Page 42 of Top Shelf

“I’m sorry, man,” he says. “I’m looking into other possibilities of donors and board members. But he would have to be voted out by everyone, so it’s a process. He put in another name last night, so now the board has to review him and see what they think.”

I run a hand down my face.

“Fuck this guy,” I say.

“I know, dude,” Levi says. “I’m sorry. In the meantime, though, you have been approved to coach the eighth-grade team, if you still want that?”

“Of course I do,” I say.

“Oh, great,” Levi says. “That’s awesome. I’ll send over the names of the kids who registered to tryout this week so you can start organizing it. As long as they’ve filled everything out, you can start workouts whenever you want to. We have rink time reserved starting next week. Also, don’t forget about the charity game. I wasn’t kidding when I said I volunteered you for it. It’s two weeks from Friday. Supposed to be a full house. Start warming up, Calway. It’s you and me back on the ice again.”

I laugh.

“Oh, Jesus,” I say. “That’ll be a hoot.”

“It will be. And, uh…supposedly Hayden signed up to play.”

I grit my teeth.

“Did he now?”

“Be nice, Calway,” Levi warns. “This is for the kids.”

“I’m always nice,” I tell him. He laughs.

“If that was true, we wouldn’t be friends. I’ll talk to you later, man.”

“Bye, brother,” I say as I hang up.

Hayden wants to play?

Game on.

The next few days go by similarly to how the last few days went. She’s still slowly moving things in. She had an interview yesterday that she was really excited about and thought it went well, and we’re having insane sex all over the fucking house. Poor Odie is scarred.

In the meantime, I’ve started hosting workouts for some of the boys who have registered for my team, and I’m loving it even more than I thought I would. Coaching is in my blood, but hockey has always been my thing. Tate was the prodigy, the football star who followed in my dad’s footsteps. Hockey wasmything. I was the family expert. That is, until my sister married my stupid ex-professional best friend. But hey, it was fun being the family “pro” while it lasted.

I never struggled watching Levi live that life without me. He’s the epitome of a best friend. His success was my success. He welcomed me into that life with him, kept his down-home roots, and never forgot where he came from. I always loved that we had that shared love for the game. After my mom died, Levi picked me up and drove me to the rink after hours. We had befriended the manager, and he opened the ice for us. And for hours, the two of us just skated, shooting goals, not saying a word.

I’m standing next to the ice with my clipboard, checking kids in as they arrive and shaking hands with parents. Once I have about eight kids, I clap my hands together.

“Okay, boys,” I say, “take a seat. Parents, feel free to watch from outside the glass.” They all file out, and the boys take a seat in front of me. Once it’s just me and them, I walk to the middle and stand in front.

“Who here has played hockey on a team before?” I ask. Two of them raise their hands. “Who here has ice skated before?” Four of them raise their hands. “How many of you watch hockey on TV?” Seven of them raise their hands.

Oof. This could be tricky.

“Alright, no problem,” I say with a smile. “I’m Coach Ty,” I say. I can’t beCoachCalway. There are already two of those, and they are prolific. “I played hockey in high school up the road a little ways in Crooked Creek. I played on club teams through college, and I spent my weekends watching my best friend play for the Spokane Storm.”

“Levi Buck!” one of them calls out. I smile and nod.

“Levi Buck,” I say. “Levi will probably be swinging by a few of our practices. So we gotta iron out the kinks before he does. First things first, let’s learn how to put on our skates properly.”

I pull my skates out of my bag and demonstrate all the basics. How to carry them, how to lace them, and then how to get out on the ice. It’s a slow start, but it’s a start. And by the end, every single one of them is standing up without falling down.

At the end of practice, I stand with them while they unlace, and we chat for a bit. Parents come back in and grab their kids, thanking me and saying their goodbyes. The last kid on the bench is folding up his laces neatly and holding his skates like they’re a newborn. He puts them into his duffel bag and picks it up so carefully it’s like he thinks it’s made of glass.

“First pair of skates, Elijah?” I ask him with a smile. He nods.

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