Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79621 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79621 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
For now, anyway.
I nodded along to Court’s spiel about the locker rooms, conference center, and coaches’ offices while I gaped in awe at my surroundings.
“So…what do you think?”
“This is absolutely incredible. I’ve never seen anything like it,” I replied dreamily.
He beamed, rocking on his heels as he followed my gaze. “I know, right?”
“I can’t believe you have two rinks in such a small town.”
“There’s a reason for that. Elmwood Rink is always in use—between club hockey at every age group, figure skating lessons and competitions, open skate, and party events, it’s become a cash cow. That’s great for Ronnie and Vinnie, but it’s a business first and foremost. There isn’t much time or opportunity to develop new talent and as you know, it’s not cheap to play hockey.”
I nodded. “True. The gear and equipment adds up fast.”
“Not to mention club fees that pay for the rink and the coaches,” he said.
“Don’t you give scholarships? That’s how I got to play. My parents wouldn’t ever have been able to afford club fees. And in high school, it was a fuckton of money.”
Court paused to wave to a dark-haired teenager carrying a bag of pucks and a stick to the bench closest to the ice. “Yeah, but Ronnie was treading water until Vinnie moved home to Elmwood and started the summer camp. He could only sponsor a few kids, which left a lot of would-be players out of the mix. But now…Elmwood High has state and private endowment—no one gets left out.”
“That’s awesome.”
“Yep. The goal is to eventually become a Division One program. We want to expand on the success at Elmwood Rink and widen our reach to include talent we wouldn’t otherwise see.” He inclined his head toward the teen strapping skates on at the far end of the rink. “Like that kid. Denny Mellon.”
“What’s his story?” I asked as Denny glided onto the ice, dropping the bag at the blue line before doing a lap.
“Denny’s sixteen. His dad died a couple of years ago and his mom is…” Court wrinkled his nose as if looking for the right words and settled on, “bad news. His grandmother stepped in and invited him to move to Elmwood to live with her at the beginning of the year. She’s a ballbuster and a half, and she’s fierce as fuck. He’s in a good place with Annie, but she’s in her eighties and she’s frail.”
“Annie? I met her. She was with you last week, right?”
“Oh, yeah. More like chasing after me to verbally kick my ass,” Court scoffed without heat. “Annie’s worked at my family’s bakery for decades. I don’t remember a time she wasn’t in the kitchen or running the kitchen. She’s like family. You know…that crabby old aunt you love but hope doesn’t sit next to you at a family gathering.”
I chuckled softly. “I think I know what you mean.”
“She the best…and the worst,” he said fondly. “And she’s from another era where if you wanted to skate, you paid fifty cents to go to the rink or you took your chances on the lake. She suggested that it was a good idea for Denny to join, but she wouldn’t hear of anyone sponsoring him. No charity. We would have figured out a way to appease her pride and get the kid on a team, but this high school program evens the field. That kid will be your fucking franchise. I’m not joking. Denny sees the ice like a veteran pro and he can do it all, but you want him scoring for you.”
“Nice. And he’s here early, showing some initiative like a natural leader.”
“Not quite. He could be eventually. Denny’s just…painfully shy. I honestly don’t know if he’s made any friends yet, but I’m sure he’ll get there.” Court turned away from the ice and smiled. “So…what do you think?”
“I think it’s awesome. I’m ready to get started.”
“Great! I’m your assistant till we hire replacements for both of us—hopefully well before the season officially begins in November. Our first practice starts in half an hour. I need to stop by the athletic office and grab my bag. I’ll meet you on the ice in fifteen minutes.”
I nodded in acknowledgment and made my way toward the coach’s bench. I laced up my skates, grabbed my stick, and almost sighed aloud at the glorious feel of fresh ice under sharp blades. I hadn’t been on the ice in over a week. That was a total anomaly for me. I was tempted to go full board and blast onto the rink like a shot from a cannon, but my hip was twinging.
I’d jinxed myself by telling Bryson I’d never felt better the other day. It was sort of true…with a dash of exaggerated optimism. I’d wanted to impress-him-slash-tease-him into thinking he’d never get rid of me. Sue me, I liked the idea of getting under Bryson’s skin. It was better than being ignored.