Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 80045 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80045 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
“No, Coach,” I answer, shaking my head. “That's not it.”
Coach nods like he expected me to say that. He slides his hands into the black and yellow windbreaker he wears, taking a seat next to me on the bench.
“I didn't think so,” he says. “I took a look at your time in Colorado. You're a playmaker through and through. There were times you had nothing but goal assists in the game, and you still took pride in those wins, so what's eating you up now?”
“I don't know,” I say my, eyes finding the floor.
It's a coward answer, and I know it. I’ve warmed up to Coach Hardin over the last three months—in fact, he's probably the best coach I've ever had in my entire hockey career. He's stern but understanding, and he really takes the time to get to know each of us. He somehow makes you feel like the most important player on the team, even though he has too many talented assets to count.
I should explain exactly why I'm sitting here sulking instead of joining my teammates at the hotel bar for a celebration, but I can't.
“Maybe it's the fact that you had a chance for us to score with an assist, but you decided to take the shot yourself. That's not unheard of,” he continues. “And I saw it, it was a good shot. He just blocked you.”
“Captain told me to pass before I took the shot,” I admit. I manage the courage to look at his face, expecting to see nothing but pure disappointment there. Instead, I see a level of understanding that I'm not sure any coach has given me before.
“I was wondering what Kiplin hollered at you,” he says. “And ignoring Kiplin would be enough to make anybody's stomach sour, but you can't let it trip you up. We’re a mostly new team, Wolfe,” he says, glancing around the locker room as if all the players are here instead of out on the team bus. “We’re just learning how to work together for our common goal of winning and being the best. But right now, I'm not worried about the wins. I'm not worried about the scores on the board. I'm more focused on how we work as a team. Because I know in the end, that's going to take us further than ever before. A good, solid team,” he continues. “One who works together, not against each other.” He glances at me, a soft smile on his face that’s somewhat familiar, tugging at something at the back of my head I can't quite place.
He gives me a supportive clap on the shoulder. “You can't be a lone wolf, Wolfe,” he says and chuckles at his own play on words. “You're talented as hell,” he continues. “That's why we drafted you first. Nobody is ever going to deny that. But if we really want to make this team into what we hope it will be? We have to be a team. Understand?”
I nod. “Yes, Coach,” I say.
“Good,” he says. “We’re down to six minutes now. Get on that bus or you’ll have to find another way back to the hotel”
I laugh, nodding at him.
He gives me another clap on the shoulder, standing from the bench and heading out of the locker room, and I'm once again baffled at his motivational approach to coaching.
Back in Colorado, I would’ve had my ass reamed for ignoring my captain and missing a shot that could’ve won us the game. But Hardin doesn’t prescribe to that brand of coaching, and I never knew how much I actually enjoyed it. Because unlike having my ass handed to me in a screaming match, I’m more motivated by Coach’s supportive words than I was with any other lecture I may have been given. He believes in me, which makes letting him and my team down a whole fuck more frustrating.
I hurry to gather my gear and get my ass on the team bus that takes us back to the hotel we’re staying at for the night before we fly home tomorrow. I'm already thinking about the text I'm going to shoot Blakely as I walk through my hotel door, and pause just after I close it.
Blakely sits at the small table in the corner, a couple of beers atop the table, and those sympathetic blue eyes batting up at me. “Do you want to talk about it, or do you want to ignore it?” she asks, nothing but sincerity on her face as she stands up to meet me halfway.
I drop my gear bag and immediately pull her into my arms for an embrace that has nothing to do with me wanting to strip her of the Badgers jersey she wears and worship her for a few hours.
No, this embrace is filled with nothing but pure gratitude. The whole way over here I thought about the one person I wanted to talk to about tonight's game, and it was her.