Chapter 4
COACH CLAY
don’t stop believin’ by Slō
Holden
When my old coach asked me to lead this group of girls a town over from ours, it was a no-brainer, especially with Liam by my side.
Not because I wanted to be back on the ice—quite the opposite, actually.
All Liz, my little sister, ever wanted was for me to coach her on hockey, and I never did.
I promised myself that if the opportunity presented itself, I would take it in honor of her.
So, here I am, Tuesday night, at the rink, with a bunch of teens.
Liam used to play left wing on the same team as me, and we both retired the same year. We also live in the same town. Not by coincidence, but by life.
He opened the doors of his home to me when I needed it the most, so I made Magnolia Springs my home.
I knew the only person I wanted to do it with was him.
We both knew what we were signing up for when we agreed to run this intro clinic—three months, twenty girls, all new to hockey.
Maybe this is the purpose my life needs now.
The loud thud makes my head turn faster than it would have ten years ago.
There’s a surprise element that comes with this team, and I, for one, hate surprises.
As a kid, surprises are unexpected fun, carefully curated by people who love you.
But when life is the one dealing the cards, surprises don’t tend to be positive.
They steal your breath and break you in half.
I turn and let out a breath when I see the source of the thud.
Izzy again.
She slams into the boards like she’s trying to break through them, limbs flying, stick tumbling, helmet slightly crooked. The girl is as coordinated as a middle schooler who grew two feet overnight.
“I’m good!” she yells before I can even react. “That was on purpose!”
I skate over, grin already tugging at the corner of my mouth. “Working on your wall-checking, huh?”
She laughs as I help her up. “I was testing my balance.”
“Oh yeah? And what did you find out from that theory?”
“Oh, very funny, Coach Clay.” We both chuckle.
I glance across the ice. Half the girls are still doing figure eights around the cones Liam set up earlier. The other half is in a giggling pile near the net.
“Alright, circle up!” I call, tapping my stick on the ice.
Liam skates over beside me, his beanie crooked under his helmet.
None of them have quit yet, which feels like a miracle, just like I haven’t is another one. Even being on the ice makes my skin prickle; leaving the arena is worse. The last time I saw my mom and Liz was under those fluorescent street lamps as I waved them goodbye.
“Are you coming?”
“Would you hate me if I go celebrate with my friends instead?”
“But Mom, we came all the way out here to celebrate with him.”
“And we will, but not tonight.” She kissed me on the cheek. “Go, son. You deserve it.”
And I never saw their smiles again.
Izzy skates over last, taking the longest route possible, and adjusts her helmet, snapping me from my thoughts.
“Let me guess,” I say. “You were testing wind resistance this time?”
“Exactly,” she replies, totally serious. “And I passed.”
I shake my head. “Okay, let’s finish strong. Quick game. Two lines now.” The girls swiftly split into two groups, and we rearrange them by skill. They’re good at spotting when one of them has an uneven advantage, but sometimes, it still happens. “Okay, first to one goal.”
“Sudden death!” Izzy cries. This girl.
“Let’s stay alive, though, yeah?” Liam pats her helmet. “Nobody’s dying out here today.”
“Coach King is correct. This is our second practice; don’t make me have to find replacements already.”
We split them up, drop a puck at center ice, and let the chaos begin.
Skates scrape. Girl's shriek. Someone falls, probably Ansley again, judging by the dramatic “Oof!”, and Izzy takes off with the puck like she knows what she’s doing.
She doesn’t, not really, but she’s got grit.
She weaves through two mostly confused defenders, then winds up for a shot that looks more like a golf swing.
The puck bounces.
And then, by some miracle of physics and determination, it slips under the goalie’s pads.
Goal.
Izzy throws her gloves in the air like she’s won the Stanley Cup. “Let’s gooooo!”
The delusion is strong here, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Liam blows the whistle. “Alright, alright. Bring it in!”
The girls slide and shuffle toward us, out of breath, flushed, buzzing. Izzy’s smile can light up the whole room, and my chest fills with pride.
“Not bad,” I say. “Who remembers how to take their gear off without looking like you’re in a fight with it?”
Groans all around.
“I swear, this elbow pad has a vendetta against me,” Laurie says.
“Mine smells like cheese,” someone mutters.
“Don’t blame the gear,” Liam says. “That’s all you.”
They scatter toward the benches, tugging off gloves and tossing sticks into bags. I linger near the boards, watching Izzy sit cross-legged on the ice, helmet still on, cheeks red from the cold and effort. She looks up at me.
“Coach Clay?”
“Yeah?”
“Do you think I could, like…actually be good at this someday?”
I smile at her and try to find the most coach-like words I can muster. Crouching and resting my elbows on my thighs, I say, “You’re already good. You care, try, and get back up every time you fall.”
She tilts her head. “Even when I hit the boards like a crash dummy?”
“Especially then.”
She grins. “Cool, cool, cool.”
“I thought kids nowadays didn’t say cool anymore.” But I already know the answer will be something about how she’s not like most kids her age. In three practices, I’ve come to know so many things about Izzy, and it makes me excited to see her growth.
“Just the cool kind.”
I stand and offer her my glove so I can help her up. “You coming or living here now?”
“Depends. Is rent free if I sleep on the ice?”
“You’re too young to be worrying about rent. Maybe worry about how sore you’d be if you sleep on the ice.”
She laughs and takes my hand, getting up and skating away toward her friends.
Liam skates by, helmet tucked under one arm. “That went well.”
I nod. “They’re figuring it out.”
He bumps my shoulder. “So are you.”
“Me? Look who’s talking. Grandpa's still got it.”
We watch as the girls clamber off the ice, laughing, slipping, tossing jokes back and forth like they’ve been teammates forever.
“I’m just one year older than you.” Liam’s rebuttal is comical because, no matter what, we'll all call him old man forever.
“You’re less grumpy out here too.”
“I miss it,” he whispers.
I don’t say it back, but I’m thinking it.
I refuse to play anymore, but this? This, I think, might be the in-between I’ve been looking for.
Not all the time, clearly. My time managing Healing Pals—an animal-assisted therapy center I opened in honor of Liz—is precious, valuable, and what I’ve dedicated all my time to the past few years.
It doesn’t feel like my entire purpose, though, like something is still missing.
So this, a few nights a week coaching, might give me the feeling I’ve been searching for.
This is the best kind of team, the kind that’s not perfect from the beginning but that will grow through hard work and joy. They’re already better than they know. They’re going places. This is what I like about the sport. The camaraderie, the hard work, the hope in their eyes.
When did we lose sight of all of that?
“What are your plans for the week, hermit?”
I scoff. “You’re one to talk.”
“I have two children to raise. What’s your excuse?”
What is my excuse, really? Other than I enjoy the solitude of working from home and not having to face the world? Or that every time I think about plans, Jerry comes to mind, and I feel like a coward?
“And don’t say Chili. Live a little outside of that fancy house of yours,” he says, resting his back on the window, both waiting for the girls to rush out before we do. We like making sure there are no stragglers or girls trying to be sneaky and getting back on the ice. That’s how accidents happen.
I ignore his comments, but he continues. “Have you called him?”
I don’t even have to ask who him is, because we both know. Liam knows everything there is to know about me—except the guilt that eats me alive over Mom and Liz.
I also don’t have to answer before he knows that, no, in fact, I have not called him.
“I’m taking it that you also haven’t gone to see him. I’m the least qualified person to say anything, but don’t you think you’d regret it?”
Liam is not only the oldest of my group of friends, but he also acts like everyone’s dad. I trust him with my life, and if he’s right, I might regret it. But the demons in my head tell me to fuck him and whatever forgiveness he believes he deserves.
“You know what? Don’t answer that. I am going to say, though, if I could go back in time and see Willow again, I wouldn’t waste a second of my day.
I would forgive whatever has kept her away for this long without a word, just for the chance of another day with her.
” Willow, the love of his life and childhood friend, who disappeared from his life one year ago and has never come back.
Liam recently became a single dad after his wife left him to go chase fame or some shit like that.
“How are the kids?” I change the topic because there’s no winning this argument.
“They’re fine. Amelia is sassy as fuck, per usual, and Elijah, well, Elijah is teething. Again. Molars, maybe? He’s miserable. Giving me a run for my money for sure. Amelia was never like this. It’s exhausting.”
“That little boy has you wrapped around his tiny fingers, though.”
“Yeah. Do you know what my dad says about why babies are cute?” he asks, stepping out of the rink.
“What?”
“That they’re cute so you don’t eat them. Elijah is living up to that.” I laugh the same way I do every time I hear Joe’s opinion about any topic. I never know who’s parenting whom, Liam or Joe. That man is a hoot. It tugs at my heart to know I’ll never have that type of relationship with Jerry.
I would think I would want a relationship with that piece of shit after losing the only two family members I had, but I can’t.
I can’t look past the years of hurt. The screaming, the absence, the abandonment.
Letting us believe he was dead when Mom was pregnant, and I was twelve. What kind of man does that?
We go through the motions of cleaning up what’s left in the arena and double-check the locker room. The girls are good at not leaving stuff behind, but it’s good to make sure. Skates and equipment are put away, and we grab our bags and head out.
“Let me know if you need help with the kids this week,” I reply, tossing our bags in the back of his truck, heading home.
Liam became a firefighter when he retired, so he works a couple of twenty-four-hour shifts a week.
His dad and a babysitter take care of the kids, but our friend group helps when we can.
We’re a weird bunch, but we have each other’s backs.
“I will. Are you gonna tell me more about your dad?”
“I thought you were gonna drop it.”
“Just testing the waters.” He continues to drive, music playing in the background, and Jerry in my mind.
The song coming through the speaker is the same one playing at that cute bookstore I went to a few weeks ago, and it takes me back there.
As I toss the weight of my indecision in my head, the beautiful girl with the pretty eyes comes to mind.
She said she’d offer advice. It’s been a while since I felt like I could talk to someone the way I wanted to talk to her that day.
Something I learned while playing for years is that if you find something that works, stick to it like a routine.
Maybe I’ll go back to her.