Turning my head, I caught her holding up a tiny tracksuit embroidered with the Speed logo of a red racecar over the chest and the name Coach Jack.
“Isn’t this the cutest thing you’ve ever seen?” she gushed.
I chuckled. I had to admit; it was pretty damn adorable.
“Jack is gonna be your little buddy today. How great is it that one of them wanted to be a coach?”
“Yeah.” I nodded, still blown away that a child would forgo glory on the ice for a spot standing behind the bench.
That lesson in perspective is definitely needed today.
Lily stood, clapping her hands. “Everything looks great! They should be here in an hour, so I’ve got lots to do. Thanks for the help, Maddox.”
“Anytime,” I said as she bustled from the room, intent on her next task.
Shoving my hands in my pockets, I headed for my office. Even though we had special guests coming, I would be running a full practice after they left and needed to prepare my practice plans.
The first lesson in coaching was that there were no days off.
The press room was packed, every reporter covering the Speed in attendance. Ten-year-old Jack stood on a platform to see over the podium as they asked him questions as if he were the head coach.
He was a cute kid. His mom had pulled me aside when they arrived to explain that Jack had cystic fibrosis, a condition that impacted his lungs. He loved hockey, but his specific case was too severe to allow him to play such a high-intensity sport. Undeterred by his diagnosis, Jack decided to study the game and become a coach one day.
I was impressed. Life had handed the little dude a rough draw, but he was upbeat, finding new ways to chase his dreams.
Standing beside him, I called each reporter by name since Jack didn’t know them personally to do so himself.
When my favorite redhead was next, I smirked, keeping my eyes on her as I spoke to Jack loud enough that the entire room could hear. “Fair warning, Miss Cooper has been known to ask the toughest questions.”
Her blue eyes sparkled, and a smile split her face as those gathered in the room chuckled. Our relationship was well known within the ranks of the press corps by now, but she hadn’t let up on her hardball questions daily.
God, I fucking loved her.
Clearing her throat, Bristol pretended to check her notepad. “Coach Jack, would you care to share your starting lineup for tomorrow’s matchup against the Atlanta Aviators?”
Jack peeked up at me, but I nodded my head toward the reporters, letting him know it was up to him to respond. His broad grin, as his eyes shone with adoration, made my heart flip.
My single days were behind me, and more and more, I wondered what it might be like to start a family—in particular, a family with Bristol. I wouldn’t mind a little boy who stared at me like I was his hero or a spunky, inquisitive little girl who kept me on my toes. I knew I was moving too fast, that what we shared was too new, but I couldn’t help it. Maybe it was because I was older, and many guys my age had already settled down. But Bristol was still young; we had plenty of time to discuss what we wantedout of a potential life together. As long as we were together, I didn’t care about the rest.
“That’s a great question, Miss Cooper.” Jack kept his voice professional, and I bit back a smile. He was handling the room like a champ. “I think our standard starting lineup is solid, but there is one change I would like to make. It’s a no-brainer for Goose to start in net. Our forwards will remain the same with the Knight-Slate-Lawson line, but at defense, I will be pairing Wyatt Banks with Logan Ford instead of Saint Booker.”
Bristol raised an impressed eyebrow, asking in response, “Any particular reason for the shakeup at D?”
Jack nodded, unruffled by her follow-up question. “Saint Booker is a hothead.”He’s not wrong there. Cheap shots are his guilty pleasure.“Beyond that, Ford might not be the best defenseman on paper, but if you look at his overall game, he’s the strongest player we’ve got.”
“Thanks, Coach.” Bristol flashed him a bright smile as we called on the next reporter.
“All right, bud, what kind of drills do you want to run today?” I asked Jack from where we stood behind the bench after I’d laced up his skates.
Jack was all business. “We need to work on winning the face-off and maintaining puck possession. These are professionals; I shouldn’t see blind drop passes and slapping at the puck. Too often, they’re just trying to survive, to clear the zone, instead of executing breakout passes. All they end up doing is giving up turnovers and getting stuck in the defensive zone for too long.”
I gaped at him. Were we sure he was only ten? That was some serious analysis. And he was spot on with his assessment.
Holding my arm out, I gestured to the ice full of players. “Well, then, Coach Jack. Put ’em to work.”
On wobbly legs, he stepped onto the ice. I gripped his elbow, keeping him upright, and blew my whistle to gain my team’s attention.
“Listen up!” I boomed, and all chatter stopped, eyes turning to me. “Coach Jack will be running practice. You answer to him. Understood?”
