Page 8

After my video session with Hunter, we had a coaches’ meeting to go over what we planned to discuss at our first players’ meeting, which is tomorrow morning.

It went surprisingly well and Grayson was shockingly less douchey.

Is douchey a word?

I like it.

What surprised me even more was Link.

He made sure to let me know that I’d be in charge of special teams.

Special teams is the term we use to describe special situations on the ice such as power play, penalty kill, or when we pull our goalie to get an extra attacker on the ice.

I mean, I know these are my strongest areas as an assistant coach, but I didn’t know he knew that.

Or better yet, I didn’t think he cared.

I figured Grayson would be in charge of that, and I’d be the sidekick along for shits and giggles.

I sat up straight when Link addressed this during the meeting, and for the first time I felt like he was taking me seriously.

Why did that make me nervous?

I don’t trust Link as far as I can throw him.

Why is this man, who has hated me for as long as I can remember, giving me so much responsibility?

Why isn’t he assigning me to mundane tasks?

I know things like filling water bottles and prepping game day snacks is a job for the trainers, but part of me thought I’d be pushed aside now that Link is in charge.

Maybe he’s building me up just so he can watch me fall.

I bet that’s what he’s waiting for.

Waiting for me to make a fool of myself so Grayson can swoop in and save the day.

Well, newsflash, asshole.

Not gonna happen.

It’s four in the afternoon and I’m still in my office going over the Bobcats’ special teams’ personnel and making adjustments as I see fit.

Link is trusting me with this—at least for now—and I’m not going to give him any reason to take it away from me.

I’m almost done tweaking our first power play unit, but it just feels like it’s missing something.

Niko, our captain, is a sniper on the right side of the power play, but he needs a playmaker out there with him on the ice.

It has to be someone who is going to work their ass off to win the battles and get him the puck.

I haven’t been here long enough and haven’t watched enough game tape to know who that person is yet.

“Damn it!” I mutter under my breath.

In frustration, I toss my pen onto the desk, watching as it rolls to the floor.

I run my hands through my hair and lean back in my chair to look at the ceiling.

One of my biggest strengths as an athlete is also my biggest flaw.

I strive for perfection.

I work and work until I reach my goals.

When I set my mind to something, there’s nothing I won’t do to achieve it.

But let’s be real.

Perfection is rarely an attainable goal in sports.

Sure, in some sports you may see glimpses of perfection.

For instance, a football team can have a perfect record for a season.

A baseball pitcher may throw the perfect game.

A gymnast may execute a perfect ten on floor exercise.

In reality, though, especially in hockey, perfection is a dream many of us strive for but rarely achieve.

I don’t even know what it means to be perfect in the sport of hockey.

The perfect slap shot?

The perfect pass?

Maybe, but there’s always room for improvement, and that’s what makes this sport so beautiful.

There’s always something more to gain.

As much effort as I put into this sport, it’s always giving back just as much.

The hours I put into my skills as a player translates into real life.

I knew nothing was going to come easy as a player, and I knew how hard I had to work to earn a college scholarship or make Team USA.

As a coach, now I know how hard I have to work to be the coach I dream to be.

I just have to remind myself that nobody and nothing is perfect.

The journey and work you put in to get there is what really matters.

I sit back up in my chair and take a deep breath.

I won’t let my frustration get the best of me this time.

We know how ugly it can get when I do.

I hold my breath and count to four before exhaling and giving myself a little pep talk.

“It doesn’t need to be perfect. I have time to improve this power play unit. I can do this.” There.

That’s better.

“Do you always talk to yourself like that?”

I jump back in my chair at the sound of that deep voice and clutch my chest.

“Cheese and crackers! Warn a girl, would ya?”

Link fights a smirk from my doorway.

He has his hands in the pockets of his gray dress pants as he saunters into my office.

He picks up the pen that rolled onto the floor after I threw it and hands it to me.

“Cheese and crackers? Since when do you censor your cuss words? From what I remember, you weren’t ever afraid to drop an F-bomb during a game.”

It surprises me that Link remembers that small detail of me as a kid.

It also surprises me that he’s standing here, making small talk.

This is a good thing.

We need to be able to work together, so maybe we’re finally taking a step in the right direction.

“Since this is my place of work. I’m trying not to say ‘fuck’ as much, even though it’s my favorite word. Damn it. I mean, darn it. Fuck! I am no good at this censoring business.” I drop my face in my hands.

Link chuckles.

That’s a new sound.

It has me lifting my head up so fast, my neck cracks.

“The good news is you work at a hockey rink. If you don’t put a little flavor into your language, the players won’t take you seriously and will eat you alive. No need to keep it PG around here.”

He has a point.

And is that a smile on his face?

I feel like I’m in the twilight zone.

He interrupts my thoughts once again.

“Did I imagine things, or were you cursing to yourself when I just walked by?”

Of course he heard me fighting to keep my cool.

That is definitely not something I need to make a habit of.

“No, you weren’t imagining things. Nothing you need to concern yourself with, though.” I level him with a look that hopefully says not to push me.

Ignoring my glare, he eyes the whiteboard and the ridiculous amount of paper sprawled out across my desk before looking back up at me.

“You working on the power play?” He takes a seat in the flimsy plastic chair that sits in front of my desk and grabs a handful of papers.

Blowing out a breath, I fill him in on my struggles.

“Something just doesn’t feel right with Niko’s power play unit. I haven’t watched much game tape, but I’ve seen enough to know that we need someone else on the ice who can get him the puck. Niko is our goal scorer and he’s useless out there if he’s not getting the puck.”

Link hums as he flips through all the papers with my notes and various scenarios drawn up.

Once he’s finished, he returns them to my desk and leans back in his chair.

He rests his ankle up on his knee and places his folded hands on top .

“It’s only day two, Ellie. We have some time. No one expects you to have it all figured out by tomorrow.” He nods at the stack of papers he just placed on my desk.

“You have a few options written down there that I think might work. Why don’t we just give them a try once practices start up and figure out what works and what doesn’t.”

It’s an odd feeling, sitting here across from Link, and not feeling absolute disdain for the man.

I almost expected him to be upset with me for not having a plan, but instead, he’s sitting here supporting me.

This new glimpse into Link is giving me a little hope that we might actually be able to pull this off.

He was a hell of a player and it’s becoming clear he’s a pretty damn good coach too.

I nod and look into his green eyes.

“Okay, yeah. That sounds like a plan. Once we figure out what doesn’t work, we’ll be one step closer to figuring out what does work.”

Link sets his foot on the floor and leans forward to knock twice on my desk.

“Exactly. You’re not so bad at this, Blondie.”

Rolling my eyes, I turn in my chair and start shutting down my computer for the day.

He’s halfway to my door when I realize I can’t let him have the last word.

“You’re not so bad at this yourself, Coach.”

I’m pretty sure I hear him chuckle under his breath and then he’s gone.