4. Connor
CONNOR
I sit in my car, watching the door to Coach Garvin’s rink, hyping myself up to go in. Part of me is itching to get out on the ice, but there’s another part that’s holding back.
I haven’t seen Coach Garvin since before I went to California. He knew I’d been dropped by Colorado, but he didn’t know I’d leave Harvard, too. Even though he’ll handle it with tact, I’ll still see the disappointment in his eyes. I’m not ready yet. I just need a minute.
Another car pulls into the lot. I watch a woman get out, followed by a little girl weighed down by her hockey equipment.
The excitement on the little girl’s face makes my chest clench.
I remember being that excited about hockey practice.
Big dreams of making the NHL. They were just in the back of my mind at first, until I started believing I could actually do it.
And I started talking about those NHL dreams, to everyone.
And everyone started hyping me up, telling me I was gonna be a superstar.
Yeah, well, here I am, coaching junior hockey camp in my hometown and taking a ‘mental health’ break from my sales job .
When more cars start pulling up, I bite the bullet and head into the rink, carrying my hockey stick with the curve I like and my own custom skates. Some of the parents recognize me and say hi. I try to look busy so they don’t stop me for a longer chat.
Coach Garvin’s already out on the ice, setting up for the first lesson. He looks up and sees me in the stands, his face breaking into a friendly grin.
“What are you doing standing there, Ryan? Suit up and get down here.”
I’m grateful for Coach Garvin’s brisk, no-nonsense attitude, relieved I don’t see the disappointment I’d been expecting.
I lace my skates up as quickly as I can and get down onto the ice to help Coach set up the cones for the kids’ skating practice.
“Test it out?” Coach asks.
My heart thuds at the prospect of fucking up. I’m going to be rusty. “Sure, Coach.”
The gaps between the cones are meant for smaller legs, but I do a good job avoiding them with my skates before heading for the goal and knocking a few targets off.
When I look up, a bunch of the kids are gathered in the stands, dressed in their gear already. They’re all gawking at me with wide eyes and open mouths.
“You wanna be as fast and accurate as Coach Ryan?” Coach asks the kids.
They nod.
“Okay then, let’s get started.”
Once we get them set up and talk through the drills, time melts away.
I forget everything except helping these kids improve their skills.
Their enthusiasm is undeniable. These kids’ parents have paid good money for them to be here.
Coach Garvin’s rink might not look like much, but Coach’s reputation is stellar.
And these kids must really love hockey to spend a hot day like today inside, sweating in their pads and thick, hockey socks.
It feels like no time has passed when Coach blows his whistle to signal the end of practice. I could have skated around here all day with these kids. Adrenaline pumping again for the first time since I left the Harvard Hockey team.
We finish scooping up the cones and carry the bag of pucks off the ice.
“You did good today, Ryan,” Coach says, slapping me on the back.
“Thanks, Coach. It was fun.”
Coach rubs his stubble, looking thoughtful. “They’re a good bunch. A few of them even remind me of you.”
“Oh?”
He clamps his hand down on my shoulder, this time leaving it there and guiding me to face him. “Connor, I know you’re disappointed about Colorado, but your hockey career doesn’t have to be over. You’ll just have to take a different route, is all.”
Everything in me bristles and begs to get away. I keep my voice casual when I reply. “It’s fine, Coach. I always had a plan B, anyway.”
“Oh?” He lets his hand drop from my shoulder, but he’s still focused on me so intensely it takes everything I have just to hold his gaze.
“Yeah, I’ve got a job, in California.”
“The tech thing? I thought that was just temporary.”
“It isn’t.”
“Oh.” He rubs his stubble again, looking confused. “Is that what you want to do?”
I shrug. It isn’t really about ‘want,’ not anymore. “Sure. ”
“Sure,” he repeats— mutters— under his breath.
He collects himself and squares his shoulders.
“Well, it’s your life, son. Just don’t do anything too rash, is all I’m saying.
Think about it. That door can still be open for you …
if you want it to be. Might have to take the back road, but there’s no shame in that. ”
Everything in me bristles. I do not want to take ‘the back road.’
I try to put our conversation out of my head as I tidy everything away in the equipment room.
But it’s hard to ignore when I’m surrounded by the source of those stupid dreams. The little kid in me was awed by this gross, stinky room.
Watching Larry—the equipment manager—sharpen our skates on that machine.
The faint smell of metallic dust in the air.
The heat if you got too close. The fustiness of borrowed skates and discarded pads and sweaty jocks and jerseys waiting to be washed.
I’m still lingering when Coach calls me from the hallway. Either he didn’t notice me standing there like an idiot, or he’s doing a good job at pretending.
When Coach starts introducing me to the parents, I put my best smile on to greet them.
“Is that little Connor Ryan?” one of the moms says.
“Hi, Mrs. Brown.” Emily Brown was somewhat of a legend when I was in high school. There’s no better way to say this, but … she’s hot. And teenage boys notice things like that.
She gives me a look that sends a jolt of heat to my groin. Okay, so I’d never go there with her, but it’s still nice to be looked at like that. “Wow, it is you. Haven’t you grown?”
Resisting the urge to rub the back of my neck, I offer her a beaming smile and remind myself I’m an adult now. I don’t have to be shy around a beautiful woman. I’ve even been with a few.
“What are you doing here?” she asks.
I swallow, my throat suddenly dry. “I said I’d help Coach out this summer with the kids.”
“That’s so kind of you. It’ll do the kids good to learn from a real hockey player. Give them something to aspire to.”
I open my mouth to explain that I am not and will never be a ‘real hockey player’ when Coach slaps me on the shoulder and cuts in. “That’s what I said. The kids look up to him already.”
I appreciate the support, but it’s misguided.
Emily Brown is looking at me with that gorgeous smile and big, expectant eyes. I can’t take it anymore.
“It was good to see you, Mrs. Brown?—”
“Please,” she says, holding up a perfectly manicured hand. “Call me Emily. You’re a grown man now.”
I gulp.
“Emily. Sure. It was nice to see you, but I’d better be getting on.” I look to Coach for help. He nods, understanding.
“Yep, yep. Got to … um, get that admin done … in the office. You go along.”
I make my escape, thanking Coach, God, and Gretzky—the holy trinity.
It’s about twenty minutes later when Coach finally comes in, looking exhausted after sending all the kids off home. “Looks like you got yourself a new fan.”
“Huh?” My neck prickles as I remember the way Emily Brown looked at me out there. I wonder if she’d still look at me like that if she knew how much of a loser I am now .
“I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that dating the parents isn’t allowed.”
“You don’t have to tell me, Coach. She scares the hell out of me. My entire friend group have had a crush on her since freshman year. One time, my mom caught us all staring at her sunbathing in her yard and made us apologize to her. It was mortifying.”
Coach laughs before sinking into his chair.
“You really need some help with the admin?” I ask. “I organized the files on your desk, but?—”
He waves his hand at me. “Go, enjoy the summer. You’re only young once.”
There’s a text waiting from Brad when I get to my car.
Party at Chase’s house
Do I really want to go to a party with a bunch of guys I know from high school?
The same guys who have been watching my progress with beady eyes?
Some of them probably waiting for me to fail?
No. But if I’m not there, will they talk behind my back?
Probably. I decide it’s better to show my face and act like everything’s going to plan instead of letting them write the narrative in my absence.
I’m in my sweaty clothes and turning up in Harvard Hockey gear when I don’t even play on the team anymore is kind of sad, so I go home to change first.
I plan to just slip in and take a quick shower, but Mom has other plans—of course. The second I’m downstairs and dressed for the party, she’s guilting me into staying for dinner .
“Let him go,” Scout says as she walks in, Elliot trailing behind her.
I’m hit again by how good he looks. He isn’t wearing his glasses and his face looks naked.
Without the glasses, those great cheekbones have a chance to shine.
And I can’t help but be drawn to the plumpness of his lips.
I catch myself and look away. It doesn’t matter.
So what if he’s hot? Lots of people are hot, I don’t have to drool over them all. I have self-control.
“Hey, Elliot.”
He blinks at me, his eyes a pretty, dark brown.
“Hi,” he says, a second too late. His cheeks bloom with color.
I turn to Mom. “I told Brad I’d be at his house a half hour ago.”
“Aww, are you two finally dating?” Scout asks.
After noting Mom’s lack of reaction to that comment, I ruffle Scout’s hair. She actually growls at me and snaps her teeth at my hand.
Mom shakes her head. “You’re like a feral animal sometimes, Scout, I swear.”
If she’d kept at it, Scout would have been awesome at hockey, she’s ruthless enough. Though she’d probably spend most of the game in the penalty box.
“You should eat something before you drink,” Dad says.
“Line your stomach,” Mom agrees with a nod.
I sigh. “Sure, I’ll stay for dinner.”