Page 14 of My Pucking Perfect Goalie

“Sammy!” I’m calling his name—and stalking after him—in the large gravel parking lot outside the shack. Leila and Gerald were kind but awkward as we filled out more paperwork and I paid for the jump that didn’t happen.

Sammy stood, silent and sulking, at the back of the shop, and I had to contain my rage when he turned and pushed out the doors, not waiting for me to catch up. When I got outside, I had to call to ask the driver to return an hour early.

“Wait!” I call again, anger bubbling through me. I willnotrun after this man, or any man, for that matter. Finally, he turns, his broad chest facing me, his arms crossing over it. When he stares down at me, something lights up in my stomach. A twinge of adrenaline. A reaction to this challenge.

“What?” he asks, voice low and venomous. “Are you going to call me a coward?”

“No.” I suck in a breath through my teeth and cross my arms too. It’s not professional, but I suddenly feel vulnerable, standing here in front of him like this. The bright sunshine beats down on us from above, and I shift, the heat of it making sweat bead on my forehead.

“I just think we should reschedule,” I continue. “Work through what kept you from taking the leap, then try to get back up there—”

“Oh,hellno,” he says, and when I meet his eyes, there’s a strange expression on his face. Like surprise at himself coupled anger coupled with fear. “I’m not going back up there.”

“It’s important, Sam—”

“Why? Why is it important?”

“I told you. We need to work on your boldness.”

“What does that even mean?”

“Well, you’d know if you’d gotten over it and taken the leap!”

“I just don’t see what the hell jumping out of a plane has to do with hockey. What, so I can break my legs and end up like Brett?”

“Breaking your legs wouldn’t be ideal,” I admit. “But would you really hate ending up like Brett? Being one of the highest paid and most successful players in the league? Being something more than an average goalie, in and out of the league without a reason for anyone to remember his name?”

Sammy’s jaw ticks, his nostrils flaring.

I realize I’m breathing hard, and a shock rolls through my body. I’ve never acted like this with a client before, never so much as raised my voice, let alone gone back and forth like this.

“I’m not jumping out of a fucking plane,” Sammy says, his voice chilling. I stare at him, slightly thrilled by this change. So he does have a mode other than easy-going. “That’s the end of the discussion.”

“Cute that you think you get to make those decisions,” I counter, a smirk spreading over my face. “But I’m the coach. And it’s clear from your resistance that this isexactlywhat you need.”

“I’d resist a lobotomy too. Doesn’t mean it’s helpful.”

I have toresistthe urge to laugh at that. Clearing my throat, I look up to the beautiful Vermont summer sky for a moment, sucking in a breath through my nose.

“Sammy,” I say, my voice nearly trembling with restraint. “Listening to me would be wise. I have the track record to prove that my methods work.”

“Maybe they work for other people. But not me.”

“Listen,” I snap, running a hand over my hair, my fingers stopping when they reach the base of my slick ponytail. “I’m not going to force you into this. In fact, I’m not going to waste my time forcing you to do anything. Other athletes would bejumpingat the chance to work with me. If you’re not going to take this seriously, then I’m done.”

To my surprise, something like disappointment flickers over his face, then he sighs and looks down at the ground, his hand coming to the back of his neck.

“Fine,” he says, voice low.

“Fine?”

“Yeah, fine,” he lifts his eyes to mine. “Maybe that would be for the best, then.”

I clench my jaw to keep my mouth from falling open. Is he giving up on this? His expression is nearly impossible to read, but I try anyway, my eyes skipping over his features and trying to discern the pinch of his brow, the way his lips are turning down at the corners.

“Maybe that would be for the best?”

“Yeah.” His voice is lower now, near gravelly. Defeated. “I don’t want to waste your time. You should go find someone else and help them be great. Maybe the simple truth is just that some people have it, and some people don’t. I’m playing in the NHL—for most people, that would be enough. Itshouldbe enough. Make my money, retire, live comfortably. That’s what I should do.”

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