Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
TAI
I’m not expecting Kasen to show up for his time slot, so when he skates onto the ice a little before three, I try not to let my surprise show.
He might be Hawke’s son, but he’s my student first. We’ll talk hockey, and I won’t pry.
Even though I’m nosy as shit and want to pull every thought from his head.
I almost start by asking how summer is going like I do with all of my students, but stop myself in time.
“Thought any more about picking up that part-time job I offered you?” Sticking with hockey talk makes things easier.
“Of course I’ve thought about it,” he says, upending a heavy bag of pucks and sending them scattering over the ice. “We could use the extra cash, but my grandma says we’re fine. She wants me focused on friends and schoolwork right now.”
“Not hockey?”
He scowls and sends a puck flying into the net down the other end. “She likes to remind me that while it’s great for exercise and team building, there’s no guarantee I’ll make it professionally, and I’d be shortsighted to let my brain go to waste.”
“You’re going to hate me—”
“You agree with her, don’t you?” When he glares at me, I have to question how far in denial I was to doubt he could be related to Hawke. They’re the same. It makes me smile, and I set my stick down to slowly bat a puck back and forth.
“Only to an extent. She’s right that hockey is a tough career. You’re good enough, but that doesn’t always matter. You should have a backup in mind, just in case.”
“Fine. My backup is hockey coach.”
“Speaking from experience, it’s not the most glamorous job.”
“I don’t mean high schoolers like you do. I mean NHL.”
“And how do you think you get to the NHL as a coach?” While it would make sense for me to be aiming for that, I also know how slim that road is.
I’m aiming for college for the paycheck, but I really love working with kids.
Getting to shape them as players, seeing their skill level rise exponentially, the sheer enthusiasm when they finally make a play they’ve been practicing, it’s rewarding.
Kasen whacks another puck down the ice, missing the net this time. “I, umm … I might have an in.”
“Warm-up skate, let’s go,” I say, making sure he falls in beside me. “What kind of in?”
“Did you hear what happened … about … well …” He swallows loudly, and I know exactly what he’s getting at. The accident.
“I heard. I’m so sorry.”
“Yeah. It’s shit. Whatever.” His words are clipped like he’s trying not to cry. “But my deadbeat dad came back to town.”
I debate whether I should say anything, but it’s not fair to let Kasen talk without him knowing the whole truth. “Jensen Hawke.”
Kasen’s eyebrows fly up. “How did you know?”
“I think I’ve known, subconsciously, since we met. He was my best friend in high school.”
He’s not expecting that. I can tell by the way he picks up the pace and avoids eye contact. “Are you still friends?”
“No. I hadn’t seen him until yesterday.”
“You saw him?”
“Yes.”
“How much did he tell you?”
As easy as it is to underestimate Kasen and try to protect him, I remember being that age and hating having adults get in my way.
I wanted to be treated like an adult, even though I had no clue what it was I was asking for, so I shoot for the balance between what’s in my role as his coach and what he wants.
“He told me enough to think that you should talk to him.”
“Tried that. It sucked. Next.”
“I’m assuming he’s the in you were talking about when you mentioned hockey. If that’s the case, don’t you think you should at least let him try before you go using him?”
“He owes it to me after abandoning me my whole life.”
Fuck, it’s hard to bite my tongue. “At the end of the day, it’s your choice, and it’s not my business. All I’m going to say is that the Hawke I knew could be taken at his word, and now I’m going to point out we’re here to train, and we should get back to that.”
Kasen side-eyes me. “That’s your not-so-subtle way of telling me that I should talk to him again.”
“See? I knew they called you smart for a reason. Now, stretch. We’re going to work on those lateral movements you struggled with at the end of last season.”
“I told you, I fell over and bruised my hip. It’s fine now.”
“Well, we’re about to see.” I nod at him to get to it, and through the lesson, he manages not to bring up Hawke again. I can sense the curiosity in the glances he keeps throwing my way, but we get on to practicing saves, and he forgets about it.
I fake out like I’m aiming for the five-hole, then send a solid shot at the top corner, glove side. He almost falls for it, but at the last second, he gets his hand up and snatches the puck before it passes him.
“Hell yes,” he shouts, flicking the puck into the air. “Did you see that? I am the damn master at this.”
It’s one of those uncanny moments of similarity. The number of times that I watched Hawke showboat after scoring or saving a shot is reflected in Kasen’s fist pump.
“I’m telling you,” he says. “This season is going to be next-level. I’m ready.”
I really hope so, because the team’s been struggling for a decent goalie for years.
A slow clap echoes through the near-empty building, and we both look over at the same time. Hawke’s leaning against the barrier, next to the entrance he was standing at earlier, and there’s a huge grin across his face.
“I thought Barrett had you there,” he says, voice echoing across to us.
I glance at Kasen to follow his lead. The excitement has drained out of him, and he’s glaring out from behind his cage. “What’s he doing here?”
“Maybe he wanted to see you play.”
Kasen’s obviously put together that I told Hawke he’d be here, but he doesn’t call me on it. “Doesn’t matter,” he says with a shake of his head. “We’re training. Let’s go.”
I don’t look at Hawke as we get back into it.
The tension is high the whole time. I can feel Hawke’s stare on us, and I can feel the way Kasen’s trying to pretend he can’t.
There’s no reason for me to get involved, but while I know in this position that I’m a coach first, part of me is still wanting to make things up to Hawke.
Every time I open my mouth to give my opinion, I promptly close it again.
Kasen and I get through everything I wanted to show him, and when he takes his helmet off and pours water into his mouth, his back is turned on Hawke.
“How do you want to play this?” I ask him. “Need me to run interference or …”
His eyes darken, and he shoots a look toward the stands.
“You know he had no clue what to say to me yesterday? No ‘this whole thing sucks.’ No ‘I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you.
’ No questions about me, no interest. He walked around looking like he was struck by lightning.
Ignoring my existence doesn’t mean I’ll suddenly disappear. ”
“It’s not your job to make him comfortable with the situation.”
“Good, because I won’t be.”
It’s so, so fucking hard not to say more than that.
Kasen must recognize it because he rolls his eyes. “Just say it.”
“Maybe he’s not the villain here. It sounds like he fucked up yesterday, but he’s here, trying again. Doesn’t that count for something?”
Kasen grunts. “We’ll see.” He goes to skate toward Hawke, but pauses. “That was code for you’re coming with me and not leaving me alone with the guy. He’s a stranger. What kind of coach are you?”
That almost makes me laugh. “The kind that will give you twenty laps next session if you decide to be a smart-ass.”
“I don’t think it’s a conscious decision, if that helps.”
“It doesn’t. That’s definitely worse.”
Kasen huffs a laugh that he immediately swallows when we reach Hawke. It’s so odd to see them together, and it makes all their similarities and differences so much more obvious. Their faces somehow look nothing alike, but spookily close.
“Hey, Dad,” Kasen says in the same kind of tone he’d use if he’d called Hawke an asshole.
“Hey, uh …”
“My name’s Kasen. Remember?”
“I know that.” Hawke’s cheeks flush a frustrated red. “I didn’t know if I was supposed to call you son, or bud, or kid, or …”
I give him eyes to shut the fuck up.
“My name is Kasen,” he repeats, slowly, like Hawke didn’t understand him the first time. And I don’t blame Hawke for looking off-balance because Kasen is being stone-cold.
“Right. Kasen.” Hawke fixes his broad smile back onto his face, like he’s determined to save the conversation. “Training went well.”
“It always does.”
“Your butterfly is looking good.”
“Still slow. Why are you here?”
“I wanted to come and see you.” At least Hawke isn’t backing down. He gets points for that. “We’ve got a lot of missed time to catch up on, and I wanted to get to it right away.”
This time, Kasen’s the one who doesn’t know what to say.
“Go shower and change,” Hawke says. “Then meet me out front. I’ve got something for you.”
“I don’t want anything.”
“Change. Then if you hate it, I’ll take it back.”
Kasen sends me a quizzical look.
“I have no idea where this is going,” I admit.
Without another word, Kasen heads toward the hall to the changerooms, already an impressive form in his secondhand goalie pads.
I might have told him to have a backup plan for hockey, but that was only because injuries are so prevalent.
If he can stay healthy, there’s no doubt in my mind he’ll go pro.
Some people just have it. Like him and Hawke.
Then there are people like me who have to work hard to be as good as they are naturally.
As soon as he’s out of earshot, I turn my attention to Hawke.
“What the hell have you done?”
My lack of enthusiasm doesn’t dull his. “You’ll see. He’s going to have the coolest dad out of all his friends.”
“That doesn’t fill me with confidence.”
“It doesn’t need to. This is going to be great. Trust me.”