Glove Save (Carolina Comets)

“All right. I noticed during the last game that you were struggling with your blocker side, so I want to focus on that today.” Bill, my goalie coach, bangs his stick on the ice a few times before skating backward and firing a shot at me without warning.

I miss it.

I really shouldn’t miss it. I should be alert. I should see it, should know it’s coming, but it still goes flying past me and into the net.

I can hear the goal horn ringing in my head. See the red light lit up, showing that the other team scored. Envision all our hopes and dreams for making a Cup run going right out the window.

“Don’t do that, Greer. Don’t beat yourself up for missing one puck.”

“But one puck is all it takes,” I argue back, annoyed with myself, annoyed that he can tell I’m already thinking negatively.

“Yeah, that can definitely be true, but it’s not the end of the world.”

“Could be the end of my career,” I mumble, grateful for my mask that luckily blocks my words. Bill would have my ass if he heard that, and I don’t blame him.

I shouldn’t let it bother me. I’m not going to block and save everything. There are just some days it bothers me more than others.

I can’t help but wonder if today it’s because there are two sets of eyes in the stands watching me. I don’t even have to look up to know she’s watching because I can feel it—that’s how hard Stevie is staring at me right now. Macie too.

I’m used to spectators coming and watching during practice. It happens all the time, but this time…it feels different with them here. I’m sure it’s just because I’m coaching Macie after this and want to make a good impression—so she doesn’t bite me, obviously.

Yeah, that has to be it. That’s why I’m so worked up. I just need to get them out of my head is all.

I take a deep breath, then another. I nod to tell Bill I’m ready, then get set as he skates farther away. He pulls the stick back and shoots.

He turns his hands at the last split second, and the puck goes where I’m not expecting.

I make the block.

“Good!” he calls out. “Again!”

He winds up and fires.

I block.

Again.

I block.

Again.

I miss.

“Fuck!” I skate out of my goal crease and wander the ice a bit, murmuring to myself. “Come on, man. Don’t get mad at missing one. It’s fine. You’re fine. Don’t let this shit get in your head. You’ve seen it happen too many times to too many good goalies. They let in a few soft goals, and suddenly they’re on a bad streak. You fucking got this.”

I beat my chest with my glove a few times and take some deep breaths. I skate back to the net, plant my skates where I want them, and hunker down, ready to defend.

Bill fires ten shots my way.

I block them all.

We keep going, this time with my teammates jumping into the mix, firing puck after puck my way. They get up in the crease, smothering me and battling for the puck. I let a few more goals in, but they don’t bother me like earlier. I’m calmer and more collected. I feel confident and ready.

I’m not saying maybe Stevie was right about getting up early, but there’s no way being up and having over half of my to-do list knocked out before hitting the ice is just a coincidence. I don’t feel like there’s anything niggling at the back of my mind, and it’s allowing me to get recentered quickly.

Maybe the evil woman was right.

A whistle sounds, pulling me out of my head and back into practice.

“Boys!”

The whole team skates to the middle of the ice where Coach Heller is. A few of us take a knee while some of us stand, but we all have our eyes trained on our coach. He’s not the biggest of guys, but he sure as hell knows how to command a room. When I learned I was signing with the Comets, the first thing I did was hit YouTube and look up my new coach.

He’s a fucking beast. Probably one of the best goons the league has ever seen. More penalty minutes than I could ever dream of. When he was actually on the ice, he assisted on quite a few plays too. All around a solid player.

Now, he’s a damn good coach.

“We’re looking good in the standings, and we’re on a homestand, where we know we play well—but all of that is no reason to take our foot off the gas. We may have walked away with two points, but our last game was sloppy. We looked better today, but there’s always room for improvement, and that’s what we need to do—keep improving. We want to pad the points. We need to pad our points. Then we want to head into the playoffs feeling good, feeling ready. So give it your all out there, boys. Nothing in this league comes easy, and no lead is safe, not even ours.”

He looks us each in the eye, nods once, then skates off. Practice is over for the day.

“I have a few quick things to go over, then you’re free,” the assistant coach says. “Practice tomorrow morning is optional. I need you to…”

He goes on for a few minutes about what we need to work on, who needs to see the team docs, who needs to hit the weights. After he’s done with his spiel, we’re cut loose.

“Hey, we’re thinking of hitting up The Madhouse for grub. You in?” Miller asks. “Scout’s writing today, so I want to stay out of her hair.”

“Go out in public with you? I’m good.”

“Hey, we’ve been in public together before.”

“Your girlfriend’s donut truck doesn’t count.”

“Does too,” he mutters.

“Besides, I’m busy.”

“Doing what? Being grumpy at the wall?”

“Hey, if the wall has it coming, it has it coming.”

He looks genuinely confused, so I roll my eyes.

“I have plans.”

I look toward the area that’s slowly emptying out. There are a few stragglers—there always are—who are trying to get pictures, pucks, and sticks. Then sitting up at the back of the bleachers are Stevie and Macie. The kid looks like she’s about to fly out of her seat, her little legs bouncing up and down with excitement.

I swear I see Stevie say to her, “Not yet.”

“Wait…are they not here for me?”

“Nope.”

“What the hell, ladies?” Miller yells, throwing his hands up in the air, apparently not caring that he looks like a complete idiot.

Stevie exaggerates a shoulder shrug, and then Miller shakes his fist at her. She laughs, and it’s a genuine laugh.

I’m not sure I’ve ever seen a genuine laugh from her, but I am really sure I don’t like that it’s Miller making her do it.

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” I say to him, but even I hear it come out as more of a growl.

If he does, he doesn’t show it. He just grins at me with that obnoxious, toothy, golden-retriever-energy grin he’s always sporting and chuckles.

“Aw, don’t sound so sad I’m leaving you.”

“Trust me, I’m not.”

“What are you doing with them anyway?”

“Coaching.”

His eyes widen. “You’re coaching a kid? But you hate kids.”

“I don’t hate kids,” I mutter. “I just don’t particularly like them.”

“That’s hating them.”

“Not entirely.”

“Macie’s a good kid, though. No need to hate her.”

“I’ll have to remember that.”

He takes a step toward me, his eyes never leaving mine. “Be sure you do, because they’re good people, Macie and Stevie. Some of my favorites, actually. I like them a lot more than I like other people.”

It’s a threat. It’s a little veiled, but the message is there all the same: if I hurt Stevie or Macie, Miller is going to hurt me.

“You hear me?” he asks.

I nod. “I hear you.”

“Good.” And just like that, his perfect grin slips back into place as he puts distance between us once more. His hand lands on my shoulder. “See you tomorrow, man.”

Then he skates off, catching up with Hayes. The two laugh all the way off the ice.

I don’t usually see that side of Miller—in fact, I don’t think I ever have—and it kind of makes me respect the guy more. It’s what I would do if I had someone I cared about.

I glance back up the bleachers at where Stevie and Macie are sitting, but they’re not there anymore. Instead, they’re making their way down toward the ice.

I give them a wave to get their attention. Stevie tips her head at me, and I point toward the locker room and hold up my hand.

Five minutes, I mouth.

She nods, then lifts the skates in her hand. They’re not the greatest quality, but they’ll do for now. Maybe if today goes well and I don’t get bitten, I’ll buy Macie a better pair.

I head for the locker room, stripping off some of my gear on the way there. A few people try to stop me along the way—mostly Hayes and Fitz—but I ignore them, trying to get my shit together so I can get this training session over with as fast as possible.

After I get changed, I spritz myself with some cologne, covering up the stench and feeling like I’m in high school all over again.

At least it’s not Axe, I tell myself.

I make sure to let George, the rink manager, know I’m going to be using the ice for a bit. He’s perfectly fine with it, not that I thought he wouldn’t be.

Macie and Stevie are sitting right beside the tunnel when I come out.

“Oh my gosh,” Macie rushes out. “I am like sooooooo excited.” She claps her hands together and attempts to jump up and down, but she wobbles. Stevie reaches out for her at the same time she catches herself on the boards.

It’d be almost comical if it wasn’t worrisome.

“You’ve never been on skates, huh?”

Macie is instantly defensive, crossing her arms over her chest and tipping her chin up. “I have too.”

“Yeah? Because your mom says you haven’t.”

“Mom!” Macie yells, her jaw dropping. “I’ve gone rollerblading!”

“Trust me, kid, it’s similar, but it’s not the same thing. The ice is slippery.”

“Well, duh.” Macie’s eyes roll right into the back of her head. “I know that.”

“Hey, I’ve been around this game my entire life, and sometimes players still seem to forget it’s a game played on ice while wearing really, really sharp shoes.”

“I won’t forget, gosh.”

“Hmm. I’m sure you won’t.”

I cross my arms over my chest, then look over her outfit. It’s a little much with the huge puffer jacket, but I’ll let her be the judge of if she should wear it or not.

I take a closer look at her skates, then drop to one knee.

“What are you doing?”

“Fixing your skates.” I pat my leg. “Up here.”

“But…they’re sharp. You just said so.”

“Just trust me, will ya, kid?”

She huffs but does what I ask and gingerly places her foot on my thigh. I grab it, tugging her closer to me.

“I’m wearing protective gear under my pants. It helps to protect against blades,” I explain as I adjust her skates. “It’s something every hockey player wears. It’s a little weird at first, but you’ll get used to it fast.”

I look up to make sure she’s listening, and she nods several times. Her eyes are wide, and she looks scared. Probably just nerves, I’m sure.

I glance at her mother, who is hovering over us, watching every little interaction. She shoots me a small, equally shaky smile, and there’s a punch to my gut I’m not expecting when I see that. It almost feels like I don’t like that they’re scared or nervous. I…I want to shield them from those feelings, protect them. I want to—

Whoa. What the fuck?

I have no idea where that came from, but it’s not me.

I give my head a small shake, then continue tightening the skates on Macie’s feet. When I’m finished, I set her back on her feet and rise. “How do those feel?”

“Good. Better.” She looks at her mom, a small frown pulling at her lips. “Sorry.”

Stevie smiles, her eyes crinkling in the corners as she gazes down at her daughter. “Don’t be sorry, silly. This is a learning experience for us both.” She looks at me, her smile slipping the second our eyes meet. “For all three of us.”

Make that my second not-so-veiled threat of the morning, and it’s not even ten.

“Right, Greer?”

“Does anyone call you your real name?” Macie asks before I can answer her mother with something smartassy.

“My real name? Greer is my real name.”

“It’s not your first name. Your first name is Jacob, full name Jacob Lee Greer. You were born in Saskatoon, Canada. You started playing hockey when you were five. You used to be a forward, but you ditched that when you were my age. You—”

I hold my hand up, stopping her. “I’m pretty sure I know my own life story from Wikipedia, but thank you.”

She rolls her lips together, a red hue creeping into her cheeks.

“Are you ready to get on the ice?”

Her eyes slide toward the rink, and there’s a hitch to her breath as she stares out at it. She’s nervous.

I don’t want her to be nervous. I need her to be the opposite of that if this is going to be a successful day.

“Or you can sit on the bench like a big wimp instead.”

“Greer!” Stevie yells, stepping forward in front of her daughter, almost like she’s shielding the kid from me.

Macie, much to my delight, pushes past her mom and shoves her chin up once again. “I’m ready to whoop your jackass.”

Stevie doesn’t admonish her daughter for cursing. She’s too busy looking proud.

Frankly, I am too.

“Let’s go.”

I take off, not waiting for Macie to keep up. It takes a few steps before she finds her balance—each almost fall punctuated by Stevie’s gasps—but eventually she makes it to the edge.

“You ready?” I ask her once more.

She nods. “Let’s do this.”

I hold my hand out, tugging her onto the ice without another word.

“Whoa! Ohmygodohmygodohmygod!” she yells as I tow her backward, but her cries of fright quickly turn sweet as she yelps with laughter and her face freezes into a smile.

I don’t remember the last time I had to pull someone around the ice. Maybe when I was sixteen with one of my pseudo-siblings? It’s long enough to have forgotten how fun it is to watch someone fall in love with the same thing I love.

And that’s exactly what I just witnessed. She loves it out here. This ice…it’s her home. She belongs on it.

“It’s cold!” she calls out to me as I pull her along. “It feels good.”

“Yeah? You want to try it on your own?”

Her head bobs up and down frantically. “Please!”

“All right,” I say, slowing us down and skating closer to the wall. “I’m going to let go slowly. If you get scared, I’m here. The wall is here too. Right now, we’ll just stand here so you can get your balance.”

“Okay,” she says, staring down at her feet.

“Don’t look at your feet. Look at me. Looking at your feet is going to make you even more nervous.”

“I’m not nervous.”

Those might be the words that leave her mouth, but the hitch in her breath and her hands shaking in mine say the exact opposite.

“You know,” I tell her, “the first time I got on the ice, I was terrified. It’s slippery as hell, so who wouldn’t be scared? But I rode along the wall, and it took me a full thirty minutes to get around the rink. And it was a kiddy rink, nothing big like this one.”

“How’d you get over it?” she asks, not even noticing that in the time I’ve been talking, I’ve been slowly letting her hands go.

“Practice. I rode the wall for two whole days before I finally convinced myself to just let go and try it on my own.” I step back, folding my arms across my chest. “I guess you’re already doing better than I did in that aspect.”

It takes her almost ten seconds to realize I’ve let her go and she’s standing all on her own.

The second it hits her, she begins to wobble, and I ready myself to catch her.

But the fall doesn’t come. She’s doing it.

“I’m doing it!” she shouts, echoing my thought. “Holy crap!” She clamps her hand over her mouth, eyes wide. “Don’t tell my mom I said crap. She doesn’t like that word.”

“But she lets you say ass?”

“No, she lets me say jackass. Totally different.”

I chuckle. “Right. My bad.” I glance down at her feet, trying not to laugh at how she’s standing, her toes tucked in and pointed toward one another. “How are you feeling?”

“A little wobbly.”

“That’s expected. But this”––I kick her feet out just slightly––“will help with that.”

“Ohmygod stop! I’m going to—” Her words are cut off when she realizes I’m right. She’s much more stable now. “Wow. That is a lot better.”

“Yeah?” She nods. “Good. Now, let’s try to move.”

“Move?!”

“Well, yeah. You have to move to play hockey.”

“Right, right. Let’s move.”

I instruct her on how to move her feet for optimal skating; for the most part, she does really well. There are a few moments where she’s unsure and scared, but she gets over them quickly. I teach her the proper way to fall, then help her when she needs to get back up.

It takes about fifteen minutes before she’s able to skate more than twenty feet on her own, but she’s doing it, and I was right—she was made for the ice. This is exactly where she belongs.

“Do you love it?” I ask, skating slowly—at least it’s slow for me—beside her.

“So much. I want to do this forever.”

I can’t help but smile at that. “I know the feeling.”

“Can we go faster?”

“Are you ready for that?”

She nods. “Yes.”

“Okay, but remember, I’m here if you start to feel like you’re going down. Brace yourself in the right way, and you’ll be okay.”

“Got it.”

She picks up speed, striding faster and faster as the seconds go by.

I see it the moment it happens. She starts going too fast with too little control.

Then, it happens.

And I hear the scream.