Page 11 of Glitz & Goals

I blow the whistle again, calling for some scrimmage drills. This is where I’ll see how they really move together, how they communicate on the ice. The puck drops, and right away, Viktor and Knight fall into a rhythm, like they’ve been playing together for years. There’s a natural chemistry between them that’s hard to miss—sharp passes, quick reads, and a little playful competition as they try to outdo each other.

Along with Tristan, that’s my first line.

Then there’s Camden, trying to keep up and prove he belongs. But he’s overthinking every move, hesitating just long enough to throw off the flow. He goes in for a pass, but Viktor’s already blown by him, stealing the puck with a quick flick of his wrist.

When his kid gets relegated to the second line, Anders Beck, Stanley Cup and Conn Smythe trophy winner, is going to hate my guts.

But I answer to Sergio—and sometimes Dante—and I have to do what’s best for the team.

“Keep your head up, Beck!” I shout, but I can see it in his eyes—he’s rattled. Trying too hard. I’ve been there before. Hell, I was him, once upon a time. That kid on the ice, doing everything he could to make a name for himself.

Tristan’s no better, burning energy but not syncing with the team. He’s fast, sure, but speed doesn’t mean much if you’re out of step with your linemates. Viktor and Knight have the chemistry down, but Tristan and Camden? They’re still trying to find their place.

But they will, I’m sure of it. They both have the goods. For them, it will be all about the mental game.

The guys skate hard, and the competitive banter keeps the mood light, but I can’t shake the feeling in my gut as I watch them. These players still have their future ahead of them. I used to be that guy, but now... now I’m the one watching from the boards, shouting instructions like a coach should. It’s where I’m supposed to be. But damn, it still stings sometimes.

Just as I’m about to call the next drill, I hear a familiar voice from the bench. “If you let Beck keep playing like that, Coach, I’ll be seeing him in the treatment room by tomorrow.”

I glance over and see Violet Newberry—Briggs’ daughter and the team’s head injury specialist—grinning as she stepsonto the ice. She’s got that no-nonsense vibe, but also a warmth that makes the guys respect her without hesitation. The players smirk at her comment, and Camden gives a sheepish wave.

“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure he’s still in one piece,” I reply, half-smiling. “Though a little time in the treatment room might be just what he needs.”

Violet arches a brow, her lips twitching into a smirk. “To toughen him up or break him down? You coaches really know how to walk that line.”

There’s a lightness to her teasing, but I know she means business. She’s one of the best in her field, and no one takes head injuries more seriously than Violet. It’s personal for her, given her dad’s history. She’s always on alert, watching these guys like a hawk, ready to jump in the second something seems off.

As Violet checks Camden’s helmet and runs a quick inspection, I catch a glimpse of how easily she connects with the players. There’s no awkwardness, no hesitation. They all trust her, even when she’s giving them hell about keeping their heads on straight—literally. I’ve got a lot of respect for her, not just because of her job, but because of the way she holds her own in a room full of high-testosterone hockey players.

As she finishes with Camden, she shoots me another look. “You’re responsible for him out here, Coach. Don’t make me look bad.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I say with a grin. “But if he does end up in the treatment room, I’ll make sure he brings you coffee.”

Violet chuckles, shaking her head. “You’ve got a deal.”

As she leaves the bench area, I can’t help but admire how she handles herself. This whole team seems full of people who are just... good at what they do. And here I am, still trying to figure out how to let go of my past while keeping these guys moving forward.

As the practice winds down, I blow the whistle one last time and call the guys in. They skate over, breathing hard, but there’s a glint in their eyes—a mix of pride and exhaustion. They worked hard today, and it shows.

“Good effort out there,” I say, my voice firm but not too heavy. “This is just the beginning. We’ve got a tough season ahead, but if you bring that same energy every day, we’re going to be a hell of a team. No shortcuts. We do it right, or we don’t do it at all.”

The guys nod, a few glancing at each other, the camaraderie already building. Viktor elbows Camden, a teasing grin on his face. “You hear that, Beck? No shortcuts into the treatment room just because you want to see Violet.”

Camden rolls his eyes but smirks back. “I can’t help it if she’s a trillion times better looking than you, hotshot.”

I resist a smile, shaking my head. “As long as you don’t crash the encore, Abbott,” I add, surprising myself by joining in on the banter. Laughter ripples through the group, and for a moment, I feel a spark of something—maybe I’m getting through to them after all.

“Alright, hit the showers,” I say, and they scatter, skating off the ice in pairs, still jostling and ribbing each other. I watch them go, feeling a strange mix of pride and longing. My job now is to guide them and shape them into something great. But I’ll never be one of them again. I’m on the other side now.

As I turn to leave the ice, I catch Noah looking at me from across the rink, his brows knit in confusion. He’s still wondering why I’m so distant, why I’m not warming up to him like everyone else. He doesn’t know, and maybe that’s for the best. But it doesn’t stop that ache from creeping into my chest every time I see him.

I force myself to look away, stepping off the ice and heading toward the locker room. I’ve got a good team, a solid crew, andan assistant coach I can trust. But no matter how much I try to focus on the future, my past keeps gnawing at the edges.

Ranger calls out to me as I make my way toward the exit. “Hey, Coach. You good?”

“Yeah.” I nod, waving him off. “Just heading out.”

He gives me a knowing look but doesn’t push. “See you tomorrow.”

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