Page 147 of The Maxwell Brothers
"I'm enjoying it. The coordinator the center assigned me is great to work with. Kendra’s very involved in what she does and one of the best people I’ve met.”
Daniels cocked a brow. “I trust you’re keeping things professional?”
I frowned. “Meaning?”
“Exactly what I said.”
“My personal life is no one’s business.”
“You’re on thin ice, Maxwell. Don’t fuck things up.”
With that, he walked away, leaving me even more pissed at him than I already was. Daniels was way out of line. He had no business telling me what to do in my personal life as long as it didn't affect my performance. No one dictated what I could or couldn’t do.No one.
I was still fuming later that afternoon, but I had a skate session with the kids, and I for sure was not going to miss that.
"Tyler, what am I doing wrong?" Rupert asked, skating and stopping right in front of me. He’d missedagain. Poor kid.
"Buddy, your hold on the stick is still not a hundred percent where it should be."
He slumped his shoulders. "I'm the worst on the team.”
He had the most trouble, no question, so I gave him a pep talk.
"Practice the way I told you, and you'll eventually get the hang of it. But it’ll take a while. Just don't give up."
"But everyone else can already do it," he argued.
"I know that's frustrating, but there's no way around this. You just have to keep trying. Practice even when you’re not on the ice. You’ll get the hang of your stick, and it’ll become second nature."
"You're always so good at everything."
I shook my head. "I didn't start like that, buddy. I started like all of you, playing at school, doing my best. It takes commitment, true dedication. Just set your mind on it, and you’ll eventually get it done."
"Really? You were like us?"
"Yeah. I was a kid too.” I grinned. “Come on, go back to your teammates and show them what you can do."
"I'm ruining the game."
"No, don’t say that. Be confident, okay? I can already tell you're getting better," I assured him.
I enjoyed training these kids even more than I thought I would. They had enthusiasm and innocence, and they had a competitive streak too, but not in the do-or-die mentality that was the battle for the Stanley Cup. I'd always assumed I would coach a professional team after retiring, but it was unexpectedly rewarding to work with kids. As a bonus, there was no fucking management to answer to.
The skate session ended twenty minutes later, and while the rest of the kids changed, I showed Rupert some tricks and how to hold the stick. The guy had determination, and in my experience, if you wanted something bad enough and you were willing to put in the effort and sweat, it would eventually work out.
Half an hour later, everyone was ready to go. There was a supervisor in the stands too, as usual. I’d found out that the club picked the kids up with a bus, but they needed a teacher present. Mr. Dawson was their biology teacher.
“Kids, I have some bad news for you,” he said while we all went out. “The fundraiser didn’t work out. There’s not enough money for the field trip, so the principal decided the funds will be used to buy new school books.”
There was a collective groan from the group.
“But we did so much research about the Apple River Canyon State Park,” Tim said, sounding disappointed. He was the group’s spokesman of sorts. “How can we complete the assignment if we don’t see it?”
“We’ll watch videos,” Mr. Dawson said, trying to appease the kids.
The boys didn’t look happy at all. I didn’t blame them. If someone got me excited for a trip and then canceled it, I’d react the same way.
“What happened?” I asked the teacher as I nudged him over to the side of the walkway.
