Page 1 of Not My Coach

Blowing the whistle, I call my team over to center ice. Slower than I would like, they skate over and surround me. With the second blow, they pick up the pace, and the last few stragglers race over and join the huddle.

“Next time, skate that hard on the first whistle.” My tone is harsh but truthful. “Lazy skaters in practice are lazy skaters in games, and I don’t have any room for sluggish players in my lines. Clear?” My voice carries over each one of them and echoes in the rink.

In a disjointed chant, they all answer me, “Yes, Coach.”

With my hands tucked into the pockets of my suit pants, I instruct them, “I want to see our current overtime lines. Kos, set them up. The winning team has to score two to end the scrimmage.”

Wide eyes surround me, and I know they’re already exhausted. They’ve been running nonstop drills for the last two hours. But I don’t care. They need to work harder.

“Goalies, don’t go easy on them either so that we get out of here sooner. I’ll be watching,” I warn.

Jensen Donnelley raises his glove, and I nod, giving him permission to speak.

“Coach, have you considered starting any hobbies? Or finding someone, maybe a stunner, who will help you release some of that pent-up anger? You know, instead of us?” He chuckles, and my lips tug up at his attempt to lighten the mood.

The other guys laugh along with him and mumble incoherently.

“Donnelley?” I call out, my smirk long gone. “Do you want to do suicides while the rest of your team finishes the last drill?”

His smile falls immediately. “No, Coach.”

Clapping, I smile menacingly. “Perfect. Then, you’ll stay focused on the puck.”

He immediately jumps in, saying, “And not focus on who you fuck. Got it, Coach.”

Tilting my head to the side, I give him his last silent warning before I follow up on my previous threat. He nods and seals his lips shut—a smart decision for the both of us.

“Kos,” I say and dismiss myself from the circle, heading to the players bench, where my assistant coaches are standing.

Kos takes over, choosing two of the lines to start on the ice. One of my assistants walks out to the center with a puck to start the play.

Jensen Donnelley has one hell of a smart mouth. To be honest, he reminds me of myself when I used to play. That’s why I let him get away with more than he probably should. I also know he uses that sharp tongue to make his team laugh and to keep the energy going. He’s a smart kid, and he knows that talking about my sex life is one hundred percent out of line. But that doesn’t mean that his suggestion was completely wrong.

I do have a lot of pent-up anger, among other pent-up emotions, and I do need to find an outlet. My emotions aside, I’m making this practice harder for a reason. We are on day four of a six-day game break. This has been their longest stretch of the season, and I don’t want them to relax into that off period. I know how much of a blessing and a curse long breaks like this can be. In the end, they will thank me that their legs didn’t rest as much as they wanted them to.

Goose bumps rise over my arms, and I know that Kos’s line is about to score. There is something magical that happens when you know that’s coming. I don’t know exactly how someone detects it. But the passes start flying perfectly. The flow of the game between those players is perfect in that exact moment, and it allows for them to put the puck in the net.

Kos misleads a defenseman with a fake shot, and instead of shooting, he flings the puck backward to Burnsy, then skates out of the way. The defender follows Kos, leaving a wide-open lane for Burnsy to shoot. That is the biggest mistake that line could have done, letting Brett Burns have an undefended lane. They pay for that mistake because not a second later, the puck flies into the back of the net from Brett’s powerhouse shot.

They celebrate and reset in the center. That’s a good play and exactly what I wanted to see before tonight’s practice comes to an end. My assistant drops the puck.

Laura Young and Charlotte Winters, two of our social media staff, set up the camera and a phone to ask the guys questions and get some photos as they walk back to the locker room after practice. Occasionally, I let them sucker me into their funny questions because they are always a fan favorite on our team’s social media pages. It’s incredible, the role that social media plays in today’s game. There was definitely social media when I played in the NHL, but it wasn’t to the level that it is today.

Personally, I have a love-hate relationship with it altogether. I think it’s a cool thing to have to communicate with people you don’t get to see often in person. On the other hand, it is how I found out my ex-wife was already exclusively dating another man even though I just signed the divorce papers today. I couldn’t give two shits if she dates and who she dates, but it’s her fault that this divorce dragged out as long as it did. She kept trying to convince me to give her a second chance and take her back for the last year that we’d been apart. But there was no possible reality where that was going to happen. Not after I caught her in bed, getting plowed by my best friend—or rather ex–best friend.

To be honest, our separation was long overdue before I found my wife and best friend in my bed. But that was the obvious nail in the coffin for our already-failed marriage. In a fucked-up way, I felt relief. We could stop going to marriage counseling, which obviously wasn’t working. We could stop pretending like we cared about each other anymore. I could finally stop waiting around, deciding whether or not I should call it quits.

Kate and I had been together for ten years, although I doubt this last year counts as us actually being together. As much relief as I feel now, I never pictured being single and starting all over again at thirty-six. I don’t even know what being single is like anymore, although I know far less about dating nowadays than I did ten years ago.

I’m not in any rush to find someone to spend my time with. I’m perfectly content being by myself. I do occasionally miss having someone to sleep next to and come home to. But I’m not going to settle for another ten years of failure just to fill that void.

Kostelecky’s slap shot pulls me from my thoughts, just in time to see him score and end the scrimmage.

“Can you dismiss the team tonight? I have somewhere to be,” I instruct my assistant before leaving and heading back to my office to grab my things for the night.

Is the somewhere I need to be more important than the team? No. But they don’t need me here to finish practice. I think they’ll manage for only one night. And I don’t want to be out too late. I have a meeting in the morning.

I’m taking myself out for a drink to celebrate my divorce. I’m going to my favorite restaurant to get some good pasta and some even better whiskey.

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