45. LANE
LANE
Snowflakes flurry through campus as I walk to the rink. It’s not enough to stick yet, but winter is right around the corner.
Everything seems to be… good? It’s hard to accept, considering the second you do, that’s typically when the thing you weren’t even worrying about makes itself known and terrible.
The Otters have won our last five games and it’s been easy. We have the type of chemistry coaches would pay for—believe me, Coach has said that more than once. And it doesn’t make us lazy or ungrateful—it makes us want to keep going.
Not sure if I’ve ever been in better shape.
Going to Coach’s office for a meeting, though, puts a knot in my stomach, the tension growing with each step closer.
On my old team, we never met with Coach unless you were royally fucking up.
According to the guys, this is standard—Coach meets one on one with all of his players throughout the season.
Standard or not, my stomach fucking hurts.
I knock on the door frame before stepping in. Coach lifts his head, offers a small smile, and waves me in.
“Right on time. Just how I like it. Close the door and take a seat.”
Close the door? Fuck. I hate this.
“First things first, looked at your grades and got a quick report from your professors. Everything is okay. Like, you have your shit together.” His tone is slightly surprised and I try not to take offense to it.
He must notice, or I'm giving myself away with my face, because he says, “I didn’t have an expectation besides all of the seniors I’ve coached before.
They typically zone out and do enough to stay eligible. ”
I get it. If it hadn’t been for the Knights reinforcing the value of a scholarship or education in general, I’d probably fall in that bucket—if I even made it that far.
“So, good job,” he continues while putting papers back in a folder, closing it, and pushing it to the front of his desk.
“Here is your stat sheet for the season so far.” He slides a piece of paper in front of me.
It includes everything from goals to assists, plus/minus differential, and even penalty box minutes.
Coach smiles. “You’re playing well. It’s like you needed a warm up weekend, and a kick in the ass from me and the guys, and you’re doing exactly what we need. Thank you.”
His compliment catches me off guard. Not only the words, but the pause… the eye contact—he fucking means it.
“You know I had to fight the athletic director to get you here. He kept telling me our roster was strong enough. I didn’t believe him. And I’m glad I pushed for you. Let’s keep it going, yeah?”
“Yes, Coach,” I answer, strong and determined.
“Now, if you flip that over, you’ll see three names of scouts who’ve reached out to me.”
It feels like I’m in a daze when I turn the page over, almost expecting it to be a cruel joke. In black ink are three handwritten names, all with team names next to them.
NHL teams. Holy shit.
I flip the sheet back, my stats staring me in the face, before flipping it back over and making sure it’s not invisible ink. The names are still on the paper. My hands are sweating so bad I check to make sure my fingers aren’t leaving a mark.
My mouth is dry, like my tongue doesn’t fucking fit in here. It’s as heavy as a brick. I try to swallow past the anxiety ringing in my ears.
Coach is waving his hand in front of me. “Lane. Did you hear anything I just said?”
I shake my head in a very honest ‘no’ and he starts to laugh. “Stay with me. I was saying, these are the scouts who have reached out so far. They have a short list of who they want to see. You’re included. But I only want to invite them if that’s really what you want.”
“What do you mean?” The words he’s saying make sense on their own, but I’m having a hard time getting to what he’s trying to say.
He pushes himself back in his chair, eyes still on me. “I’m just asking the question. Is this the direction you want to go? If so, are you ready? I’m happy to buy you some time and let them know we’re not taking visits until after the holiday.”
“Do you think I can do it? Play like they need to see. Or should I wait?”
“Lane, you’ve done one of the hardest things for a college athlete.
Jumped on a roster at the last minute, not knowing any of these guys, in a place you’ve never been.
Now, I don’t know if this will go to your head or not, but you’re a fucking great player.
One of the best that will probably step foot at this campus.
I’d lie to the other guys if you told them I said that.
” Coach winks and it makes me laugh and brings me back to the moment.
“If it’s what you want, I think you’re ready. ”
I nod and stare at the names on the back of my stats sheet.
Teams I’ve dreamed of playing for. Ones that Oliver and I used to talk about when we were dreaming about our hockey futures—where he’d end up, where I’d end up.
I don’t push the thought of him away. This is the goal.
The dream. And fuck, it hurts not to be doing this right alongside him.
“The team has been on fire lately. This is a great time for scouts to watch any of you.”
“I’m ready,” I reassure him, keeping my voice firm and level. If I can’t keep it together when I’m simply talking about it with my coach, that’s a bad fucking look.
Coach grabs a pen and writes something in his notebook. “Awesome. I’ll get a hold of them and get something set up. Now, I have a policy where I tell the whole team when scouts come. So, it won’t be a secret. I’ll try to give you a heads up as soon as I hear back, though.”
I nod, completely fine with the team being in the know. It wouldn’t feel right for them not to be. Especially because I’m not the only guy who has dreams to play in the NHL.
“Now that we’ve got all that out of the way…” Sarcasm drips from his words as he smiles, leaning forward on his desk. His face drops and his gaze is targeted and clear. “I want to talk about Cora.”
The air leaves my lungs. He fucking knows. How?
He takes a deep breath and I’m trying to formulate the apology in my mind. In what world does this man tell me about the scouts wanting to see me play and then casually bring up how I’m hooking up with his daughter? Fuck. This is bad.
Coach’s eyes look around the room, like he’s trying to find the words. Each second that drags on makes me feel like the floor is going to drop from beneath me.
“What about her?” I cough, trying to cover the shakiness of my voice.
He sighs out a breath and it’s like I’m having an out-of-body experience. I’m about to watch this man lose his shit while dangling my future in front of me. Is this for real?
“Hate to do this, but…” He rubs his hands together. Probably wondering if they’ll fit nicely around my neck or something. “Do you know anything about her being back with Freddy?”
My jaw drops and my muscles release inch by inch, my knuckles no longer white from grasping the arms of the chair. Honestly, just the mention of that fucking loser has my blood pressure rising.
His words are quick and on top of each other. “I know I shouldn’t be asking. But she’s acting like she’s keeping a secret and one would be that loser.”
Holy shit. Did not see this coming.
“I don’t think so, Coach. She’s not mentioned anything.” I press my brows together, acting like I’m deep in thought.
The one reprieve is that I’m not telling a lie. She hasn’t mentioned anything about him. I’ll just sidestep the part where I know the secret she’s been keeping.
“Okay, well, that’s good. Wait, it’s not someone on the team, right? One of the guys?” I can feel the rage curl around his words. “Because I thought I was pretty damn clear about that. And that might be the only other reason she’d keep something to herself.”
Fucking kill me. This is definitely going to require a lie.
“I don’t think she’s hanging out with one of the guys.” I try to cover my dishonesty with a technicality. It’s not one of the guys… it’s this guy. Even in my brain, the thread is thin like a frayed string.
“Alright.” Coach rolls his shoulders back like he can finally let go of the tension over the mere possibility that one of his players is dating his daughter.
Fuck. I’m in trouble. I try to swallow past the lump in my throat.
“Can we keep this between us? She’d hate that I asked you about it.” He stands, clearly putting an end to our meeting.
I follow suit and offer my hand when I’m standing. “You got it.”
He shakes my hand and smiles; it feels like I’ve come out of this unscathed.
I’m thanking my lucky stars or whatever in the world has given me this string of luck and walking towards the hallway when Coach calls out, “Hey, Lane? Thanks for helping her out with this research thing. When she talks about it, she’s excited, and it’s nice to see her coming back to herself after everything that happened this summer. ”
Well, fuck.
“Happy to help out,” I reply, doing everything I can to end this interaction.
I walk out of his office and my brain swims in everything from the scout names to Coach’s innocuous question about Cora.
I knew what I was getting myself into and if I had to guess… this is only the beginning.