Page 26 of A Scoring Chance

“I’ll have to figure out something once the season starts if we have games on Saturdays. I don’t want the team going too long without ice time.”

“I’m sure you’ll figure something out.” I jump at the sound of Momma’s voice. I completely forgot she was even sitting at the table with me.

“The schedule is packed pretty tight for Thursday. We may just have to hope we don’t get many Saturday games. If we have them, they’ll more than likely be away games.”

I continue poring over the schedule, trying to find any holes we might slide into if I ever have to cancel practice. There aren’t many, but I think I can work with this. I’ll talk to Coach James next practice and see if he’s started his team doing any weight training. If so, maybe we can coordinate some workouts. Twelve is about the age I started lifting weights. as well. Not something I would recommend them doing on their own, but with the older boys helping them out and Coach James and me tailoring a regimented program for them, I think it would be great.

“This is a good look on you, son.” Momma smiles, pushing back from the table and placing her mug in the sink.

“What?”

“Coaching.” She grabs the coffee pot, holding it up to silently ask me if I want some more, but I decline. “I haven’t seen you this excited since you were teaching Kyle how to skate on his fifth birthday.”

I chuckle softly at the memory. “He couldn’t even tie his own shoes, but he was determined to get out on the ice with his brothers.”

“The three of you can do no wrong in his eyes. I just wish—” Her voice trails off, but I know exactly what she’s thinking.

“That Cole would make more of an effort,” I respond through gritted teeth, wanting nothing more than to wave a magic wand and make everything right in our family.

Cole walked out the door of our childhood home the day after his high school graduation and rarely comes back. Cole, Beau, and I were thick as thieves growing up. I was afraid that things would change after Dad passed away, but we all became closer than ever. That is, until right before his sixteenth birthday, when Cole distanced himself from everyone. Choosing to hide away in his room instead of with the family. Things only got worse when the NHL offers started pouring in.

I made sure all three of my brothers understood the natural order of things for them. I didn’t want them to depend completely on hockey. They were to get a college degree. It could’ve been a basket weaving degree for all I cared. They just had to have a plan for themselves after hockey. Cole disagreed, and we fought about it a lot. No matter what I said or how I explained it to him, it only made matters worse.

The night of graduation, we had a huge fight about him signing with the Wolverines. He swore it was because I wanted to keep him in my shadow, forcing him to live a life he didn’t want, but that wasn’t it at all. I just wanted to protect him, to protect all of them, and give them a chance to do whatever they wanted with their lives. I chose hockey for my own reasons, but I wanted them to have options.

We both said some shitty things to each other that night, and in the end, he walked out the door and signed a contract with the Wolverines. Thankfully, Remy agreed immediately to represent him and make sure they didn’t take advantage of his naïveté. It’s worked out well for both of us, but I hate not speaking to him. I live for the little updates I get from Momma and Remy, but I want Cole to be a part of all our lives again. Instead, we hardly speak to each other, choosing to let the numbers on the scoreboard speak for us whenever we play each other.

“Cole has his own demons. All of you do. We just need to have faith that he’ll find his way back home to all of us.”

“Has he not been calling?”

Cole may not want any type of relationship with his brothers, but he’s always kept in touch with Momma. He usually asks her to have dinner with him when he’s in town for games, but that’s even been less frequently now that I’ve been spending more time here. God forbid he has to have a conversation with his big brother. Very mature of him, I know.

“Of course, he has,” Momma scoffs. “The boy doesn’t have a death wish. We’re having dinner this weekend after the exhibition match.”

“Good,” I respond, throwing back the last of my coffee before pushing away from the table. “Although I’d love nothing more than to spend the entire morning with you, I need to get a workout in. Murphy is going to want a full report at the game on Friday.”

“Yeah. Yeah. I talk about nasty things like feelings and you run for the hills.”

“You know me too well.” I chuckle, kissing the top of her head, and then grab my keys off the table before heading out the door.

Since it’s a workday for almost everyone else, the roads to The Chill Zone are clear. I don’t waste any time and head right to the gym to start my workout routine. It hasn’t changed much since my surgery, just the inclusion of specific stretches to help strengthen my ACL. I spend about thirty minutes warming up on the treadmill, starting with a brisk walk before transitioning to a decently paced run. I start with bilateral squats before moving to single-leg squats and bridges on each leg. I usually continue with a few more exercises, but I want to get onto the ice today to work on some basic warm-up drills. Murphy has given the go-ahead for me to work on non-contact drills for the time being, not wanting to push our luck with full contact yet.

Scott walks into the room, and I suppress a groan. He’s the last person I want to see right now, but it was bound to happen. The hockey club has offices here at The Chill Zone. Even though the rink is used by multiple sports, there’s no doubt it was built to support the hockey club. He hasn’t changed since high school. The same perfectly tousled head of chestnut brown hair and muscular build that made the girls swoon. He’s wearing a green Timberwolves Hockey Club hoodie, a pair of dark-washed jeans, and a perfectly white pair of sneakers.

“I don’t have time for this,” I mumble to myself before turning to give him my full attention. Fingers crossed engaging in a few minutes of small talk will send him scurrying back to his office so I can finish my workout.

“Don’t you ever give it a rest?”

“Not if I want to make it back on the ice in time for the playoffs,” I respond, taking a seat on the open bench a few steps away.

“I hear you. I’m sure the team is going to miss you out on the ice. Whoever is taking your position on the starting line is going to have his work cut out for him.”

Scott moves around the weight room, touching everything he passes. There’s something off about him I can’t place, my mind instantly going to something horrible. Has a parent complained about me already? There’s no doubt that Alise would have warned me if anyone responded negatively to me disappearing after practice yesterday, but someone could’ve contacted Scott directly. Damn. Only one day as a hockey coach and I’m already causing the club problems. I highly doubt Scott would “fire me,” but stranger things have happened.

I push all those negative thoughts from my head. “I have complete faith in my team to win games, but I hate sitting on the sidelines. Only being able to watch is akin to torture for me.”

“I can only imagine. You must have some prime seats for the games.”

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