Chapter 9
NINE
The last bell of the day rings as I’m finishing up my example, calculating the surface area of a cube on the white board. The class shuffles, putting away notebooks and standing—all eager to leave.
“Don’t forget to turn in your homework online before the end of the day,” I say as they rush to the door. “And our unit five test is next Wednesday.”
I get a few murmurs of acknowledgment, but I’m mostly shouting at their retreating bodies as they file out into the hallway.
I clean off the board, and when I turn around the only student left is Landon. He shuffles slowly toward the front.
“Hi.” I smile at him.
“Hey, Coach Whitney.” He stops a few feet from my desk.
“Did you need something?”
“I’m not sure that I can get my homework turned in tonight.”
“Okay,” I say slowly, waiting for more of an explanation. Landon’s an excellent student. He consistently gets high B’s or low A’s on quizzes and tests and always turns things in on time.
“My laptop is broken, and the school won’t issue me another until I pay for the damage.” He shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “I can use the laptops in the library, but we have practice and . . .”
I nod my understanding. “It’ll be closed by the time we’re done.”
“I’ll see what I can do about getting you a laptop for tonight,” I tell him.
He visibly relaxes. “Thank you, Coach.”
Once Landon is gone, I quickly tidy up the room and then lock up. Practice starts in fifteen minutes, so I typically leave everything to do in the mornings before first period.
In the library, I find Sloane wiping down the tables.
“Hi!” she chirps out when she hears me enter, but when she looks up and sees me, her smile dims to her normal, more shy and timid expression. “Oh. It’s you.”
“I don’t get the same cheery greeting as the kids?” I ask with a laugh.
Her response is a small chuckle with a flash of guilt in her expression. “I can only maintain my chipper enthusiasm for so long each day.”
“Spoken like a true introvert.”
She nods her agreement.
“I’m here about a laptop.”
Sloane waves her hand toward her desk. “Take whatever you need.”
“It isn’t for me. Landon Wolf said he broke his, but he can’t get another until he pays for the damage.” I arch a brow in question. It isn’t like Landon to lie, but I’ve never heard of the school withholding necessary equipment either. “Can’t he borrow one and put the fee on his account?”
“Typically, yes,” she says, frowning. “But not in this instance.”
Sloane must read the confusion on my face. She goes to the library door and closes it. An uneasy feeling settles over me as she walks over to join me by her desk.
“Landon has several unpaid fees for the year and this isn’t the first laptop he’s damaged. Or the second.”
“Really?”
She nods.
“That doesn’t make any sense. He’s a great student, responsible and conscientious. I’ve never had any issues with him in class or on the team. I can’t imagine him destroying his laptop on purpose.”
She lifts one shoulder in a shrug. “I’m not sure.”
I think for a moment, trying to make sense of this new information with everything I know about him.
“Thanks anyway.”
She goes to a large metal cabinet and opens one door, then pulls out a laptop and charger.
“I don’t want to get you in trouble,” I say, shaking my head at her offering.
“It’s okay. I have a couple of old laptops that we no longer lend out because they’re damaged in some way. This one only works if it’s plugged in. The battery is toast.”
“Thank you.”
“Welcome.”
While the JV is on the ice for the first hour, the varsity weight trains and does some dry land conditioning. Then we switch.
In the weight room, I hook up my phone to play music. The boys groan when the first pop song comes on, but it’s only performative because before the first song ends, they’re bopping along, singing the lyrics and laughing.
As much as I love coaching hockey, it’s in this more relaxed environment that I get to know them a little better.
Between sets, they talk about random things—mostly girls or hockey.
I’ve learned, for instance, that a freshman named Joseph has asked out five girls this week alone.
His plan is to ask as many as possible and eventually one will say yes.
And Pepper has been trying to work up the nerve to ask the same girl out since fifth grade.
“Are you going to ask Sophia to the homecoming dance?” Pepper asks Landon while the two are resting between lateral band walks.
“No, I’m not going,” Landon says.
“Why not?”
“I don’t want to.”
“Dude, I’ll lend you the money for tickets,” Pepper says quietly.
Landon shakes his head. “No. Thank you, but no.”
It’s while the boys are running laps around the building that I finally get a chance to talk to Landon again. He comes to a stop, the first one to finish.
“Nice job,” I say to him. “Make sure you stretch and then you’re done.”
He nods as he catches his breath.
“But before you go, I talked to Ms. Wingrove, and she’s going to lend you a laptop for the night. It’s sitting on the desk in Coach Grady’s office.”
“Really?” His eyes widen, and his lips spread into a hopeful smile.
“Yeah, but she’s doing me a favor, so promise me you won’t break this one.”
An embarrassed flush creeps into his cheeks. “I promise.”
“Want to tell me what happened with the others?”
“I should have kept a better eye on them.”
“Someone else broke them?” I guess.
“It’s my fault. They were my responsibility.”
I’m grateful he’s taking ownership. It’s more like the Landon I expect. “You also might want to remind your parents about the school fees.”
He says nothing but nods again.
The next runners come to a stop a few feet away, and Landon steps toward the door back into the arena. “Thanks, Coach.”
By the time I get home, the only thing I want to do is take a long bath and go to bed.
Unfortunately, I have grades to enter, and I promised Victor I’d watch his game.
I also need to look at the newest assistant applicants his agent sent over.
So, I order food and put on sweats to settle in on the couch.
When I flip on the TV, the game is just about to start.
My stomach does a funny flip when I see Houston is playing Moonshot.
Because it’s local programming, the broadcasters are talking about Moonshot instead of Houston, and the camera is focused in on the white-and-purple jerseys.
Conrad is easy to spot in his number seven jersey.
He has a grace and agility that stands out among the other skaters warming up.
Or maybe it’s just that I’ve been dreaming of him nonstop since last weekend.
My face heats as memories flash like a slideshow in my mind.
The look on his face right before he kissed me for the first time.
The way he turned around to tell me he likes me.
Sitting on my couch drinking Dr Pepper. On his knees with his head buried between my legs.
Naked. Groaning into my mouth. Admitting he was a virgin.
Making me come harder than men with way more experience.
And the disgust when he realized Victor is my brother. Even before he said it, I could read it on his expression the second he saw the framed jersey.
There was this immediate subtext when he asked why I had Victor’s jersey, like of all the hockey players in Houston, why that one?
I feel the same twinge of irritation on behalf of my brother as I did that night.
I know he’s not the most popular with opposing players or fans, but Victor is a great hockey player.
He’s had a few rough years with injuries and Houston’s struggled to keep a coach long enough to mold together a game plan, but I will always love and support him.
Which is why I haven’t been too disappointed that I haven’t heard from Conrad.
He said he wanted to see me again, but that was before he knew Victor is my brother.
After that, he sort of awkwardly shuffled out of my house with a dazed look on his face.
And I guess the fact that he hasn’t texted tells me all I need to know.