Page 3 of The Goalie

Everyone immediately quiets down. We all like and respect Coach Moss.

He’s firm and tough, and he knows his shit.

I like that in a coach.

I didn’t grow up with a dad or with any uncles, so my coaches were the only male role models I had.

My mother was too busy working to date. She had it rough, grueling through minimum wage jobs, but she still made sure to always put enough money aside to pay for my hockey registration and to buy all of those expensive pads that I was always growing out of way too fast.

She’s my number one inspiration. She’s why I’ve always been so dedicated.

I wanted her investment in me to pay off. I wanted to support her, retire her, and buy her a mansion. I’ve done all that, except for the mansion. She refused to let me buy her a new house. She loves her little townhouse in the city because she’s close to all of her friends.

I pimped it out though as soon as I got my first check. New furniture, appliances, and I changed all of the leaky pipes, the breezy old windows, and the linoleum floor which she always hated.

I give her money too, whatever she needs. And once a year, I pay for her and her three best friends to go on a big trip. This year, they’re all going to New Zealand.

“Alright, listen up,” Coach Moss bellows as everyone gathers around. “Good game tonight. How about that Nolan Barlowe, huh?”

He points at me with a grin and everyone cheers and claps. I get so many smacks on my back and hands ruffling my hair that I can’t help but smile and blush a little.

It always means a lot when a coach singles me out.

“For the first time in six years, the Hyenas are in the playoffs,” he says and everyone goes ape shit, banging on the lockers and benches as they hoot and holler. “Alright, shut up!”

Everyone settles down and he talks about the upcoming schedule for the week. We have a lot to do to get ready for the playoffs.

“Fundraiser tomorrow,” Coach Moss says and everyone groans.

“I don’t want to hear it,” he snaps. “It’s a big deal. The governor will be there, the mayor, a ton of rich CEOs, and some other A-listers that I’ve never heard of.”

The billionaire owner of our team, Brantley Van Morgan, is throwing a charity fundraiser for the children’s hospital tomorrow night on his super yacht.

“There will be a show,” Coach says. “Some pop singer.”

“Who?” Edvard asks, perking up.

“Um, Gemini-something…”

“Gemini-X?” Edvard says with a huge smile on his face.

“Yeah, that’s it,” Coach grumbles.

“I call dibs!” Edvard shouts so loud everyone can hear him.

“You are all required to be in attendance,” Coach says in a firm voice. “It is mand-a-tory. And bring your checkbook. Don’t be cheap, it’s for the kids.”

“What’s a checkbook?” Carlton, one of the young rookies, asks.

Coach stares at him with a blank face. “Are you serious?”

Carlton looks around in confusion. “What?”

“How old are you?”

Carlton gulps. “Nineteen.”

Coach rolls his eyes and continues. “Bring your Bitcoin card or whatever the fuck you pay with. Eight o’clock at the pier. VanMorgan’s super yacht is leaving with or without you. It better be with you.”

---