Page 48 of One Wild Chance

“Are you gonna be our new coach?” the boy asks.

I shake my head. “Just here to watch.”

“Well, we’re awful. I wouldn’t even want to watch us.” Then he trudges off toward the rink.

This team used to be good when Rhett and I played. The Golden Springs Stars made me who I am today, but it’s obviously changed since then.

I pull my ball cap down and follow the boy inside. I look around at the bare-bones arena that hasn’t been touched in a few decades. The boards are peeling, a few lights are out overhead, and the entire place needs some paint and a facelift. But it still smells exactly the same as it did when I was a kid, like a weird mixture of sweat and popcorn.

“Jaxon Chance? What are you doing here?”

I turn around. A man about ten years older than me with a bushy beard and a Golden Springs Feed Supply hat comes over. “You don’t know me, but I knew your mom and dad. I’m Dave Winston. What brought you here tonight?”

“Just wanted to stop by my old stomping grounds.” I don’t dare breathe a word about coaching.

“Great,” he says, face brightening. “I’m filling in since the last coach left. I keep the books for the team. Never played a day in my life.”

He glances over at a group of kids swatting each other with hockey sticks. “Boys, knock it off!” Then he turns back to me. “Could you maybe offer a few tips?” He shoves his hands in his pockets. “Actually, I’m pretty desperate for help.”

“I can stay. But so we’re clear, I’m not used to teaching kids.”

He presses his palms together. “Thank you so much. We’ll need all the help we can get against the Oak Hills team this season.”

“Who?” I don’t remember a team with that name.

“Hank Branford’s new team. He wanted his boys to play, so he started a hockey team over in Oak Hills. Guess our team wasn’t good enough for him.”

I frown. “Did you say…Hank Branford?”

“Yep.”

The man has his finger in every pie in these parts.

“He’s the money behind it,” Dave explains. “Only wanted the best for his sons. State-of-the-art equipment, the best coaches, everything. I’m surprised he didn’t ask you to coach.”

“He knows I would’ve turned him down,” I say, watching the kids goof off on the ice. “What level would you say the team is at?”

“Mostly beginners.” Dave points at a few boys. “Guys, don’t whack your sticks like that! Maybe do some laps or something?”

The boys groan, then start skating.

Dave turns back to me with a sigh. “The Golden Springs team used to be pretty competitive. But since donations have run dry, we’ve struggled. And Hank didn’t want to support our team because it’s a nonprofit.”

The players circle the rink like they have all night. It’s obvious they need new equipment and a real coach. Right now, they look like a ragtag group who’ve never played before.

“Golden Springs and Oak Hills have a rivalry going,” he says. “But we don’t even have a chance of winning without a coach.”

The boys start laughing, poking each other as they skate. They’re not even pretending to warm up.

“Boys!” Dave calls. “Let’s start practice.”

Nobody pays him any attention except one girl. “Hey, I’m not a boy!”

“I meant team,” Dave says. “Everyone, listen up!”

But no one even bothers looking at him. I put two fingers to my lips and let out a whistle sharp enough to bust your eardrums. Every head snaps toward me.

“Your coach is talking,” I command. “Get over here and listen to him.”