Page 13 of No Pucks

Rex had been the coach of the New York Gods hockey team for, like, two decades. How did I not hear a word about this? I guess I had my own shit to deal with and wasn’t exactly paying attention. If he died suddenly, maybe they had to replace him with this guy? Taking over any coaching spot for the Gods is a huge deal—could he really be the head coach? Maybe he is some former NHL guy, but still, coaching is an entirely different beast.

“Who’s that?” I asked, tipping my head towards Anthony.

“He used to play here and in the NHL, and I guess he coached some D3 in Florida.”

“Which NHL team did he play for?” I ask, dreading the answer. Surely, he doesn’t mean?—

“For New York,” he replies, like I should know, making my stomach drop.

The New York Dragons is the team my grandfather owns, the one my father used to play for and now manages.

Fuck.

I scrub a hand over my face and look at Anthony again, but I still don’t recognize him as a player.

The guy laughs. “Bad blood?”

“I don’t know. I don’t recognize him, but I don’t have much to do with the team.” I never have, since my dad is always there.

“Fair enough. I’m Lovelace.”

I know the name. “Cox.”

“I know. Your dad and grandfather are kinda a big deal.”

I close one eye and groan. “Lucky me!”

“Might be a good thing with Coach if he had a good experience. If not, you might be fucked.” Lovelace laughs.

I might have fucked myselfliterally,but I don’t say that. Obviously. “Let’s hope it’s positive.”

What else can I do?

I put my gloves on and get on the ice, hoping Anthony doesn’t recognize me with a helmet on. I want to put off the awkward confrontation as long as possible.

Anthony stands, hands on his hips, like its nothing he’s back in the city. Like he’s not God’s gift to the human race. Like he doesn’t have a care in the world. He looks better than he did in May. The bags under his eyes are lighter. He’s more alert, even healthier. I’m about to ruin his day. He’s on skates despite the slight issue he had when we’d hooked up. Maybe it had been a fresh injury then?

He gets us going with a warm up, and I’m so far in my head, I nearly miss it, standing in the middle of the ice like I’m fucking new.

“Now that everyone is here, I’m going to introduce myself and the new coaching staff. A couple of you are new and may not have heard, but the team lost Rex suddenly right after the playoffs. I’m Anthony, and I’m taking over. I played in the NHL for six years and then coached the Lightning until I got this spot. This is my assistant coach?—”

I tune him out, still trying to place him.

Why don’t I recognize him? I flip through the index of players in my head, coming up blank. Could he really look that different from his playing days?

“What’s the new coach’s last name?” I ask one of my new teammates as we start running drills, lifting my chin at Anthony. I need to know what I’m getting myself into.

He glances at me. “You’re Cox’s kid, aren’t you?”

I nod. Everyone knows my father. It’s a curse, but I put a smile on my face and hold out my hand. “That’s me. You’re Ridgeway, right?” I know most of them. I’d done my research when picking schools. This guy is a fast fucking center. He dominates the ice, playing off his twin brother like they share one brain. This isn’t a big community and most of us have known each other since the junior leagues.

“Hawke. He was expected to be some big name until he got injured and retired early. You should know him. He played for your team.”

“Not my team…” I trail off as it clicks.

Anthony Hawke.

The Hawk. I don’t know why I didn’t connect the dots before.

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