Page 39

THIRTY-NINE

RILEY

Dad

How’re you doing, kid?

Me

Can’t complain, really.

Dad

Saw you on the bench the other night. The suit and tie look good on you. Interesting how the team starts to win after Saunders puts you in a leadership role. He should’ve done that from the beginning.

Me

I’m glad he didn’t. I wasn’t ready for that yet. I am now, and I’m having fun.

Dad

Good. Don’t let Minnesota get the W this weekend. I’ve always hated them.

Me

Ha. I only have so much say, but I’ll do my best.

Dad

That’s my boy.

* * *

Every morning I wake up, I wait for the other shoe to drop and shit to hit the fan.

I’m waiting for things to start going wrong, because everything in my life seems too damn good to be true.

I’ve slipped into my role behind the bench much quicker than I thought I would, and the boys are moving up the standings with win after win. Lexi and I switch off where we have sleepovers when we’re not on the road, and it’s so fucking good . Some nights we don’t even have sex, staying up and reading books we pick out for each other and spending half the night arguing over which characters we like and why.

Because of Lexi’s hard work and thorough rehabilitation plan, I’m ahead of schedule with my recovery. Moving is easy these days. There are still exercises I struggle with, but I’m stronger. More agile too, and while I haven’t tried getting back on the ice, I’m feeling more and more like who I was before the accident.

So, yeah.

I’m waiting for the big third-act conflict. The wrench that gets thrown into my plans and fucks everything up.

“We have a situation,” Mikal Reynolds, our top assistant coach says as he barrels into the locker room before our away game in Minnesota. “Saunders isn’t here.”

“What do you mean Saunders isn’t here?” Maverick looks up from his skates and frowns. “He was literally on the plane with us yesterday afternoon. Or did I dream up that whole flight?”

“Definitely happened. He yelled at me for having my phone out and took it away until we were back at the hotel.” Ethan grins and fixes his shoulder pads. “Joke is on him. I have a burner one I use to troll people who shit on us in social media comments.”

“There is a lot to unpack there.” Hudson glances at Mikal. “Is Coach okay?”

“Don’t know. He said something about was a family emergency and that he was getting on the first flight back to DC.”

“Shit. I hope Olivia is okay,” I say. “Coach hasn’t missed a game since he took this job.”

“He also went five seasons without missing a game when he was in the league.” Grant jumps to his feet and wobbles on his skates. “This is a code red.”

“We’ll worry about Saunders in a minute. You’re taking over for him, right Ren?” Maverick asks Mikal.

“I mean, I can, but I’ve been out for two weeks interviewing for head coaching positions. I’ve missed all of your practices, and I don’t know what the hell kind of shifts you’re running. It’s going to take me more than the time we have before puck drop to watch some film and catch up. ” Mikal eyes our other assistant coach, Parker Barnes. “And you’ve been out on paternity leave.”

“Coach has been doing this shit by himself and putting up with all our stupid asses? Give that man the Jack Adams Award immediately,” Ethan says.

“Hang on. Riley’s been at every practice.” Hudson turns his attention my way. “You haven’t missed a morning skate in months.”

“Whoa. Slow the fuck down.” I hold up my hands and shake my head. “I don’t like where this is going.”

“Oh, fuck yeah, Mitchy,” Grant cheers. “You have to do it.”

“I don’t know the first thing about coaching people who aren’t five years old. And this is an important game,” I rush out. “Every win this late in the year matters. You don’t need someone like me in charge when a loss could tank our playoff chances.”

“Team vote.” Maverick stands and surveys the locker room. “All in favor of Mitchy taking on responsibilities tonight raise your hands.” Twenty arms shoot up in the air, and I shove my glasses up my nose in a fit of nervousness. “Captain has the last say, and I say you’re in. Welcome to the big leagues, Ri.”

“When we lose, I can’t be held responsible.” I accept Coach’s whiteboard from Mikal and stare at the triangles and marks on it. I’ve seen it a thousand times as a player, but looking at it now feels like I’m looking at a calculus problem I have no clue how to solve. “It’s going to be all your fault.”

“A decision I can live with.” Maverick flashes me a grin and grabs his helmet. “Hands in, boys. Let’s go snag a W for one of our best guys.”

I don’t stick around for the huddle, glaring at Mikal and Parker as I storm out of the locker room and head for the ice. This is too much responsibility for me to handle. I can sit on the bench just fine, but leading a team in enemy territory?

I’m going to shit my pants.

“Looking snazzy, Mitchy.” Lexi waves at me from the end of the tunnel, a clipboard tucked under her arm and athletic tape shoved in her pocket. “What’s with the scowl?”

“Coach had to fly home to DC for a family emergency, and guess who got put in charge over the two assistant coaches who are paid to work on shifts and penalty kill plays? Me . The guy who doesn’t know shit about coaching.”

“Wait, what? You’re calling the shots tonight?”

“Apparently. Mikal and Parker both have excuses for why they don’t feel comfortable, but at least they have experience in the role. I’m a fucking novice and they want yours truly to make the decisions against the best team in the league.” I glare out at the ice and the Minnesota Vipers logo at center ice. “When ESPN does a whole segment on how I fucked up tonight, I’m putting out a statement that I was coerced into this.”

“Okay, you’re not being dramatic at all.” Lexi’s mouth twitches, and she walks toward me. “Take a breath, Mitchy. It’s going to be okay. Who cares if they win or lose?”

“I do. I don’t want them to fall out of the playoff hunt the day after I call the shots. Do you know how embarrassing that would be? I couldn’t show my face in a barn again.”

“It’s not like you’re out there hitting the puck and giving up goals, Riley. You can only do so much from on the bench. Whatever happens, happens. They need a leader, and tonight, that happens to be you. The guys respect you, it seems like the decision has been made, so you might as well have some fun with it.”

“Why do you always have to be so rational?” I grumble. “Can’t you be on my side?”

“Oh, I’m on your side. You’ll get there eventually.”

She pats my chest and turns for the ice. I follow behind her, careful as I walk around the curve of the rink to our bench on the other side of the arena. I wish she was allowed to sit with us over here during the game. I’d be more relaxed if she were nearby, but she has to hang out in the tunnel as soon as the puck drops.

The boys skate out to an arena full of boos, and my heart has never pounded so hard. The fear in my chest slowly shifts to adrenaline and excitement as they do a lap. The referee skates over and asks for the starting lineup, and I hand over our starting six with an apology for the delay so he can pass it along to the Vipers’ coaching staff.

“Thanks for stepping up,” Mikal says, and I scoff.

“I didn’t have much of a choice, did I?” I cross my arms over my chest and watch Liam finish up his warmup in the goal. He looks locked in tonight, quick with his movements and tracking every puck that comes his way. “Let the shit show begin.”

Someone from ESPN tries to grab me for an interview, but the PA announcer comes over the microphone and asks everyone to stand for the national anthem. I ignore the faint ache in my right leg and bend to adjust my prosthetic, hoping no one catches me on camera hunched over with my hands halfway up my thigh.

The buzzer sounds, starting lineups are introduced, and our first six skate down the bench in a line to get fist bumps from our teammates. When they reach me, they all put a hand on my head. Liam grunts in my direction and Maverick grins, pulling me into a hug.

“Relax,” he says, laughing when I nudge his shoulder.

“Easy for you to say. You’re out there with a stick.”

“We really don’t give a shit what happens, Ri. This season has had so many fucking highs and lows, and the fact that you’re here right now is a major fucking win. Let’s chirp some, show some heart, and we might get out of here with a win.”

“Damn you, Maverick Miller,” I say. “Get your ass to the face off.”

“There he is.” With another smile, he skates toward the puck drop. “See ya soon, Mitchy.”

* * *

We’re up by four with three minutes left in the third.

I don’t know how, but everything that needs to click does, and we’re on fucking fire.

Our passes are smooth. We’re aggressive on offense. Ryan Seymour made a spectacular dive to prevent a Vipers goal halfway through the second, and I ditched the whiteboard during the first intermission in favor of addressing the players directly.

“Coming up on two and a half minutes.” I clap then put a hand on Grant’s shoulder. “You’re going in next shift, and I want to see those efficient passes we worked on at practice, yeah?”

“Sure thing, Coach. Sorry. I mean Mitchy.”

He switches with Maverick during the next break in the offense, taking off to get in position for an open pass from Seymour.

“Even the rookies look good tonight.” Maverick sprays his Bodyarmor in his mouth and stretches his neck from side to side. “You might have the magic touch, Ri.”

“Shut up.” I track the puck and make a mental note to praise Ethan on his face off win percentage tonight. He’s sitting around sixty percent, a stellar stat from a guy who’s been lazy from the get-go up until recently, and he’s the kind of player who responds well to positive reinforcement. “I’m busy.”

Time ticks down, two minutes going to one, and fans start clearing out of the arena. The boys don’t get sloppy the last sixty seconds, and Grant sinks a five-hole that has me pumping my fist in the air just before the clock expires.

“Nice win,” Mikal says with a hand on my shoulder. “I knew you could do it.”

The final horn sounds, and our boys do a celly lap before skating over to the bench. I can’t avoid an interview this time, and Piper wrangles me over for a couple of questions before the national media can get a hold of me.

“Riley. Tell us what it’s like transitioning from player to coach. Is it difficult to see the ice from this perspective?” she asks, leaning the microphone in my direction.

“It’s not difficult but different. When I’m on the bench in my uniform, I’m more focused on watching my position. Back here, I see the whole picture. I’m watching their tendy and their forwards, and you have to be quick to react if needed.”

“How prepared did you feel stepping into this position tonight?”

“Not very,” I laugh. “But the heart and hustle from the boys and the encouragement from the rest of the coaching staff made it manageable. We got the W, and that’s what matters.”

“Last question, then I’ll let you go celebrate. Was tonight the start of a position you see yourself doing long-term?”

“Ah, shucks. I don’t know. I had a good time. I love hockey. Being out here is a gift, ya know? Whether that’s with skates on my feet or a lineup sheet in my hands, I’m blessed to do this.”

“Thanks, Riley. Enjoy your 1-0 coaching record,” Piper says, lowering her microphone and giving me a wide grin. “Sorry for the formalities, but holy shit, Ri. That was so fun to watch. I’m so proud of you. I bet your phone is going to start ringing with opportunities. Scouting maybe too.”

“That’s a discussion for another day. Right now, I need to get back to the hotel and get out of this leg. It’s fucking killing me from the nonstop standing.”

“Can I help with anything?”

“Nah, I’m good. You should?—”

There’s a round of raised voices and lots of yelling. I blink and turn around, trying to find the source of the noise, and I’m met with twenty water bottles full of sports drinks getting dumped on my head.

“Fuck yeah, Mitchy!”

“Coach Saunders is shaking in his fucking boots!”

“We have to go out and celebrate.”

“Hot dogs for everyone!”

“Jesus Christ.” I laugh and pull off my glasses, trying to wipe them clean on my suit jacket. “Everyone needs to chill the fuck out.”

“C’mon, Mitchy.” Hudson smiles and holds out his arm so I can step onto the ice and not slip. “You know we don’t do anything half-assed.”

“Never. It’s always full ass. Full dicks, too. You all need to tone it the fuck down.”

“Never!” Grant yells, squirting me with another splash of his drink. “We’re loud and proud!”

The boys skate toward the locker room, and I hold the boards as I make my way around the rink behind them. I step off the ice and into the tunnel, an undeniable smile still on my mouth.

“Pretty impressive stuff there, Mitchell,” Lexi calls out. “I love being right.”

“Don’t gloat,” I tell her, knocking her shoulder with mine. “It’s not a cute look.”

“Please.” She grins. “I’m always cute.”

“Debatable,” I say, and she flips me off.

“You’re going out to celebrate with the boys, right?”

“Probably not. I’m exhausted. That took a lot out of me physically, and I think I’m going to call it an early night.”

“Do you want some company?” Lexi asks. “Or would you prefer to be alone?”

“Some company sounds nice,” I tell her, and she smiles. “Especially if it’s you.”

“I’m so proud of you. I know this is different from the other areas in your life you’ve been working on, but you still deserve all the praise, Riley. I can’t wait to see what you do next,” she says, hooking her pinky in mine, and the praise means more from her than it does from anyone else.