Page 104 of Cross Check
It has to stop now.
“I need to get ready,” I say. “Forty-five minutes, and I’ll be good to go.”
“Sure. Take your time. I’ve got nothing planned before the game besides chilling at the hotel. I’ll wait here.”
“Cool.” I stand, shifting toward the hallway. “Make yourself comfortable.”
“Hey.” Grant puts a hand on my arm. Fingers press into my wrist, and I don’t want to pull away from the slow drag of his touch. “You’re going to do great tonight. It’s a new role, but it’s something you already do so well. I can’t believe I get to be here to watch you in your first game as an associate coach. You’re deserving of this, Amelia. Go take what’s yours.”
I hold that with me when I boldly add a pair of silver hoops to my outfit and pick a deep shade of red for my lips. It follows me to the hotel where I drop him off and all the way to the arena. By the time we take the ice, I’m lighter. More relaxed, and ready to kick ass.
“Huddle up,” Jude calls out after the player’s introductions. “You all know it’s Coach Green’s first night leading you as an associate coach, and she’s covering for me on Tuesday while I’m away for a family matter. I’m going to turn this speech over to her so she can start us off on the right foot. Coach?”
“Thanks.” I smile at the guys surrounding me. “San Diego thinks they have our number after beating us in the Western Conference finals last season and twice already this year. But none of that counts tonight. We have a clean slate, and I’ve been impressed with two things over the last couple of weeks: the odd man rush you all are utilizing to push into our opponent’s attacking zones and our plus/minus numbers. You’re helping each other on defense. You’re anticipating rebounds and taking the time to make an extra pass for a better shot on goal. Let’s keep those focuses throughout tonight.”
“Great way to get this party started, Coach.” Lenny grins at me and puts his palm out in front of him. “Everyone better finish the night with a positive number, or we’re all doing an extra twenty laps at practice on Monday. Hands in. I want to hear teamwork on three. One. Two. Three.”
“Teamwork,” they all yell, knocking their sticks together.
The first line takes the ice, and Jude and I stand behind the bench in our usual spots. I haven’t let myself look for Grant in the crowd, but I know he’s here. I can feel his attention on me from his seat, and it makes me stand straighter.
“I’m taking a back seat tonight,” Jude murmurs as the puck drops. “I want you calling the shots. Line changes and ice time. All the decision making and the postgame evals.”
“Does that mean I get to earn your salary?” I ask, and he barks out a laugh.
“I’ll see what I can do.”
I take Jude’s challenge seriously, splitting my time between correcting technical errors when the guys are on the bench and praising the good defensive effort that stops San Diego from scoring through the first two and a half periods.
I’ve never been someone who likes to showboat, but our two-goal lead with six minutes to go would be more fun if we stretched it to three.
“Lenny,” I call out when the third line is on the ice. I walk over to him and lean forward so he can hear me over the crowd. “Do you feel like going for a hat trick?”
“Shit, Coach. You want to put the dagger in them?” he asks, and I nod.
“Yup.” I grab the closest whiteboard. “How about a between-the-legs shot?”
“I’d say that’s pretty ballsy, but I remember how much it sucked to lose in the conference final last May.” He grins and tosses his water bottle to the guy sitting next to him. “Let’s give it a whirl.”
“Only if you see the opening. Their goalie has experience, and we shouldn’t assume he’s going to fall for the deke. If Henderson and Billings clear the slot, I want you to go for it.”
“Yo, Billy,” Lenny yells, getting his teammate’s attention to pass along the play. “Need you to clear out some defenders for me.”
With five minutes left, I watch the guys put the plan into motion. I nod when Henderson and Billings draw the defenders out, leaving Lenny one-on-one with San Diego’s goalie. He releases the puck with an open blade, deking out his opponent and landing the shot in the upper corner of the net.
The crowd screams. Hats fly onto the ice from the stands, and I give Jude a high five. With the arena celebrating, I chance a look at Grant’s seat, freezing when my eyes land on him.
Nineteen thousand, nine hundred and ninety nine people are looking at Lenny after his goal, but Grant is wearing fake facial hair and absurd sideburns, and he’s only looking at me.
THIRTY-FOUR
GRANT
APRIL, FOUR SEASONS AGO
Me
Hey! How was your flight?
