Page 8 of Lucky Shot (Moonshot Hockey #1)

The first hour of camp is spent on introductions, expectations of the week, and grouping the kids off by age.

Trav takes the oldest group, including Aidan, the Moonshot assistant coach Lori takes the middle, and I work with the youngest. We’ll switch around today, and through the week, but I like the excitement and energy of the five- and six-year-olds.

Their skating levels will vary and that’s often the biggest factor in the young group.

Most have skated with their families during the winter a time or two, so they’re at least a little comfortable, but I have one little girl who has already told me this will be her first time.

We start off the ice. I lead my kiddos to the strength and training room.

“Woah,” they all exclaim, little heads tipping back as they stare at the rows of equipment and framed pictures on the wall of players and coaches.

There’s a board of pictures taken by the staff here while we were traveling or hanging out, casual, behind the scenes moments.

For other people, it’s a cool glimpse of players outside of the uniform.

For us, it’s a reminder that this is a job.

A fun, amazing job but outside of that we’re friends, we’re teammates, we’re people with families and lives outside of the jersey.

“What’s that?” one little girl asks as she points to a bulletin board on one wall.

She’s missing her front two teeth. I remember when Aidan lost his.

There’s nothing cuter than a kid without their teeth.

Not so cute on grown men playing hockey.

I’ve been fortunate in that area and the team dentist helps.

“Those are quotes left behind by all the coaches that have ever worked here,” I say, then tip my head. “You can go read them if you want.”

The kids all run at once. I follow behind them, standing at the back of the group.

“What do they say?” another kid asks. He’s the tallest of the kids, almost awkward with his lanky arms and legs.

Right. I forget that most of them can’t read yet. I pick a couple of my favorites and read them, but they’re bored quickly and on to the next thing.

For a lot of these kids, the ones that care less about hockey and more about the adventure of it all, the coolest part of this week is getting the behind the scenes look at the facilities.

I realize for some of them it’s like going to a theme park or a museum.

I do my best to keep them corralled while they explore the room for a few minutes before rounding them back up to stretch and warm up before getting on the ice.

I learn their names and ask each of them to tell me one thing they want to do this week at camp.

Their answers vary from meet Conrad Shepard, one of our star defensemen, to learning a slap shot to lunchtime.

Their honesty, the purity and courage to say whatever is on their mind has me feeling more relaxed than I have in days, maybe weeks.

Beth, Aidan’s mom, and I split custody fifty-fifty.

The time when Aidan is with his mom is important for him and her, but man does it suck.

Once the kids have stretched, I take them to the locker room where again they spend several minutes scoping out the space, finding all their favorite players’ lockers, and admiring the giant Moonshot logo on the ceiling.

I go to my cubby where the equipment manager has laid out my gear for me. I show them my stick and pads, my helmet, all of which they pass around with awe-filled expressions.

“All right. You guys ready to get in your gear?” I ask them.

Their heads can’t nod fast enough.

“Okay, but first, I think you need these.” I open the flaps of a box sitting on the bench and pull out jerseys for each of them.

The gasps and eagerness as they lunge forward to take one makes me chuckle. It’s a major difference between this group and the older kids. Aidan will be excited to get one, even though he has plenty of Moonshot merch, but he and his peers won’t be nearly this unabashed in their excitement.

“I’m number eighty-eight like Travis Bennett,” one boy proclaims proudly as he holds it up.

“I want number ninety-one. Danny Marlowe is so fast.” Another kid rummages through to find his favorite player. There’s nothing more heartwarming than seeing the kids so pumped about donning their hero’s jersey.

As soon as they’ve each picked one, we head back out to the main rink.

I lead the younger kids to the area where they left their gear and instruct them to suit up.

I find Aidan on the ice, already suited up in his jersey.

It’s mine, which makes me smile even though he probably just picked it because we share a name.

Travis is leading his group through a warm-up drill on one side of the ice. When he sees me, he yells out a few more directions to the kids, then skates over to me. “Ready to have a little fun, Galaxy?”

“Yeah.” I chuckle, then notice one of the parents is approaching me.

Generally, the younger kids’ parents stick around the first day, or at least for the first few hours, to make sure their child is going to be okay.

Most of them sit quietly in the reserved section of the stands we rope off for them to view camp, but there are always a couple that think they need to come down and help out, give their kid a pep talk or a snack.

I glance back at Trav. “Can you get them out on the ice?”

He gives me a sympathetic glance as he also notices the mom on her way with a water bottle in one hand and a baggie of orange crackers in the other. “Yeah. No prob.”

I raise my voice so the kids can hear me over the noise, “Once you’re all set, my friend Travis will lead you out onto the ice. If it’s your first time or you’re feeling uneasy, then grab one of the skating aids.”

Once I’ve given them their instructions, I walk around them to the mom on her way over. She’s at least hesitant enough to hang back.

“Hi,” she says, cheerily, when I get within a few feet of her. “I forgot to give these to Annabelle. And I also wanted to make sure she got her skates laced up right. She still struggles to tie her shoes.”

There’s a clear nervousness about the woman that mirrors the cute little redhead.

Annabelle already told me she hasn’t skated before so I understand where her mom is coming from, and I can tell her intentions are good.

It can be hard to stand by helplessly and watch your kid do something new and out of their comfort zone.

“I’m Nick.” I hold out a hand to her.

“Kelly.” She sets the crackers on top of the water bottle and shakes my hand.

“And gosh. I know who you are. We’re big fans in my family.

My parents have season tickets. It’s just, Annabelle is my sweet, accident-prone child.

She hasn’t really done any sports. Except a short stint in gymnastics that ended with both her and her coach in tears. ”

I smile and let out a small laugh. “Learning a new sport can be hard and stressful, but I promise we’ll check all their gear before they get on the ice and do our best to make sure she has a good time.”

She nods but doesn’t say anything, and I can tell my words haven’t really eased her fears. It might just be that she needs to see Annabelle conquer hockey as much as her daughter does.

“And I can take that for her.” I glance at the water and snack she’s holding.

“Oh, okay.” She gives them to me, then wrings her hands in front of her.

“She can do this,” I say. Not every kid walks out of camp a superstar, but none have left without being able to skate marginally well or hit a puck into the goal (at least at close range).

She nods again and I offer one more smile before I head back.

Annabelle is at the back of the line. She has a look of fear on her face, but she holds her head high as the kids step forward one by one.

Trav checks all of them over before giving them the okay to enter the ice.

We have other coaches this week assisting, so there are plenty of bodies to make sure each camper has someone to help, if needed.

I put Annabelle’s snack with the rest of the kids’ stuff, then stop next to her at the back of the line. She glances over and attempts to smile.

“Nervous?” I ask.

She shakes her head adamantly. Her red hair is pulled back in a ponytail, but a few strands fall around her face.

“It’s okay if you are. I was terrified the first time I went skating.”

“You were?” she asks, disbelief rampant in her tone.

“Mhmm.” I squat down so I’m at eye level with her. Checking her gear over and adjusting as needed, I say, “My dad told me the most important thing to remember was that everybody falls.”

She giggles, a small, anxious sound.

“Don’t be afraid of it. Try to relax and not worry about going down. The more you fall, the more you get up, and the faster you’ll get the hang of it.” They are words I’ve had to repeat to myself a lot over the years. Especially lately.

Ever since my shoulder surgery, stepping out onto the ice makes me uneasy.

It wasn’t the first and won’t be the last time I get hurt playing hockey, but for some reason this one really messed with my head.

It’s not so bad when I’m shooting around or helping the kids, but it’s going to be a long journey to gearing up and playing full contact without worrying I’m one injury away from retirement.

“What if I get hurt?” Her voice is small and my gut twists as her fears mirror my own.

“That’s what all this padding is for.” I tighten the strap of her helmet under her chin and then tap the top of it lightly. It’s her turn so I stand and hope I’ve made her less nervous instead of more. I’ve been a parent long enough to know my pep talks aren’t always awesome.

“Ready to fall down?” I ask her, but maybe I’m talking to myself a little too.

She grins, flashing that gap in the front.

I go ahead of her and then watch as she takes her first tentative step.

She doesn’t let go of the wall until I slide a skating aid in front of her.

The sturdy plastic aid is about three feet tall and a couple feet wide with handles to grip on to.

It’s essentially a walker that glides over the ice, keeping the kids upright while they get their footing.

It’s hard to remember what it’s like to learn to skate.

I’ve been doing it so long that it feels so natural, but I give her, and the rest of the kids, the same basic instructions I’ve heard time and again, “Start with small steps, alternate lifting one foot then the other, glide, push off with one skate, feel the shift of weight.”

Slowly they each get comfortable. Even Annabelle. The first time she falls, she looks over at me. Tears well in her eyes, but she picks herself up quickly.

By the time we take our first break, nerves have turned to excitement and an eagerness for more. While they snack, they sit on the benches, the lights dim, and the Jumbotron plays a flashy, pump-up video they run at the beginning of every home game.

Travis and I stand off the ice, taking our own quick breather.

“Pretty good group this year,” he says.

I nod, loving how good it feels to be here. When everything else in life has felt hard or uncertain, hockey has always been there. I want to give these kids that same feeling.

“Aidan has improved a lot since I last saw him.”

“Yeah. He’s been working hard since he moved up to play with the older kids.”

“That’s great. Is he going to…” Travis’s words trail off, or at least I don’t hear them, as a flash of red catches my eye.

The hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention and my body tenses as Ruby Madison stands ten feet away in a yellow dress with little straps that are tied in bows at her shoulders. Her hair is in a braid that hangs down her back and she has her backpack looped over one arm.

“No,” I say and I’m not sure what I’m answering. No, I am not noticing how hot she is— thanks a lot, Trav . No, I don’t want her here. No, I am not going to walk over and repeat myself that I don’t want to be interviewed. Surely, she’s pieced it together by now that I’m her contact.

“Holy Hot Mom,” Travis says when he catches sight of the object of my attention.

I glare, though not directly at him, because I don’t want to look away from Ruby.

“She’s not a mom,” I say, “or at least not a mom of one of these kids.”

I do finally look at him. His brows furrow and then ever so slowly I watch understanding dawn on his face.

“Nicholas Michael Galaxy,” he says, voice filled with humor. “You dirty, fucking liar.”