Page 3 of Goalie interference

“He’s a real charmer,” Thompson laughed, nudging my shoulder. “He grows on you–eventually.”

Thompson had grown some balls around me when there was someone to defend him from getting his face knocked in–he'd never do something so brazen if it was just the two of us.

Thompson and Jordan grabbed their towels, agreeing to get dressed and meet in one of the video rooms for our session. I was in no rush, enjoying the feel of warm water on my cold skin–I'd had to skip my shower this morning to not be late.

And honestly, that shower, even in an open locker room filled with twenty other guys, felt like it cured half my hangover right there.

I hadn’t even realized our new coach was still standing there until I turned around and found him there. The water was running down my back, and my first thought was to cover my junk, not prepared to be flashing another grown man.

A grown man, but younger than I thought.

When Reed said he was retired, I assumed forties or fifties. Most NHL players took a few years off when they retired and came back for coaching a little later, but this guy couldn’t have been more than thirty-five. He either retired well before the standard retirement age or he came straight from San Jose.

Something about him was familiar–shaggy dark hair and olive skin with dark eyes to match. It was hard with goalies, considering they spent so much time in a mask and padding, but I would have sworn I saw that face somewhere.

“You get your rocks off watching us shower or what?” I asked, breaking the weird silence we’d had, sizing one another up.

Or maybe that was just me.

“No,” he said with an amused shake of his head. “I’m sorry if I gave that impression, Ashton, but–”

“Ash,” I corrected. “Or Kincaid. The guys will call me Kinny, and they’ll get punched for it, but anything's better than my full name.”

“Ash,” he said, nodding once in understanding. “I just wanted to speak with you for a second, without the others.”

Aaaaand here we go.

Lecturing me about how things were going to go. Asserting his dominance over me in his coach role now, like it would make a lick of difference later.

Oh, Coach Reed was so right–I was going to love this guy!

“Coach Reed told me some things about you, and I just want to clear the air,” he said calmly, his dark eyes locked on my face in an oddly controlled way. “I’m here to make you better. That’s not to say you’re bad now or that you need improvement–I’m here to refine your skills and make you as desirable as can be when you’re done here–that’s it. It’s a partnership–a relationship.”

“You tell me what you need, and I tell you what I need, and we meet somewhere in the middle.”

“Until I piss you off–”

“No,” he said sternly, slowly. “No until. I know I need to earn your trust, maybe more so than usual after your string of coaches, but I promise you, Ash–I just want you to succeed. I want all three of you to be the best you can be, but goaltending is a tough gig. I doubt Tommy and Jordy actually plan to pursue this as a career when they graduate, so I’ll still coach them, but my focus is you, Ash.”

He was right. Thompson was a business major, and Jordy was taking over his dad's construction company–they just wanted something to do while they were in school.

That was part of what bugged me so much with other coaches–I was the only one here to play hockey and make a life out of it. I heard religiously about how improbable a feat that was, which only pissed me off more, but now this guy comes in and says he gets it?

That he just wanted to help?

Sure.

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” I trailed off, suddenly aware of the fact that I didn’t even know the guy's name–I must have tuned him out when he was introducing himself to the others.

“Coach Thayer,” he filled in for me…and made everything click.

He was Thomas fucking Thayer.

Chapter 2

Thayer

Oh, to be twenty-one again.