Page 19 of Shot on Goal at a Second Chance
“Who said that?” I already know the answer, but I want her to confirm it.
“Jack,” she whispers. Pools of moisture build in the bottom of her eyes.
I pat her hand. “There must have been some miscommunication. Can you run over now?”
Her head bobs. “Yes, of course!”
She dumps the folders onto her desk, grabs her purse, and rushes toward the exit.
Taking a moment to recenter myself, I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and exhale. Now Jack is sabotaging me? I’m sure he’ll have some excuse about a misunderstanding or some other lame reason, but I’ll deal with that later. First, I have a potential coach to hire.
Harper proves to be efficient as usual and returns in short order with a box of fragrant croissants and pasties before our coffee is half gone.
“Thank you, Harper.” I give her a reassuring smile so she knows I’m not mad at her. Her uncle, however, will get a mouthful from me as soon as this meeting ends, provided I can pin him down.
After some initial talk about my plans for the arena, I jump into the meaty stuff, asking Gabe about his coaching philosophy, how he prefers to work with a team, and what he would need to get started.
Gabe listens carefully to each question I pose, taking a moment before answering. He doesn’t rattle off rehearsed responses or puff up his experience—he’s thoughtful. Intentional.
“My job as a coach,” he says, voice calm but confident, “is to bring out the best in each player. That means learning what motivates them, how they handle pressure, and how they respond to different forms of feedback. I don’t believe in a one-size-fits-all approach. You can be firm without being cold. Demanding but not demeaning.”
I nod slowly, impressed. “What about discipline? When a player crosses the line?”
He smiles faintly. “Consequences are part of growth. But if you’ve built trust from day one, players don’t usually want to let you down. You show them respect, and they give it back.”
Zach glances over at me then, as if to say,See?And okay—he was right. Gabe is the real deal.
We cover a list of details I made early this morning, covering as much ground as we can at this stage. Olivia doesn’t say a lot, but it’s clear she’s proud of him. Every time he talks about his players, her expression softens like she’s heard it all before and still never tires of it.
When we finally wrap up, I show them the rink so they can watch practice. The sound of skates carving into the ice hits me like a jolt of caffeine—familiar and comforting. I introduce our assistant coach, Derek, who has the team running drills. They seem to hit it off, exchanging post and preseason philosophies of keeping the guys motivated.
The players are running high-intensity skirmishes, and the pace is impressive. I glance at Gabe, who studies the action with a coach’s eye, quietly absorbing everything. He doesn’t talk much at first—just watches.
Eventually, Payton skates off for a breather and notices us. He flips his helmet up, flashing his signature cheeky grin. “So, you’re the new guy sizing us up, yeah?”
Gabe chuckles. “Something like that.”
“You’ll find plenty of talent out there. As for the humor—no promises.”
Ethan glides up beside him and smirks. “Ignore him. We don’t usually let the British ones speak.”
Payton gasps dramatically. “Rude.”
Wade, our ever-charming Texan goalie, leans against the boards. “Y’all want entertainment? Just mic these two up during practice. You’ll have your pick between stand-up and a soap opera.”
Gabe laughs, the sound genuine. “Looks like team chemistry won’t be an issue.”
I can tell he’s filing away every interaction, noting leadership tendencies, communication habits, and who’s pushing the pace. As I observe him, something settles in my chest—certainty.
He’s it—the one we need to turn things around and make this team shine.
After practice winds down, I linger by the glass, watching the last few players trickle off the ice. Derek gives me a nod as he heads toward the locker room with Gabe and Olivia, and Zach waits nearby, jacket pushed back with his hands tucked in his pants pockets, as if he knows I need a moment.
I do.
Because today felt like progress—like maybe, finally, we’re building something real here.
But second chances don’t come easy. And if Jack’salready playing dirty, I have no doubt it’s only the first move in a long game.
