Page 90 of Taking Sides

“Because I had a great coach. A couple of them, in fact.”

She gives me a small, patronizing smile.

“It’s true. Without them, I’d never have gotten to where I am today. Great coaches make great players possible.” I lean in. “And you’re a fantastic coach.”

“My team is on a five-game losing streak.”

“It isn’t all about winning. They admire and respect you. You’re teaching them more than hockey. I don’t know where I’d be today if it weren’t for some of the coaches in my life.” I think about Coach Carson. He was so good at taking my mind off all the bullshit at school and channeling it into hockey, but not in a dismissive way like he didn’t care it was happening. On the team there was no room for bullies. He never would have tolerated it, and everyone knew it. In turn, it was a safe place. One of the few I had outside of home.

“I told you school was not easy for me. I was awkward and even quieter back then, if you can imagine. I had terrible acne, and I got my growth spurt about three years later than everyone else. I was the one most likely to be shoved in a locker. I had my head put in a locker room toilet.”

She makes a face of disgust.

“Yeah.” I nod. I shudder at the memory. I can’t believe I’m telling her this. It doesn’t exactly make me look great. “I was an easy target and too shy and small to fight back. And girls were brutal. The first and last time I asked one out, she laughed me out of the cafeteria.”

Her smile returns, but this time it’s filled with sympathy and a spark of something else . . . anger. “Jerks. The offer to kick their asses still stands.”

“My point is I never would have gotten through it if it weren’t for hockey and the coaches I had during that time. The only time I felt good about myself was when I was skating.”

“I’m sorry they were awful to you,” she says.

“Yeah, me too.”

“Got a list of names and addresses?”

“Why?”

“Forget beating them up, I’d like to go back in time and shove every one of their heads in the toilet.” She makes that expression filled with revulsion again.

“No, I haven’t kept in contact with anyone, but I may know how you could run into them.”

Her brows pinch together. “How?”

“Eh . . .” I lean back. “My old coach is retiring and they’re having an awards ceremony for him next month. They want me to give the speech for him.”

“Are you going?”

“Nah,” I say quickly. “I don’t think so.”

“Because you don’t want to run into the jerks from high school?” The way she asks it doesn’t suggest that she thinks less of me for avoiding them, but I can’t help but feel a little bit like I’m that kid hiding from the bullies again.

“That and the whole giving a speech in front of a bunch of people thing.”

“I’ve seen you in interviews. You’re great.”

“I’m talking to one person, usually, and they’re all people I’m familiar with after a few years playing.” And great is a wild exaggeration. I manage not to stutter or freeze up as long as the conversation stays on hockey.

“Well, for the record, I think you’d be great, but I get it. If they couldn’t see your hot awesomeness then, they don’t deserve you now.”

I bark out a laugh. “Trust me. I was not hot or awesome.”

“Nope. I refuse to believe it. This is not an ugly duckling situation.” She waves a hand in front of my face. “Impossible.”

“What were you like in school?” I ask.

“Pretty average. I wasn’t popular or anything, but people didn’t mess with me because of Victor.”

“He looked out for you?” It’s hard to imagine him caring about anyone, but it makes me hate the guy a little less knowing he’s been good to Whitney.