's craft room, pressed together between shelves of yarn and glitter, her breath catching when I leaned in… The way her eyes had flickered to my lips, how she'd swayed toward me…
But now she's back to avoiding me like I'm carrying the plague.
This morning, I'd gone full Christmas warfare.
It seemed like a brilliant idea at 3 AM - hanging sprigs everywhere she might walk.
The school hallways, the costume closet, even that spot by the vending machine where she gets her afternoon Diet Coke.
A desperate attempt to see that smile again.
But Colette? She came prepared for war. She'd walked into school wielding a candy cane like a sword, whacking down every sprig she spotted with a determined little furrow between her eyebrows.
I shouldn't find it adorable. I really shouldn't.
But watching her wage war on my mistletoe, face flushed with determination, hair falling out of her usually perfect bun.
.. it only makes me want to kiss her more.
And that smile I caught at the game? I'm like an addict chasing that first high. I want to see it again, to be the reason for it. Even if it means looking like an idiot
The whistle feels heavier in my hand. "Reset the drill," I call out absently.
Jake finishes his laps, shooting me a glare that makes me want to drill some respect into him. "Done, Coach. Can I go back to actually practicing now?"
I snap back to the present. These kids need a coach who's actually present, not lost in his own drama. I skate to center ice.
"Alright, show me what you've got. And this time, keep those passes crisp!"
The arena doors bang open, and three familiar figures enter the rink.
"Yo, Ellis! You running a daycare now?" Owen's booming voice echoes across the ice.
Sawyer strides in behind Owen, followed by Griffin, both wearing identical grins.
The kids freeze mid-drill, mouths hanging open.
"Holy sh—" Todd starts before I cut him off with a look.
Griffin waves at the stunned teenagers. "Hope you don't mind if we crash practice, Coach Ellis?"
"That's Owen Jablonski!" Jake's stick clatters to the ice.
Todd Jensen actually stumbles backward into the boards.
"What are you guys doing here?" I skate over to meet them at the bench, where they’re already lacing up their skates.
"Thought we'd check out this coaching gig of yours." Owen vaults over the boards. "Make sure you're not corrupting the youth of Canada."
Griffin follows, his massive goalie frame making the boards creak. "Plus, we missed your ugly mug."
Griffin’s only here for the hot chocolate,” Sawyer says, joining us on the ice.
"I heard Brookking Sound has the best hot chocolate in Canada," Griffin says with a grin. "Thought I'd test that theory."
Owen claps me on the back. "We've got a few hours to torment you before we have to head back."
The teens are practically vibrating with excitement. Brenden keeps opening and closing his mouth like a fish, while Danny’s face has gone tomato red.
"Is that... is that really Griffin McGregor?" Danny squeaks.
"The one and only," Griffin beams.
"You saved forty-two shots against Montreal last month!" he blurts out.
"Forty-three," Griffin winks. "But who's counting?"
The kids swarm around us, firing questions faster than pucks.
"Can you show us that move from the playoffs?"
"How fast can you really shoot?"
"Is it true you broke the glass in practice last week?"
Owen catches my eye with a smirk. "What do you say, Coach? Mind if we crash your practice?"
The kids turn to me with pleading faces that would put puppies to shame.
"Please, Coach Ellis?"
"Pretty please?"
"We'll do extra laps tomorrow!"
I try to hide my grin. "Well, I guess since you're offering extra laps..."
The rink erupts in cheers.
I split the kids into three breakout groups, rotating them between Owen's shooting drills, Griffin's goalie clinic, and Sawyer’s stick handling stations.
Owen demonstrates his signature deke move, the kids copying his every motion with laser focus.
"The key is selling the fake," Owen explains, his stick dancing across the ice. "Make them think you're going left, then—" He shifts his weight, cutting right with lightning speed. "Boom."
"That's how you scored against Boston!" Todd exclaims.
"Got it in one, kid."
On the other end, Griffin's working with our goalies, showing them positioning tricks that took me years to figure out how to score against. Danny's eyes are wide as saucers as Griffin explains the butterfly stance.
"Remember," Griffin calls out, "you're not just blocking shots. You're reading the play, anticipating where that puck's going before it gets there."
Sawyer’s moved on to passing, and he weaves between them, dropping nuggets of wisdom with his usual charm.
"Hockey's not just about skill," he tells them. "It's about heart. About showing up for your teammates."
The energy in the rink has completely transformed. These aren't the same sluggish kids from earlier – they're alive, electric, soaking up every second. Even Danny, who usually needs three reminders to keep his stick down, is laser-focused on Sawyer's stick-handling demonstration.
I alternate between the groups, watching my teammates run the kids through the same drills I've been teaching but somehow making it look effortless. The teens hang on every word, their earlier attitude completely forgotten.
"Keep those edges sharp!" Owen demonstrates a tight turn that sends ice spraying. "You want to feel that bite into the ice."
Todd Jensen’s eyes are locked on the puck as he weaves through the cones. When he completes the drill without a single fumble, his face lights up like he just scored in Game 7.
"Did you see that, Coach?"
"Much better," I nod, remembering how my own coaches built me up. "Your control's improving. Try it again, but this time, keep your head up more."
Even Jake can't stop grinning as he perfectly executes a tape-to-tape pass.
"That's it!" I call out. "Now you're getting it!"
Owen skates up beside me. "They're not bad, Ellis. Just needed a little motivation."
I nod, watching Jake nail a wrist shot that would make any coach proud. "Yeah, I'm starting to get that."
When the bell rings, the kids are practically floating as they unlace their skates, phones out and snapping selfies.
"This was epic, Coach," Todd says, clutching his newly autographed stick. "Like, seriously epic."
"Yeah, yeah," I wave them off, trying not to smile. "Don't forget about those extra laps you promised."
Once the last teen disappears through the doors, still chattering about Owen's breakaway move, Sawyer slugs my shoulder.
"So, about that hot teacher…”
Owen laughs. “That was a queen’s gambit move, ditching you at the game."
I groan. "How much did Emily tell you?"
"Everything." Owen's grin could light up the rink. "Including how she spent half the night talking about you."
"Complaining about me, you mean."
"Maggie says she's totally into you," Sawyer chimes in, skating lazy circles around us. "Won't shut up about your stupid face."
"Thanks for the support, guys." I roll my eyes. "Really feeling the love here."
"Hey, any girl who can get under your skin like that?" Owen smirks. "She's either your soulmate or your nemesis. Maybe both."
"Emily says she turned bright red when your name came up," Owen adds. "And she kept asking if you made it home okay."
"While insisting she didn't care," Sawyer adds with a knowing look.
"So what's the game plan?" Sawyer asks, unlacing his skates. "Because watching you pine over Teacher Barbie is honestly painful."
"Guys, seriously, I don't need help with Colette." I gather up the pucks, tossing them into the bucket.
"Sure you don't." Owen sprawls across the bench like he owns it.
“Girls can smell desperation like sharks smell blood,” Sawyer says. “But lucky for you, we’re here to help.”
"Speaking of desperate," Griffin pipes up, his face taking on that hangry look that means we've got about ten minutes before he turns feral, “I was promised hot chocolate."
I check my watch. "Tucker's is just down the street. Best hot chocolate in Brookking Sound – he makes these little marshmallow snowmen that float on top."
"Finally," Griffin mutters. "I've been waiting all day.”
"You and your sweet tooth," Owen rolls his eyes.
"You know what your problem is?" Sawyer says as we head out. "You're trying too hard. Let us married guys teach you how to sweep Teacher Barbie off her feet."
“I don’t think she’d appreciate being called Teacher Barbie,” I say.
"Look," Owen throws an arm around my shoulders, "What he means is, we've got your back. "First step is getting her to actually talk to you without running away."
"Or leaving you stranded at hockey games," Griffin adds helpfully.
"I hate all of you." I joke. “I'm just buying you guys hot chocolate to shut you up.”