Page 3 of One Good Puck (Denver Bashers #5)

Gavin

I stand on the edge of the ice and watch our newest player, Ryker St. George, run his ass off during training camp.

“He’s looking pretty good,” my assistant coach Jason says to me.

“Yeah. He is,” I say.

Ryker rockets across the ice during the speed drill that the players on the team are running through.

The strides he takes are long and powerful.

He’s able to launch himself a foot farther than half of the other players on the team.

Probably because he’s huge—almost six-foot-four.

But also because he’s well-trained and conditioned.

He’s been doing this for years and years, and he’s really damn good at it.

Jason blows his whistle, signaling for the guys to skate backwards.

Ryker shifts effortlessly into a backwards skate, quicker than a third of the other guys.

Just like when he was skating forward, he uses his long stride to rocket himself across the ice.

In a single stride, he covers more than six feet, which is more than half the other guys can do.

“Damn. He’s moving fast,” Jason says .

I nod. “He’s impressive.”

Jason doesn’t say anything at first. “Gotta say, when Alan said we were getting a thirty-five-year-old winger after getting rid of McCoy, I was nervous. I still am nervous.”

“Why? You’ve seen how St. George plays. He’s been in the league for almost fifteen years. He’s a solid player, no question.”

“He’s also been injured a lot. That shoulder injury he had two seasons ago and the resulting surgery took him out for almost three months. At his age, no matter how good you are, your body just doesn’t bounce back like it did when you were twenty-two.”

I can’t argue with Jason there.

“Fair point,” I say. “But if we keep on top of his conditioning and recovery, he should be okay.”

Jason nods, but I can tell by his hesitant expression that he doesn’t quite believe me.

He takes a breath, hesitating. “Can I be honest with you, Coach?”

“Honesty is the only thing I want out of you.”

“This is training camp. Of course St. George is impressive right now. He’s pulling out all the stops.

He’s showcasing the best of what he can do.

And he’s had a whole summer to rest up to look good for training camp in front of you,” Jason says.

“But training camp is only two weeks. When the season’s in full swing, you’re playing for months and months on end, back-to-back games.

You’re traveling and dealing with injuries and lack of rest and sleep.

When you throw all that into the mix, I don’t know if a guy like St. George will be as impressive. ”

I’m quiet as I take in Jason’s assessment.

Everything he says is true. I know it because I’ve lived it.

I was around Ryker’s age when I quit playing professional hockey.

Partly because I was nearing my late thirties, and my body just couldn’t handle the rigorous workload anymore.

And party because I had lost my wife unexpectedly in a car accident and needed to step up and raise my daughter full-time as a single dad.

I watch Ryker on the ice as he skates his ass off next to Camden Connors, the best defenseman on our team, who’s paired with Sam.

Camden is just as fast as Ryker with an added effortlessness to his movement because he’s young—only twenty-three years old.

He’s skilled, energetic, learns quickly, and is athletically gifted. The perfect young hockey player.

It’s an interesting contrast seeing the two of them on the ice at the same time. Ryker moves with efficiency and experience; Camden moves with excitement and raw energy, like he’s just happy to be here. Both types of players are needed on a team.

“I’m not saying we shouldn’t play St. George,” Jason says. “I just think we need to be careful how we use him on the team.”

Jason is right, but there’s something about Ryker that sticks out to me. There’s a hustle and a hunger in the way that he plays. I like seeing that in my players.

“St. George is no young buck, that’s for sure,” I say. “But I think he could be an asset. I wanna see what he can do for us.”

Jason nods, but purses his lips slightly, like he’s doubtful.

He’s been my assistant coach for the past three seasons, and I’ve always taken to heart his insights and instincts about our players.

But as head coach, I get the final say about how we play our guys.

And I’m ready to take a chance on St. George, even though Jason’s not with me on it.

I blow my whistle, signaling the end of the speed drill. I split the guys up so they can work on offensive and defensive systems. I watch and take notes, observing how their techniques are holding up the longer they go, if they’re getting lazy or forming any bad habits.

By the end of the day, it’s clear the guys are exhausted. They head to the locker room to get cleaned up while the coaches and I head to my office to talk about line combinations and finalize the roster for the upcoming season.

When we’re finished, the coaches and I meet with the players to discuss their roles this season.

There’s a soft knock at my door. When I look up, I see Ryker St. George standing in the open doorway in athletic shorts and a Bashers t-shirt, his dark hair damp. There’s a slight wrinkle in his brow, like he’s unsure. Or annoyed. I can’t really tell with him; he always looked kind of pissed.

“Have a seat.” I gesture to the chair in front of my desk. We both sit down.

“I gotta say, I’m impressed with what I’ve seen from you these past two weeks at training camp,” I say.

The wrinkle in his brow remains. “Thanks. I worked hard to show you what I’m capable of,” he says.

“I don’t want to beat around the bush. I want you on the second line with Del and Theo.”

His brow lifts like he’s shocked. “Seriously?”

I almost laugh at the hitch in his voice. It’s weird hearing his gruff voice that high.

“Yes. The three of you played together really fluidly at training camp. It was like you’d played with them a million times before.

It surprised me how quickly and easily you meshed.

Especially since you were the odd one out.

Those two have played together for almost two seasons, and I honestly thought you’d have a harder time fitting in. But I was wrong. ”

Ryker runs a hand through his hair. “I’m happy to prove you wrong in this instance.”

His expression doesn’t change, but I can tell that was an attempt at a joke.

“Look, I know this isn’t your first rodeo.

You’ve been to tons of training camps for lots of teams in your career.

Things look pretty rosy at the end of training camp when you’re riding the high of excitement and anticipation for the season, but it’s a different story when the season starts,” I say.

“As good as I feel about you playing on the second line, things will change if you fall short of expectations.”

“I understand. I’m not under any delusions, Coach. I’m fully aware that I’m the oldest guy on the team. I know the doubts people have about me and my abilities. But I promise I’ll work my ass off for you. I promise I’ll earn my spot on the roster.”

“Good. And hey, some advice from one old guy to another?”

He cracks a smile. “Sure.”

“Enjoy being the underdog. There’s nothing quite like seeing the look on people’s faces when you exceed their low expectations of you,” I say. “It’s way harder being the superstar that everyone is excited to see fail.”

The look in his eyes turns thoughtful as he nods. I stand up and shake his hand.

“Thank you again for this opportunity, Coach.”

Ryker leaves my office, and I get through my last couple of one-on-one meetings. At the end of the day, I head to the locker room, where the players are sitting around, talking and laughing while listening to music. The second they see me, the music cuts.

“Gentlemen, I just wanted to say that you impressed me and the coaching staff during these past two weeks,” I say.

“Training camp can be a stressful time, but you all brought your A game. There’s a lot of talent in this room, which is important.

But what’s more important, in my opinion, is work ethic.

And the work ethic I’ve seen out of this group these past two weeks has blown me away.

I’m happy to have all of you on this team. Let’s kick ass this season, alright?”

The players holler and clap.

“Coach, can I make a quick announcement while everyone’s here?” Xander asks.

“Sure.”

“Don’t forget my and Sophie’s engagement party tomorrow night at Se’bon, that fancy French restaurant in Cherry Creek. You’re all invited,” Xander says.

“You think we’d forget? You emailed us invitations a month ago. And then you mailed out paper invites. And then you texted us about it last week,” Blomdahl teases.

Xander rolls his eyes and chuckles.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Theo says as he walks by Xander to grab a bottle of water.

“I’ll be there,” Del says.

“It’s cocktail attire, so be sure to wear a suit,” Xander says.

“Do I have to wear a tie?” Camden asks.

Xander looks at him. “Duh.”

Camden groans. Ryker rolls his eyes. “Don’t tell me you don’t know how to tie a tie,” Ryker grumbles.

“I know how,” Camden says. “I just don’t like wearing one.”

Xander throws a towel at Camden’s face. Camden laughs as he pulls it away.

“Well, too bad because you’re going to wear a tie for my engagement party.

” He looks around the room. “And come hungry. We’re doing passed appetizers before dinner, and it costs a fuck-ton—and we don’t get to take home the leftovers.

I wanna get my money’s worth, so come ready to eat a million bacon-wrapped scallops and puff pastry bites. ”

“Anyone need a DD or wanna carpool?” Sam asks the room. “Dakota and I are giving a ride to her friend Abby, and we’ve got room for two more.”

Just the mention of Abby’s name sends a flicker of excitement through me.

I think back to the other week when I ran into her at that dive bar. How pretty she looked. How happy and relieved she was to see me. How I almost asked her out on a date, but then lost my nerve after getting interrupted by that phone call from work.

I don’t know what I was thinking. I was probably just caught up in the moment of having a nice conversation with her. Abby wouldn’t be interested in a guy like me. She’s young and beautiful. She could have any guy in the world. No way she’d want to go out with me.

Xander smacks my shoulder as he walks by me to toss his towel into the laundry bin, pulling me back to the present.

“Pumped for the party tomorrow night, Coach?”

That spark of excitement is still there inside of me at the thought of seeing Abby.

I nod. “Absolutely.”