Page 35 of Hat Trick
“You don’t want to know what I thought,” I say.
“Yeah, I do. I’m captain of this team, and as much as it’s going to suck learning new shifts and different lines, it’s what we have to do.”
“I want to know too.” Coach props the door to the locker room open with his foot. “Especially if it’s something we can fix early on.”
“I don’t know what you were thinking when you started McDavidson. Seymour is the better skater. McDavidson should be on the third line like he was last year, and Brooks should be on second.” I pause for a breath. “And Ethan lost sixty percent of the face offs he should’ve easily won.”
“Wow, Mitchy.” Ethan stops at his locker and drops his stick at his feet. “That hurts.”
“Sorry. Just being honest.”
“Seymour’s takeaways have been some of the lowest in the league,” Coach says, and he motions for me to follow him. “McDavidson was top twenty in the league with blocked shots last year.”
“Yeah, and he has the highest percentage of goals scored against us when he’s on the ice.” I shut the door to Coach’s office behind me and lean against it. I’ve been in pain all night, and it’s a relief to alleviate some of the ache in my limb. “You have offensive weapons who can score—Miller is good for at least two goals a game. Grant is becoming more sure of himself and looked great tonight. But without me out there, you’re leaving a lot of defensive work to Hayes, who can’t do it all on his own when his pair is getting beaten across the line every time.”
Coach sits and steeples his fingers. “You’ve been doing your research.”
“I’ve been obsessed with statistics since my high school coach said I wouldn’t make the first line on a college team. So, I studied the shit out of the best defenders in the league, realized it’s not about fancy skating or being the best scorer, and honed in on the areas of my game that would elevate me to the next level.”
“You ended up winning the Hobey Baker Award when you were at Michigan. I’d say you turned out okay.”
“Yeah. I did. Can’t say the same about McDavidson. I think he’s used to being one of the best players on the ice at the collegiate level, and that’s not translating to the big leagues yet. Offenses blow right by him.”
“I’m impressed, Mitchell.”
“By what? My hockey IQ? I’ve been playing over fifteen years, Coach. I know a few things.”
“No.” He unbuttons his sleeves and rolls them to his elbows, showing off a dozen tattoos. I spy his daughter’s initials. A pair of skates and a design that looks like a ribbon. “This is the most you’ve looked alive in months. Who knew calling out shitty playing was the way to get you out of your funk?”
“Oh.” I pull on the sleeve of my jersey. I might’ve been watching from the outside, and the boys might’ve lost, but it was fuckingfunto be back around the sport I love. Seeing the guys in action gave me some motivation. It makes me want to get my ass in gear. To work hard so I can maybe skate with them again one day. “Hockey has that effect on me, I guess. It makes me happy, even when everything else in my life is shit.”
“I know what it’s like. The amount of times this sport has saved my ass, even after breaking my heart, is astronomical,” Coach says. “Maybe this means you’ll start showing up to morning skates. I remember that being part of our agreement.”
“Sure. Yeah. I will.”
“How are your sessions with Lexi going?”
“Don’t you get a report from her?”
“I do. But I also like to hear it from you.”
“She’s kicking my ass,” I say.
“Good. I’m proud of you, kid. You’re getting there.”
“Where is there, exactly?”
“Fuck if I know.” Coach laughs. “Living again? Experiencing an emotion other than self-loathing? I went through it too. It’s a bitch, but better days are ahead.”
“Appreciate the pep talk, Coach.” I turn the doorknob. “Do you need anything else from me?”
“Yeah. Speak up more. It’s going to take us months to figure out a lineup that clicks. If you see a play on the ice that isn’t working, I hope you’ll tell me.”
“I can do that.”
“Glad to hear it, Mitchell. Now get your ass out of here. I have lines to fix.”
I don’t need to be told twice, and with a nod, I make my way into the locker room. The guys are undressing, tossing their jerseys into a pile and setting their helmets in their cubbies. Someone is blasting Kendrick Lamar, and the music gets turned down when Ethan spots me.
