Page 165 of The Fake Out Flex

"No. There aren't."

"Well, on this team, on your team, you can change that. I haven't named the team yet, but it's registered in the Western States Hockey League."

"Wow. That's a tier two league."

The most common junior hockey teams are either Tier 2 or Tier 3. The main difference between the two tiers lies in the level of competition, player development, and exposure to higher levels of play. Tier two is the higher, more advanced tier.

My mind races ahead, picturing a team composed equally of boy and girl players. How awesome would it be to see that? And who knows, maybe one day there could even be an all-girl team to take on the all-boy teams.

Fraser drops his head and takes a breath. "Then I looked into kids with different needs, both mental and physical, and unfortunately, they're ruled out of playing in the junior league. But I wasn't going to let that stop me."

"What did you do?"

"Well, I kept digging into it and since you own the stadium, there's nothing to prevent you from offering training to any kids you want. You can create a program that includes everyone, including kids like Oakey."

He smiles when he mentions him, and I can tell how much it would mean to him for Oakey to be included and treated just like everyone else.

"There's a para ice hockey junior league which provides opportunities for young athletes with disabilities to participate in competitive hockey. That could be something to look into in the future."

"That sounds amazing."

"It is. There's a lot to do. The stadium needs work, not to mention everything involved in setting up a junior league team and getting them ready for competition. And of course, the team is going to need a coach. Someone who knows the game inside out. Someone who's tough but has also learned to be kind. Someone who wants to make a positive difference in the world."

His eyes swing to…

"Me?"

He nods. "I realize this is a lot to take in, Evie, especially considering it's come out of left field. This is a humongous, crazy undertaking, but if anyone can make it work, you can. You're at risk of losing your job, and I know you don't really want to pursue Washington. And even though you enjoy making bracelets and you could possibly start a business selling them, it doesn't light you up from the inside the way hockey does." He lowers his head and bites his lower lip. "Nothing lights you up like hockey does."

"Well," I quirk a brow. "Maybe one thing does."

He smiles bashfully. "Was hoping you'd say that."

My gaze travels around the locker room.

I'm trying to take it all in—Fraser's announcement, the flowers filling my vision everywhere I look—but it's almost too much for my brain to handle.

"This is…This is definitely a wow moment," I say. "And believe me, you and me, we've already had a few of those."

"You're allowed a wow," Fraser says with a soft grin on his lips.

I nod, my mind still reeling. "This might even be a double-wow moment. A possible contender for a triple—or even quadruple—wow."

He braces my shoulders, and when I stare into his eyes, all I see is love and excitement and support.

"Evie," he says. "I would never force you into doing anything you don't want to do. The stadium is yours, and the team is yours, but only if you want them. All the paperwork and legal stuff is currently in my name in case you don't. I didn't want to be presumptuous or for you to feel trapped or guilted into taking this on. This is a big decision, so take all the time you need to think about it. I've spoken with your dad, and he's happy to step in as interim coach, and you know, I can help out since I know a thing or two about hockey."

I create a small gap between my thumb and index finger. "You know this much."

He chuckles. "Yeah. Give or take."

I get up and start pacing the length of the room, running my fingers over the flower petals fixed to the wall.

Fraser's right.

Nothing ignites me like hockey does.

When I was a girl, I wanted to be a coach so badly, but not seeing any representation meant that it felt like a pipedream, completely unattainable.

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