Page 21 of Puck to the Heart
As her backpack bounced with her retreating steps, I wished I’d told her about my plan to try for captain. Some bizarre need to share withsomeoneleft me adrift.
Not only that, but I missed her when she left.
Fuck.
* * *
My heart ached for Trip.Not only would the season be almost impossible without our fearless leader, but I missed him. He was like a big brother, always ready with advice. I wondered what he’d think about my plan, if he’d be proud of me.
Coach said Trip expected to be back next season, but we all knew the realities of such an injury, particularly at Trip’s age. He wasn’told, but at thirty-five, he was getting old by athlete standards. Trip was one of our veteran players, a Knight for several years, and he’d been playing professionally for several more. If not for the injury, he probably would’ve aged out in another season or two.
But filling in as acting captain, even temporarily… This was my chance to shed the “Basher” persona. If I were captain, maybe I could prove to the team, to myself how much more there was to me.Hope filled me, pulling my shoulders straighter and my head higher, as I formulated a plan during the ride to our hotel.
Coach settled in one of the offices reserved for visiting coaches, but he was with someone when I found him, so I waited in one of the chairs lining the wall, elbows resting on my knees with my fingers clasped between them. Adrenaline skipped through my veins, my nerves already raw before the interaction. After a few minutes, the door opened, revealing Thomas Allen shaking hands with Coach as he exited the office. Allen gave me a sharp look as he left, and unease followed in his wake.
Coach Olsen leaned back in a creaky leather desk chair that had seen better days. He didn’t waste his energy on things that weren’t his team, and it was one of my favorite things about him.
“Wilder,” Coach said by way of greeting as he slid black plastic reading glasses down his nose.
“Coach, have you found a replacement for Trip?” Best to spit it out, right?
“You’re no center.” Coach shuffled a few papers on his desk, barely looking at Ash as he shifted his weight.
“Er, no, I meant… for captain.”
Coach took his glasses off completely and stared at me for a solid thirty seconds without speaking. “Captain? You?” A furrow formed between the old man’s thick grey brows.
At least the old man didn’t further injure my ego by laughing.
“Forget I mentioned it.” I turned to leave, catching my shoulder on the doorframe.
“Hold on.” Coach leaned back in his chair, resting his hands on the desk, tapping both forefingers in tandem. “Whydo you want to be captain?”
The answer couldn’t be as simple as ‘to be taken seriously’, so I mulled it over. “I think I could be a good leader… if given the opportunity.” Shit, I should’ve planned this, written a speech or something. I bet Allen had a speech.
Faded brown eyes peered at me from over a hawkish nose. “You haven’t given me much to back up that statement. Especially given some of your… history.”
I winced. “I was in a weird place, and it was a long time ago?—”
“Save the excuses, kid. If you’re going to lead, put your own shit aside.”
“Does that mean?—”
“Maybe. I want you to prove to me you can be real about something. Something that isn’t models and photoshoots.”
“That was years ago! I haven’t done anything stupid since then.” Nausea curdled, the bile rising in my throat. Coach didn’t knoweverythingbecause I couldn’t bear to tell him. Was that a mistake?
“I know, but I need you to be serious about this. I’ll be honest, Wilder, I wasn’t expecting to hear from you today.”
“I know, sir. But I thought I’d try something new.”
Coach let out a barking laugh. “I like that. Look, I’ll tell you what I told Allen and Coltes, too. Losing a captain wasn’t on my agenda for this season, and I won’t make a rash decision on who leads the team.”
Cold dread filled my veins— it never occurred that I might have competition. That was me—always too cocky.
“I want to give everyone a fair shot, and I need to feel you all out, so here’s the deal: you’ll each have a set number of games to prove to me you have what it takes. If I like what I see, we’ll talk.”
“Thanks, Coach. I won’t let you down.” And that sounded like a teen sports movie. Too bad we weren’t on a golf course; I’d break into song.
