Page 66 of Taking Sides

“Maybe I should have mentioned that I don’t do well with blood and gore.” Whitney winces, squeezing her eyes mostly shut from where she sits next to me. Her legs are pulled up beneath her, and she leans into me. We decided to start with The Equalizer. Save the best for last, as Whitney put it.

I bring my left hand up and shield her view from the TV screen. “How does a hockey player turned coach manage to get by hating the sight of blood?”

“When it’s my blood and gore, I’m less squeamish. I hate seeing other people get hurt.”

“That’s sweet.” My mouth twists into a smile. The volume of the movie is loud and D-Low is several feet away on the other end of the couch.

“Thank you.” Her expression takes on a look of gratitude that seems to go far beyond what I’ve said. “I needed this today.”

“Rough day?” I ask, peeking at the TV. Denzel is still kicking ass.

“Practice wasn’t great,” she says.

“Want to talk about it?”

“Now?” she asks with a laugh.

“It looks like we have another few minutes until the blood and gore stops.”

“Yeah, but you’ll miss the movie.”

I lean in, holding her gaze, then whisper like it’s some big secret, “I don’t care.”

“Uh-oh. Don’t let D-Low hear that,” she warns.

I drape an arm around her shoulders and pull her into me. This is nice. There’s something about having her in my space that feels good and less stressful than our previous hangs. Or maybe I’m just starting to relax around her a little. “What happened at practice?”

I’m not good at talking, but hockey I can manage.

She takes a moment, like she’s collecting her thoughts, before she says, “Grady switched up the schedule for the rest of the week. He thinks the JV team needs more real, game-time situations, so he wants to ramp up everything we’re doing with more drills, more scrimmages, pushing the kids twice as hard.”

“O-kay,” I say slowly. I gather that she doesn’t agree, but I’m not sure with which part.

“He’s a good coach. The boys like and respect him, and he’s had more success than any other coach⁠—”

I let the hand that’s blocking her view of the movie drop so that the backs of my fingers caress her cheek. “Even good coaches get things wrong.”

She leans into my touch, and her expression softens.

“What do you think he should do?” I ask her.

“I don’t know,” she says, tone filled with dismay. “I think that hard work and experience are important, but . . .” She hesitates again, biting the corner of her lip. “It feels like it should be fun or what’s the point?”

“Winning?”

“Yeah. You’re right.” She nods. “I know that’s a big part of it too, but I wish there was a way to do both.”

“Oooh. This is my favorite line!” D-Low shouts.

Whitney and I glance at the TV in time to hear him recite it perfectly in time with Denzel.

When the movie is over, we all get up and stretch. I grab Whitney another Dr Pepper, which she shakes off. “I can’t have any more sugar.”

“Amateur,” I tease as I reach into the cabinet and pull out my stash of Milk Duds.

“How is it possible you can eat any more candy?” she asks, mouth gaped wide as she waves a hand in front of me.

“He eats like trash,” D-Low says as he rinses out his container and puts it in the dishwasher.