Page 66 of Puck Love

Nathan bobbed his head enthusiastically. “Yes.”

I held my hand up for a high five. “Later, Nath.”

Smitty nudged my elbow and tipped his ball cap in wordless thanks. “See you there.”

I glanced through the coffee shop’s window to check Denny’s progress in line and pulled out my cell, returning to my earlier text thread with Trinsky. He’d sent a selfie with yet another box of Cinnamon Pop-Tarts just as I’d placed my order with Ivan, captioned,I told you this shit rocks.

I’d snickered at Trinsky’s goofy expression, but with Smitty and Nathan on either side of me and JC behind me in the queue, I hadn’t had a chance to respond.

So now, I held up my iced coffee and snapped a quick pic of my to-go cup.This is the true breakfast of champions.

Did you get a scone too?

No, I had eggs and fruit at home. I’m saving my pig out calories for a shake at the diner later,I typed.Chocolate chocolate chip.

You suck.

I do.

Trinsky sent a laughing emoji.Take a selfie.

Why? You know what I look like.

Yeah, but what do you look like holding iced coffee?

I cast a quick glance around, then took the world’s fastest selfie and pushed Send.Here you go, weirdo.

You’re kinda hot.

I blushed. And I should not be fucking blushing on Main Street.I’m very hot…and sweaty. But I’m heading to the rink now to meet my new group of Juniors. AC for the win.

All about that ice. Later.Three dots. Three more dots.Weird request, but…call me later if you can.

I sent a thumbs-up emoji and stuffed my cell into my pocket as Denny pushed open the door.

He tapped his cup to mine and inclined his head. “Shall we?”

We talked about the usual new-session hurdles. There was always a kid who was sure they deserved star athlete treatment or whose parents were concerned their little darling wasn’t getting enough attention. We didn’t have to deal with them personally. They filed their grievances with the owners and local coaches, not the NHL hotshots.

However, Denny and I had grown up here. Hell, I’d attended the first ever Juniors Camp, coached by the newly retired legend, Kimbo, a.k.a., Vinnie Kiminski. I still remembered how nervous I’d been. Sure, I knew how to play hockey and I’d had some great coaches, but Vinnie was a real live NHL star.

Elmwood Juniors’ Camp had come a long way since that first summer that Vinnie was the only name anyone recognized. Nowadays, hockey greats flooded the Four Forest area everysummer. Some came with their families, friends, and significant others and stayed to tour rural New England. Some arrived solo, happy to do a little bonding with their fellow athletes and soak up the positive press that came along with this gig.

Denny and I stopped to chat with a Russian goalie who played for Vegas and gave directions to a rookie forward from Pittsburgh who’d been assigned coaching duties at the high school rink across town.

Did we know where to go? Dude, Elmwood was home. Our families were entrenched in the community and had been for decades. Geez, I’d coached Denny well before he’d skyrocketed to superstardom.

It was surreal to be among the few athletes who represented the NHLandElmwood. Sometimes, it was just a pain in the ass. The press coverage always seemed to include a segment with one of the local “success” stories.

“It’s your turn,” I teased at the crosswalk down the hill from the rink.

“Nope. We’re both off the hook for now. The reporter from ESPN says they want to talk to the guys who come back every year.” Denny sipped his drink.

“Oh. That’s a good angle.”

“Personally, I’m trying to stay out of the spotlight and enjoy camp. If one more idiot asks if I’m staying in Denver next season, I’m going to lose my shit.”

“Your contract isn’t up for like…two years or more,” I replied as the light flashed green.