Page 74 of What We Knew Then
“Right on time. Just how I like it. Close the door and take a seat.”
Close the door? Fuck. I hate this.
“First things first, looked at your grades and got a quick report from your professors. Everything is okay. Like, you have your shit together.” His tone is slightly surprised and I try not to take offense to it. He must notice, or I'm giving myself away with my face, because he says, “I didn’thave an expectation besides all of the seniors I’ve coached before. They typically zone out and do enough to stay eligible.”
I get it. If it hadn’t been for the Knights reinforcing the value of a scholarship or education in general, I’d probably fall in that bucket—if I even made it that far.
“So, good job,” he continues while putting papers back in a folder, closing it, and pushing it to the front of his desk. “Here is your stat sheet for the season so far.” He slides a piece of paper in front of me. It includes everything from goals to assists, plus/minus differential, and even penalty box minutes.
Coach smiles. “You’re playing well. It’s like you needed a warm up weekend, and a kick in the ass from me and the guys, and you’re doing exactly what we need. Thank you.”
His compliment catches me off guard. Not only the words, but the pause… the eye contact—he fucking means it.
“You know I had to fight the athletic director to get you here. He kept telling me our roster was strong enough. I didn’t believe him. And I’m glad I pushed for you. Let’s keep it going, yeah?”
“Yes, Coach,” I answer, strong and determined.
“Now, if you flip that over, you’ll see three names of scouts who’ve reached out to me.”
It feels like I’m in a daze when I turn the page over, almost expecting it to be a cruel joke. In black ink are three handwritten names, all with team names next to them.
NHL teams.Holy shit.
I flip the sheet back, my stats staring me in the face, before flipping it back over and making sure it’s not invisible ink. The names are still on the paper. My hands are sweating so bad I check to make sure my fingers aren’t leaving a mark.
My mouth is dry, like my tongue doesn’t fucking fit in here. It’s as heavy as a brick. I try to swallow past the anxiety ringing in my ears.
Coach is waving his hand in front of me. “Lane. Did you hear anything I just said?”
I shake my head in a very honest ‘no’ and he starts to laugh. “Stay with me. I was saying, these are the scouts who have reached out so far. They have a short list of who they want to see. You’re included. But I only want to invite them if that’s really what you want.”
“What do you mean?” The words he’s saying make sense on their own, but I’m having a hard time getting to what he’s trying to say.
He pushes himself back in his chair, eyes still on me. “I’m just asking the question. Is this the direction you want to go? If so, are you ready? I’m happy to buy you some time and let them know we’re not taking visits until after the holiday.”
“Do you think I can do it? Play like they need to see. Or should I wait?”
“Lane, you’ve done one of the hardest things for a college athlete. Jumped on a roster at the last minute, not knowing any of these guys, in a place you’ve never been. Now, I don’t know if this will go to your head or not, but you’re a fucking great player. One of the best that will probably step foot at this campus. I’d lie to the other guys if you told them I said that.” Coach winks and it makes me laugh and brings me back to the moment. “If it’s what you want, I think you’re ready.”
I nod and stare at the names on the back of my stats sheet. Teams I’ve dreamed of playing for. Ones that Oliver and I used to talk about when we were dreaming about our hockey futures—where he’d end up, where I’d end up. I don’t push the thought of him away. This is the goal. The dream. And fuck, it hurts not to be doing this right alongside him.
“The team has been on fire lately. This is a great time for scouts to watch any of you.”
“I’m ready,” I reassure him, keeping my voice firm and level. If I can’t keep it together when I’m simply talking about it with my coach, that’s a bad fucking look.
Coach grabs a pen and writes something in his notebook. “Awesome. I’ll get a hold of them and get something set up. Now, I have a policy where I tell the whole team when scouts come. So, it won’t be a secret. I’ll try to give you a heads up as soon as I hear back, though.”
I nod, completely fine with the team being in the know. It wouldn’t feel right for them not to be. Especially because I’m not the only guy who has dreams to play in the NHL.
“Now that we’ve got all that out of the way…” Sarcasm drips from his words as he smiles, leaning forward on his desk. His face drops and his gaze is targeted and clear. “I want to talk about Cora.”
The air leaves my lungs. He fucking knows. How?
He takes a deep breath and I’m trying to formulate the apology in my mind. In what world does this man tell me about the scouts wanting to see me play and then casually bring up how I’m hooking up with his daughter? Fuck. This is bad.
Coach’s eyes look around the room, like he’s trying to find the words. Each second that drags on makes me feel like the floor is going to drop from beneath me.
“What about her?” I cough, trying to cover the shakiness of my voice.
