And my day wasn’t over yet. I had one more stop to make before I could head home.
Not that I saw much of that lately. But working my ass off was paying off.
Josiah’s surgery bill was almost completely done, but I wanted it gone. Also, there was the mortgage on the house, and I needed money for my tuition, the part that wasn’t covered by my scholarship.
After a year’s leave, I was finally headed back to college. Back to Sutton U and to the Cougars hockey team. That was my plan. I found out recently that the team had a new coach, DamienBanning, and I wasn’t sure how that was going to play out. He’d started while I’d gone on leave and while I knew a bit about him as a player for Chicago, I knew next to nothing about him as a coach. Only that the Cougars kept climbing the college ranks and I wanted back in.
So many emotions hit me at once, heady anticipation, but also uncertainty about my future. Things only got worse when I got a terse email from Banning this week, telling me to report to the college rink for a tryout. Fuck me, I’d been so busy working that it didn’t occur that I’d have to prove myself to the new coach one-on-one. But a lot had changed in a year. There were a bunch of new players, guys younger than me, and the pressure was on.
Whatever spare time I had, usually late at night or first thing in the morning, I spent at the gym and the local rink, staying sharp for the fall season. The dreams I’d put on hold hadn’t dimmed at all. If anything, being away from school solidified that this was where I was meant to be.
I arrived at campus around eight p.m., the parking lot pretty much empty except for my truck and another SUV. Stepping inside the rink, the hallway was eerily quiet. I was running on fumes, caffeine, and anticipation.
It wasn’t the first time I’d been back; I’d snuck in twice this week at the ass-crack of dawn to get uninterrupted ice time.
It was, however, the first time I knocked on Coach Banning’s door.
“Enter!” a deep voice called out.
When I opened the door, I expected to see an old guy wearing worn sweats, like every other hockey coach I’d encountered. Certainly not a guy who looked only a few years older than me.
Duh, Banning only retired from the pros a few years ago, remember?
The sweats looked brand-new and the man wearing them wasn’t old. Older than me, for sure, but maybe late twenties?His raven hair was short but messy, like he’d ran his hands through it a hundred times, and his dark blue eyes met mine with surprise.
Surprise and irritation.
I glanced at the clock on the wall and realized my mistake. I was five minutes late for our meeting, and Coach was pissed. Still, angry or not, the pictures I’d seen online didn’t do Damien Banning justice. I remember watching one of his last games and marveled at the intensity of his playing. He fought hard and played harder. Given the glare he was giving me, it appeared that he coached the same way.
Suddenly, my nerves began to rattle but I refused to give in to them.
“Coach Banning.”
“That’s what it says on the door.”
“I’m Silas Moss.”
He gave a curt nod. “The defenseman. You’re late.”
“I left work as soon as?—”
“No excuses,” he snapped. “If you want to be a part of this team, you show up on time. Always. Got it?”
I placed my fingers at my template and gave a mock salute.
“Yes, sir.”
He shook his head. “You’re giving me attitude already?”
I was exhausted and not in the mood to explain why.
“Are we going to get on the ice or sit here having a pissing contest?” I countered.
He leaned forward, the icy expression on his face telling me to shut the fuck up and do it now.
“There’s no contest, pissing or otherwise,” Banning replied. “I’ve already won. You, on the other hand, need to prove yourself.”
“You’ve seen my admin note. You know the reason I’ve been off.”
