Page 4 of Taking Sides

“We should go out on the lake sometime this week,” Travis suggests. He’s still trying to fix things.

I nod absently. A little sunshine and a cold beer in hand does sound pretty good. I’m about to ask him about his schedule this week when I spot Penn walking our way. He takes a seat next to me in the same spot where Christina was sitting a few minutes ago.

“What’s up?” he asks, sinking back into the couch.

“Not much,” I say before Hannah or Travis can tell him about my failure with Christina. If he is interested, I don’t want him to hold back because he feels sorry for me. “Trav and I were talking about a lake day. You in?”

“Sure, but not this coming week. We have that high school hockey camp at Moonshot High,” Penn reminds me.

“Right.” Our assistant coach asked us about volunteering at a local hockey camp before the season ended. It’s part of the reason I came back to town so quickly. That and a single’s beach vacation is basically my worst nightmare. I’d end up spending the entire time in my hotel room or something equally as tragic.

“That’ll be fun,” Trav says. “I heard they have a good varsity team.”

I nod. I heard the same thing. A few of our teammates have kids in the district, so it comes up from time to time.

A little of that restlessness dissipates. Maybe hockey isn’t enough, but for now it’s something to focus on.

TWO

The energy in the rink is chaotic. After weeks of summer vacation with no routine or schedule, the boys are completely unable to concentrate. But what they lack in focus they make up for in excitement. Loud laughter and relentless chirping are a constant along with pained looks as they hunch over to catch their breath.

It’s only been fifteen minutes of warm-up and light drills, and some of them already look like they’ll pass out if we don’t have a water break soon.

I skate over to Grady, or Coach G, as the kids call him. His whistle rests between his teeth as he watches the boys. I come to a stop beside him. He isn’t a super-tall guy, but he’s broad like a linebacker. It’s especially apparent as he strikes his favorite pose with both arms crossed over his muscular chest. His dark hair is sprinkled with gray at the temples, and his face is covered in stubble long enough that it could almost be a beard but not quite. He has that something about him that just screams “head coach.”

He lets the whistle fall from his mouth. “Want to take bets on who pukes first?”

“Too easy.” I laugh softly as I glance out at the JV and varsity hopefuls. This camp will help us decide who will play on which teams and who won’t make it at all.

“Jake, right?”

Instead of answering, I call out to the kid in question as he passes by. “You’ve got this, Jake. Dig deep.”

Grady snorts. “What he’s got is a stomach full of crap food. Do you know he rolled in here this morning with a donut?”

I also had a donut for breakfast, along with a chai latte, but I’m not trying to make varsity, so maybe it isn’t an apt comparison.

Grady shakes his head. “If I had a donut for breakfast, I’d need a nap by noon.”

“That’s because you’re an old man,” I joke. He turned forty last year, so my teasing hits exactly the way I expected. His mouth turns down at the corners, and he gives me a dry, annoyed glare. His eyes give him away though, sparking with amusement despite his best effort.

“Just wait. Someday your body will start betraying you too,” he warns, but I’ve seen him lifting weights and doing skating drills with the boys. I don’t think he’s struggling as much as he enjoys complaining about it.

He picks up his whistle and blows it. The boys stop immediately, like they were waiting for a reprieve. It isn’t a great sign for the first day of camp, but if I’ve learned anything in my ten months as a high school hockey coach, these boys can make quick improvements with proper motivation.

Grady skates out to center ice, and I follow. The boys gather around, cheeks flushed and chests rising and falling quickly.

“Take a knee,” Grady says.

They drop in a semicircle in front of us. A few lift their cage helmets, one spits on the ice next to him. I hold back a grimace. There are a lot of things I love about hockey but that isn’t one of them.

“Welcome back. I hope you’re all enjoying your summer.” Grady places both hands on his hips as he regards them with a serious but friendly expression.

He gives the kids a moment to continue catching their breath before he continues. “From the looks of you, you’ve all been enjoying it a little too much.”

He cracks a smile, but I know, and the boys know too, that he’s still calling them out on taking time off from hockey. It’s one of many ways we differ, Grady and me. He thinks the boys should be all hockey, all the time. Off-seasons are for preparing for the season, yadda, yadda, yadda. I think that’s great for some kids, but for others, hockey is a small part of their life. And that’s okay too.

“This week we’ll be assessing you individually and as a team. We lost a lot of scoring and goaltending talent last season, so we’re going to need people to step up and fill those gaps. Your performance will determine your team placement, so dig deep. Give it everything you’ve got.” His gaze slides to Jake. “If you need to puke, do it and get back out there.”