“Crushers! You’re going down!” a Charlotte fan screams behind me.
I turn toward the crowd, which is packed with Charlotte Checkers fans heckling our team during warm-ups. Hockey fans are some of the most passionate sports fans around, and I’m used to blocking out the taunts.
The only bright spot is catching sight of Scarlett in the staff box, her eyes wide as she takes in the Crushers hitting the ice for warm-ups. When she notices me staring, I quickly turn my attention to the whiteboard in my hands, trying to look like I was studying plays instead of checking her out.
The emotional part of me wants to spend as much time as possible with her, while the rational part knows I have a job to do—a job that could disappear if I screw this up. That’s why I made it very clear before we boarded the bus that I’m here to coach.
But then she fell asleep against me, her face so peaceful and sweet, and I didn’t want to wake her up. Her presence soothed the buzz of anxiety that’s always humming at a low level inside me. She was exactly what I needed before this game.
“I think you’re more nervous than Morgan,” Assistant CoachJakowski observes, nodding toward our goalie doing his usual pregame stretches by the net.
“I’m not nervous.”
It’s only partially true. I’m not worried about the game. I’m anxious because Scarlett’s watching me coach for the first time. Will she think I’m unqualified like Jakowski obviously does? All I want is to turn around at the end of the game and see her smiling because we pulled off a win.
Jakowski crosses his arms, watching the players circle the ice. With his stocky build, receding hairline, and overly large ears, he’s not exactly the picture of athletic authority. The guys call him Coach Dumbo behind his back. It’s partly why I’ve been channeling my inner drill sergeant with the team—to prove I’m as tough as the other coaches. That’s what my uncle wants from me. After everything he did for me after my father’s death, the least I can do is not let him down.
“Typical beginner’s response.” Jakowski throws a sideways glance my way. “The nerves.”
“Beginner?” I lift an eyebrow. “I’ve been working with these guys for several years as their conditioning coach.”
“That’s not real coaching.” His dismissive tone makes my fists clench. The man despises me, because I’m related to the owner and got promoted over his buddy who’d been kissing Rafael’s butt for a decade.
Jaxon pulls over to the boards, giving his knee a rest between drills.
Jakowski narrows his eyes. “What is Jaxon Chance doing?”
“Resting his knee before the game.”
“Well, he needs to get that knee fixed or find another career,” Jakowski mutters before walking away to chew Jaxon out for taking a break.
“Don’t let Jakowski get under your skin,” Head Coach Jenkins says as he joins me watching the team. “He’s a first-class jerk, but he knows the game.”
“Well, don’t retire anytime soon, Coach. Because I’m prettysure his first move as head coach would be figuring out how to fire me.”
Jenkins barks out a laugh. “He’d be an idiot to try. You’ve got too much potential. That’s why your uncle pushed for your promotion.” Jenkins glances toward Jakowski, who’s lecturing Rourke and Tate about defensive positioning now. “Jakowski knows the game. But he doesn’t understand how to build a team.”
I watch Logan Piper practice his shot and then hustle across the ice.
Coach leans against the wall, resting his forearms on the edge. “You need to prove yourself, Marco, not just to your uncle, but to everyone affiliated with this team. Show them you weren’t promoted because of your family connections.”
I frown, looking directly at him. “What are you saying, Coach?”
He glances over his shoulder before leaning closer. “How we perform this season—whether we make the playoffs—might determine if you keep this position. It’s not my call to make. You need to show you’re willing to do whatever it takes for this team. Understand?”
I stare at him for a few seconds. My entire future with the Crushers hangs on our performance this season. And right now, I’m giving Jakowski too many excuses to prove I don’t belong here.
“I understand, sir.”
Coach Jenkins nods. “Good. Then let’s win this game tonight.”
As soon as the puck drops, the rivalry heats up as it flies across the ice and bodies jostle for control. There’s a lot of pushing and shoving early in the game, but the score stays locked at zero as the goalies block shot after shot.
Late in the first period, Miles lets a goal slip past him, causing Charlotte fans to begin chanting, “You suck!”
My heart goes out to the kid. He’s one of the younger guysand still doesn’t have the bulletproof confidence that comes with experience.
During the second period we tie it up, which injects everyone with some energy. We still have a shot at winning. But by the third period, the first line is starting to wear down.