Page 21 of One Night with my Best Friend's Dad

I push the players harder, forcing them to dig deeper.

The sound of skates cutting through the ice and the thud of sticks against sticks fill the rink, but it does little to drown out the turmoil in my head.

Oliver skates up to me, his brow furrowed, already noticing my inner storm. “Coach, is everything okay? You seem—”

“Everything’s fine,” I snap, cutting him off. “Just keep your focus on the ice, Oliver.”

He nods, hesitating for a moment before rejoining the drill. I know I’m being harder on them than usual, but I can’t help it. I need to channel this energy somewhere, anywhere, but the mess I’ve created at home.

Nate shoves Oscar into the boards, their voices rise in anger.

“Hey, hey! Cut it out, you two!” I bark, striding over to them. “Save it for the game, not practice.”

Nate glares at Oscar, but backs off. I turn to see Reynolds miss a wide-open shot; the puck clanging off the post.

“Reynolds, what the hell was that?” I shout. “You had a clear lane. You gotta bury that!”

Reynolds hangs his head. “Sorry, Coach. I’ll get the next one.”

I nod, my gaze drifts to Connor. He’s focused, as always, going through his pre-shot routine. The kid’s a machine, laser-focused and driven.

A small part of me envies that single-mindedness right now. If only I could shut everything else out and just focus on hockey.

I blow the whistle again, calling the team back to the center of the ice. As they skate over, I can’t help but notice the concerned glances they keep shooting my way.

“Okay, listen up,” I say, my voice gruff. “I know you all can see something’s off with me today. Truth is, I’ve got a lot on my mind. But that doesn’t matter out here. Out here, all that matters is this team, this game. So let’s get our heads back into the game and finish this practice strong. Understood?”

The players nod, murmuring their agreement. I turn to Connor, placing a hand on his shoulder. “You’re up, son. Show us how it’s done.”

Connor nods, determination etched into every feature. He skates to the top of the circle, the puck on his stick. He takes a deep breath, then fires the puck rocketing past the goalie and into the net.

The team erupts in cheers, slapping Connor on the back. I can’t help but smile, despite the eye of the storm nearing.

“Get on with it and settle down!” I call out. “Let’s run that again. I want to see that kind of focus from everyone.”

As the players fall back into position, I take a moment before glancing out at the empty stands, and wish I hadn’t. My daughter is watching with hurt and betrayal written all over her face as she watches me.

Shaking her head, she rises from her seat, takes her cell and walks out of the arena.

I swallow hard, pushing the image aside. I need to be here, present and focused, coaching my team. I’ll deal with Piper later.

I blow the whistle, the shrill sound echoing through the cold air, stopping the drill. “You can take a breather!” I call out.

The players skate over to the benches, gulping down water and wiping the sweat from their brows.

“Listen up!” I bark, pacing in front of the players. “We’ve got a big game this weekend, and I’m still not seeing the focus I need from this team.”

The guys exchange uneasy glances as tension rises in their shoulders.

“Reynolds, your passing has been sloppy for two weeks. Clean it up.” I turn to Nate. “And you, what the hell was that shove earlier? You’re better than that.”

Nate ducks his head. “Sorry, Coach. It won’t happen again.”

“It better not.” I glare at the group. “We’re going to run drills until I’m satisfied. No one leaves this ice until I say so. It might be a very long day. Understand?”

A chorus of “Yes, Coach” rings out, and the players scramble into position.

As the practice wears on, the players’ movements become more sluggish, their breathing coming in ragged gasps. But I refuse to let them rest, driving them relentlessly.

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