Page 60 of Home Ice

“You weren’t half bad either.”

That makes me look up again. “Not half bad? You looked like you saw Jesus.”

“I’m not sure I’d call it a religious experience, but fine. You were amazing.”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to suggest that maybe we should do it again sometime, when Barrett plants his hands on his hips.

“That help distract you?”

For a second, I don’t know what he’s talking about, but then the reason I’m here kicks in again. “I guess so.”

“Good. Because he’s here.”

Nerves explode full force as I turn toward the rink entrance and where Kasen is standing, decked out in full gear. We stare at each other for a full couple of seconds before he steps onto the ice and skates closer.

“Coach Barrett.” He nods to him. Then turns a dry expression on me. “Dad.”

Somehow, all the goalie padding does the opposite of making him bigger. Every time I see Kasen, I’m surprised that he’s almost my size, but in the pads, even while looking bigger, he feels tiny. Like the kid that he is. “Hey. Thought I’d come for a skate with you.”

“You mean we’re not here to grab ice cream and talk about girls? How will I recover from the shock?”

I swear my eye twitches at the smart-ass comment, but Barrett looks like he’s trying not to laugh. “Snarky as ever, I see. Unluckily for you, I’m Coach Hawke today. Take a lap. Full gear.”

“But—”

“Make it two. You want to run your mouth, I’m going to make it hurt.”

He turns to Barrett for backup, but my best friend only spreads his hands.

“My assistant coach gave you directions.”

It would be too easy for Kasen to leave, but with a huff to make sure we both know he’s not happy, he takes off. He doesn’t go slow either. He skates like he has something to prove, and I know it’s not easy when his goalie skates aren’t built for speed.

Seeing him push—exactly like I would—bumps up my respect for him.

He does the two laps, and when he reaches us, he’s glaring.

I look him over. “You’re not out of breath yet. Another one.”

“I didn’t say anything!”

“And if you’re struggling to catch your breath, I know that won’t change. Go.”

His grunt this time is angry, but he goes.

Barrett skates closer. “You sure this is a good idea?”

“When I started with St. Louis, we didn’t have the most successful run. I’ve seen my share of coaches come and go, and I’ve seen how they handle pushback. Kasen doesn’t respect me as his parent. Maybe he’ll respect me on the ice.”

“By punishing him?”

It’s hard for people to understand, and even Barrett, who’s shared locker rooms with me for years, doesn’t quite get it. But when you love hockey the way I do, and the way I suspect Kasen does, deep down, we want to be pushed. We want to be challenged and made better. It’s a horrible process, and no one wants to be so exhausted we could puke or to hear about everything we’re doing wrong, but when we improve? When someone shows that they respect our skills and what we’re capable of? It’s the best feeling in the world.

Kasen reaches us, and without a word, I tilt my head for him to go again. He doesn’t argue this time, and when he’s a few paces away, I join him.

“There’s a common misconception in the juniors that goalies don’t need to skate as fast and hard as the rest of us.”

He doesn’t answer me.