Page 7 of Scoring Chance

I sat down in front of him. He was younger than Romney, only in his late thirties. He retired about five years ago and decided to spread his knowledge and experience with those that could still play.

“Coach sent me in.”

His eyebrows pulled together. “Why?”

I shook my head. “Maybe if you ever came to practice, you’d know.”

The moment the words escaped panic burned in my stomach. I was fired up from the fight and past the point of being able to reign my rage in.

To my shock, Coach didn’t tear into me. He just shot me a glare that could have melted the ice in the rink. “I’m there every day.”

“For Letang’s practices.”

“So what? You’re jealous I give him more attention?” His lips twisted in a menacing sneer.

I scoffed. “Maybe if you worked with me more, I wouldn’t have to sit on the bench every single game.”

He leaned back and stared at me. “So that’s what this is about? You’re sick of staying on the sidelines.”

I let out a humorless laugh. He was just picking up on that? “Yeah. You all know I can handle it. I did last season.” But the golden child can’t possibly take a day off.

“We all know you’re a good goalie. You proved that already, but you’re young, Derrek. There’s still a lot you can work on. There’s a lot for you to learn.”

I groaned. “Why can’t anyone move past my age?”

He leaned back in his chair and tilted his head up. “What do you mean?”

“I’m so sick of people fixating on that. So what? I’m twenty-one. If one more person calls me ‘Kid’ I’m going to lose it.”

He scanned my face silently. Finally, he blew out a breath. “Is that why you punched Elliot?”

My eyebrows shot up. “How did you know about that?”

He turned his computer screen to face me. It was a live feed of the ice. “I might not be in the room, but I’m always watching.”

Then he slid the notebook he had open in front of him toward me. I skimmed the notes and realized it was detailed observations about me and Olli. Things both of us could work on. Ideas on how to improve each of our technique. Shots I let in and how to practice so I didn’t miss them next time.

“I know you think it’s unfair I work with Olli more, but I’ve only been here for three months. I’m still figuring things out and with how long Olli was out last season, I needed to make sure he was back up to par and comfortable out there. That doesn’t mean I haven’t been watching you. I have a plan in place, but I need you to trust me.”

I sat back and nodded, some of the anger leaking out of me. It would have been nice if he had told me all of this sooner. I might not have resented him as much, but then again, I could have asked.

“So now that you know I haven’t forgotten about you, do you want to tell me what the fight was really about?” He rested his hands on the arms of his chair and rocked back and forth waiting for me to answer.

“I didn’t know this was going to be a therapy session.” Talking about my feelings wasn’t something I wanted to do. Ever.

“It can be whatever you want it to be. If you feel like you need to talk through things then I’m here for that. If you want to rant about one of the guys, go ahead. If there’s something on your mind that has nothing to do with the game or the team you can tell me. It’s up to you. Nothing you say will leave this room.”

That was hard to believe. “You wouldn’t tell Romney?”

He shook his head. “Nope.”

I let out a sigh.

“You don’t have to tell me anything, Derrek, but it’s not going to magically disappear. Whatever’s bothering you needs to be resolved.”

He was right. I just hated it.

“Fine.” I looked around the room. It was pretty bare. Not as many decorations or trophies as in Coach Romney or Rust’s offices. There were a few of his old jerseys hanging behind him and a picture of what I assumed was his family, and that was it.