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Their smiles falter as they take me in, their coach's absence hanging between us like a missed shot at goal. I see it in their eyes, the question of who I am to them, why I'm standing here instead of the man they trust. It stirs something in me—no, not now. I can't think about trust, about promises broken like thin ice.
"Where's Coach Marty?" The question is a puck thrown at me, and I feel the team's eyes locking onto mine. I straighten up, trying to seem more confident than Ifeel.
"Uh, he couldn't make it today," I say, and it sounds lame even to my own ears. "So, I'll be stepping in."
I brace myself for a storm of protest that never comes. Instead, there's a shrug here, an indifferent nod there. It throws me. I'm ready to list credentials I don't have, defend my position like I'm pitching to a boardroom of skeptics. But these kids aren't looking to invest; they just want to play.
"Okay," I start again, finding my footing. "What do we know about the other team?"
A fifth grader, helmet perched atop his head like a crown, pipes up. "They're from a fancy private school. They always win," he says matter-of-factly, no hint of defeat in his voice.
"Today," I tell them, feeling a spark of something warm in my chest, "we're going to do our best to change that. I've got some ideas."
I outline a play I remember from my own days on the ice—simple but effective. They nod, their faces lighting up with understanding and excitement. They're quick to catch on, and I can see them mentally skating through the motions.
"Alright, let's line up and get ready to warm up," I say. "We've got a game to win."
"Let's do this!" one kid pumps his fist in the air as they're about to disperse.
"Wait!" Another voice pierces the growing buzz of anticipation. "Aren't we gonna do a team chant?"
I hesitate, memories flickering. But then I smile, the first real one since I stepped into this arena.
"Alright, team," I say, "Huddle up real close."
Their skates scrape against the ice as they circle around me, their breaths puffing out in white clouds beneath the bright lights of the rink.
"What's the chant?" I ask, looking around.
The kids all shake their heads. "We don't have one," someone admits.
I survey their eager faces, trying to recall the words that once gave me strength. The words tumble out before I can stop them, a relic from a time when I thought hockey would give me a new life. Then they come back to me, all in a rush.
"'Ice in our veins, fire in our hearts, let's play hard and do our part!' Got it?"
"Got it!" they echo, grinning wide.
"Alright, on three. One. Two. Three!"
"Ice in our veins, fire in our hearts, let's play hard and do our part!" Their voices rise in unison, bouncing off the walls and filling the rink with an infectious energy.
"Go get 'em!" I shout, and like a flock of birds taking flight, they skate off to their starting positions, sticks at the ready.
My heart hammers in my chest. It's been years since I've been this close to the ice during a game. As the game starts, visions of my old coach flood my mind. His voice echoes in my head, his stern face softening with prideafter a good play. I vaguely wonder where he is after all these years. Is he still alive?
I shake my head and look back out at the ice, focusing on what's in front of me.
"Defense, watch their winger!" I find myself yelling, my voice surprisingly steady. Every pass, every shot, I'm right there with them, living each moment. I bark orders, offer praise, and the kids—they listen. They actually listen.
"Great block, Jason! Keep your stick on the ice, Sophia!"
The periods roll by, and with each one, I feel something inside me shift. A weight lifts, replaced by a lightness I haven't felt in years. Sure, the ache of old losses, the sting of betrayal—they claw at the edges of my mind, but for now, they're just ghosts, and for the first time, I feel like I can keep them at bay.
"Skate, skate, skate!" I urge, pounding my fist against the boards. The kids are relentless, hungry for the puck, and damn if it doesn't remind me of the fire I used to have.
"Good change, good change!"
We're a team, somehow. Me, a guy who thought he'd lost his place in this world, and these kids, who just want to play and have fun.