Page 59 of You, Again
“Uh, sorry. I don’t know. I’ll check my schedule and text you, okay?”
She sighed heavily. “You promised, Vin.”
I winced. “I know. Shit, okay. I’ll make it work. Just…text me the info and I’ll fix my schedule.”
“What’s on your schedule? I thought you were relaxing.”
“I am. But I’m working with juniors at my buddy’s rink.”
“Aww, now that’s cute!” Sienna gushed. “Why didn’t you lead with that, asshole? I want to see you coaching.”
“That’s not gonna happen.”
“Why not? I’ll come see you. I’ll—”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever. I gotta run,” I intercepted.
“Fine. Text me!”
She hung up before I could argue or agree. Just as well. I had places to be.
* * *
I droppeda bag of hot-mustard Doritos on the bench. “For you.”
Nolan finished tying his skates and looked up. He examined the bag, chuckling lightly. “Thank you. You’re spoiling me with—”
“You fucking dickhead! You’re the laziest piece of shit out here.”
“Are you kidding? You suck, Max. You suck eggs, you suck dick, you suck…”
“Whoa.” I jumped over the board and skated to center ice where Max had Kinney in a headlock. I shoved a few onlookers aside and pulled the two lugheads out of the scrum. “What the fuck is the matter with you two?”
Nolan joined me a moment later, his brow furrowed with concern. I was sure he’d reprimand me for F-bomb usage, but he was too focused on the disgruntled teens. “Well?”
“Nothing,” Max grumbled testily. “Just tired of losing ’cause Kinney doesn’t know the meaning of the word pass.”
“Chill, Max. This is summer league. It’s not that big of a deal,” Jason chided.
“That’s why we’re still losing. Losers always come up with excuses,” someone else chimed in.
“You’re the fuckin’ loser.”
“Yeah, right, asshole. You can’t find the puck with both hands and you can’t…”
Nolan and I shared a bemused look as our band of usually mellow teens dissolved into utter chaos. He blew his whistle and waved his arms above his head while I pulled bodies apart and let out a berserk roar that had the usual effect of startling a crowd into silence.
I gave Nolan what I hoped transmitted as “I got this” vibes, put my hands on my hips, and pivoted in a half circle, coolly eyeing the boys.
“Hey, no one wins the blame game. The only way a team wins is when they work together…as a team. I’ve been here for almost two months, and I can honestly say I didn’t think winning mattered much to you guys. I wasn’t sure you were listening to Coach Nolan or me. Maybe I was wrong. Was I? Do you actually want to win a fucking game?” I challenged.
“Language,” Nolan warned as the boys shouted a chorus of “Hell yeses” and “Fuck yeahs.”
“Okay, then. Let’s make a few adjustments. First up…you gotta play with fire in your veins. You gotta play hungry every single time you get on the ice. Take all this angst happening right here”—I motioned between them all—“and channel it. Dig in when you skate, pass that fucking puck, take the shots, defend your goal. Don’t play scared. Don’t back down. Be accountable. If you’re telling me you can do all of those things, we can win, no problem. Whoa, whoa…wait up. But only if you play together, work together, grind together. The greatest shooter ever can’t win a game alone. The greatest defender can’t defend the net alone. Not possible. So, if you’re really serious about taking this to the next level, show me what you got. Show me your speed, show me those passes, show me that defense. Show me that you’re here to fuckin’ win. Show me it matters to you.”
The boys tapped their sticks on the ice as a new round of “yeahs” rumbled through them.
“All right, let’s do it.” I clapped my hands, then held them in the air and waved. “Hold up. One more thing…and this is important. You need nicknames. Max, you’re Hothead. Kinney, I love the simplicity, but let’s tweak it. Kinnster, Kinnmoney, K’dyver? What do you think? Tim, you’re tall, you have red hair, you’re Big Red. Jason…”