Page 116 of Edging Coach
“Young Devon Jarvis with his first point in the League,” one of them was saying as the goal played out in slow motion. “There is some raw talent on display here, Sam. The hockey IQ, the ability to see the ice, the confidence to take that shot through traffic and land it right on Khoury’s tape—you don’t see that every day. Not in the kids.”
“You’ve got that right. And just look at the precision. An inch or two to either side, and it’s a turnover, not a tip-in. Excellent brains and hands on this kid—what in the world was Toronto thinking, trading a player like this when their blue line is so severely lacking?”
The other analyst laughed. “No idea, but their loss is Vancouver’s gain. Losing Rasmus Cederqvist this late in the season should’ve been a disaster, but with Jarvis filling in—crisis averted.”
As Devon and his new teammates celebrated on the screen, a third voice interjected, “With a rookie like this, an earlystrong performance and a point could be beginner’s luck. But with Jarvis—that kind of hockey IQ isn’t luck.”
They were right. All of them. Most rookies were instantly overwhelmed the first time they played at that level. Even for those who performed well—it was a lot. I remembered my first few games, wondering if I was in over my head and afraid I’d never catch up to the speed of my teammates. I had, but in the moment, it had seemed impossible.
Devon had clearly had some moments of feeling that way. I could see it in his face—the wide eyes, the deer-in-the-headlights expression. It was to be expected, especially being thrown into the mix with a team he’d only practiced with once. But he’d kept his cool, and he’d played better than people expected.
Not better than I’d expected, though. I’d seen it in him. From the first moment he’d skated in front of me, I’d known this was a star in the making. I’d thought I might just be biased, seeing as I’d had his dick down my throat just hours before I’d coached him. But no, the longer I’d watched him play, the more objectively clear it became that no amount of rose-colored glasses were involved here. Devon was an incredible player, and he had one hell of a career ahead of him.
Which was exactly why I was on my way up to Emil’s office the morning after Devon’s League debut.
“Good morning, Jack.” Emil smiled uneasily as I sat down in front of his desk. “What can I do for you?” He was trying to be pleasant, but he must’ve sensed this was more than just a normal coach-GM check-in.
“I, uh…” I looked down at the envelope in my hands. Then I took a deep breath and slid the envelope across the desk. “I’m stepping down as head coach.”
“Stepping—” He eyed the envelope like a venomous snakeslithering toward him. Meeting my gaze, he said, “Jack. You’ve turned this team around. We need?—”
“I understand that,” I said evenly. “But that’s not all my doing. The entire coaching staff is solid. I do think I’ve coached the team well, but just having Coach Brown out of everyone’s way has probably done more good than anything.”
Emil pursed his lips and grunted. He didn’t argue with that last part. While the previous head coach had been decent, some of the other coaches had made noise about feeling less restricted and more able to work to the players’ strengths instead of the head coach’s opinions. He’d been far more focused on shoehorning the players into his own systems than in finding systems that played to everyone’s strengths. The results had been a frustrated team and coaching staff.
“Why, though?” Emil asked. “There’s only a couple of months left in the regular season. Is it a salary issue? Is it?—”
“No.” I shook my head. “It’s a, um… A personal matter. I’m happy to continue the position until a replacement is found, but I need to move on. I think coaching…” I paused, then shook my head again. “I need to move on.”
He pushed out a long breath. “You’re going to be a hard act to follow, Jack. These players respect you. They like you. They’re playing their hearts out for you.”
I shifted in my chair. “Would I be out of line to recommend a replacement?”
The GM’s eyebrows shot up. “Not at all. Who do you have in mind?”
“Amy Vincent.”
His eyebrows would’ve been in his hair now if he had any left. “Amy? Not even Crumbs?” That was Charlie Cromwell, the other assistant coach. I liked the guy, but he didn’t reallydomuch. He barely registered on my radar most of the timebecause he kind of hovered in the background and collected a paycheck.
“Crumbs is good,” I said, more than generously, “but Amy’s better by a mile. She knows these players’ strengths and weaknesses like no one else. Nine times out of ten, our line combinations and D pairs are her recommendations, not mine.”
Emil scowled. “You know how some of the old guard would take that promotion, though. Particularly on the heels of having an openly gay head coach.”
I rolled my eyes. “Of course they’ll call it DEI. They’ve been calling me a DEI hire since day one.”
“And that won’t get any better when you resign after such a short tenure,” he said flatly.
I winced. “I know. I understand that. But the most important thing is how the team responds to the head coach. And I can’t imagine any scenario where they don’t respond positively to Amy in that role.”
Emil studied me for a painfully long moment. “What’s this really about, Jack?” There was a note of suspicion in his voice. “You’re on a three-game winning streak. Fans and players alike are raving about you. Then you come back from the All-Star break and need to resign.” He inclined his head. “Is there something I need to know about?”
My heart thumped against my ribs. Something about his tone suggested he knew the answer already. That he’d been giving me rope and letting me decide if I wanted to admit it or lie about it.
Finally, I decided to tell him the truth. Not theentiretruth—not the part that would out Devon or potentially risk his career—but still, the truth.
Holding Emil’s gaze, I said, “I’ve given my entire life to this sport. I love hockey. I’ll always love hockey. But I need to reclaim my life for me. Especially while I’m still healthyenough to enjoy it.” I laughed dryly. “I’ve got chronic pain that’s going to be with me for the rest of my life. I can’t remember a year of my life that wasn’t dominated by hockey, traveling for hockey, and recovering from injuries from hockey.” Shaking my head, I sighed. “I just can’t do it anymore.”
He sat back in his chair, the slow creak the only sound in the room for a solid minute. “Is there anything I can say that’ll convince you to finish out the season? Asking these boys to change coaches midseason—again—is a tall ask. Especially if I want them to stay on this winning trajectory.”
