Page 62 of The Do-Over Girl

“You all may have some vague notion of what it means to become a man, the difference between boys and men—and no, it’s not whether you need a shave every day because looking the part doesn’t matter one fucking crap.”

Archie throws me a look, so I dial it down.

“Excuse my language. I don’t need to be crass to tell you what becoming a man means to me and this team. It means you make the right decisions every single day, the ones that will help you perform, both in school and on the ice. Not coincidentally, those are also the choices that will help you succeed in life.

“You should all know by now what these decisions are, but I’m going to spell them out to you now in excruciating detail so you cannot be excused by ignorance. It means when someone offers you a joint or a cigarette or a beer or any one of the many other tempting poisons, you will say no thank you, and you will not feel like it’s a big sacrifice because you will know the rewards more than make up for any momentary shot of endorphins you get.

“That’s what it means to become a man. Your sense of doing the right thing becomes a no-brainer choice instead of a difficult choice. You become impervious to temptations to do things that will poison your system physically or distract your focus from what the most important things are: school and hockey.

“Tonight, starting now, there is nothing in the world except this team, the ice, and the game. There is no other task before you other than crushing our opponent so that they wish they never heard of Andrews Point. But they will hear about us—constantly and only accompanied by the highest praise.

“Do you understand me?” I shout. I get a chorus of loud and determined, yes, Coaches in return.

“Are you with me?”

“Yes, Coach!” Dylan stands as he leads the team into a huddle and one-two-three-team. I’m about to join Archie and leave, but Dylan approaches me as the guys finish lacing up.

“Coach?” He speaks in a low voice. “How do I do it—how do I shut out all the distractions?” He looks pained, and I’m not sure if he’s talking about the distraction of the media and community spotlight or if he’s talking about Mia. She poses a distraction of a whole other kind and a whole lot tougher to ignore at his horny teenager stage. I ought to know. I’ve been there and done that.

The image from last night of Kali sucking on my lollipop comes to mind. Hell, Maybe I’m still there.

“Focus on your dream, Dylan. I mean the one where you play in the NHL.”

He smiles. “I have a lot of dreams. Don’t they all count?”

“Sure, but one dream, and only one, has to count most. You need to make a choice, and that’s where you put your focus. Growing up is all about making the right choices.”

He nods slowly, not looking terribly happy.

“Right now, all the focus needs to be on this game and winning against this team. I want a hat trick from you. The team needs you to be sharp. Anything less than a win will be a failure. Got it?” My voice ends up angry because I can sense him slipping, and I want to see him succeed. No, I need to see him succeed. I’m fully invested in his success, in this team’s success, the same way I was as a player in the NHL.

Maybe more so. Hell. When did that happen?

He nods, his expression changing to something resembling the determination I need to see.

Facing the room at large as Dylan returns to his locker, I blow my whistle. “Five minutes.” I leave them for the final five minutes to get themselves lined up and give Dylan time to say a few words to the team.

Archie follows me through the door, and we stake a spot outside the locker room, taking in the noise and excitement of the growing crowd rivaling any NHL game I’ve ever played in.

The cheerleaders file past us in a commotion of pom-poms and smiles to take their place on the bench just past the team. They’re loud and happy, with Kali trailing behind, phone raised and recording it all. She glances at me and swings her phone to catch me. I nod and smile for the camera because my heart is pounding and full of some kind of emotions past excitement. Not sure where that leaves me except feeling pretty fucking good.

“Let’s get to the bench,” I say to Archie as I start moving. He rushes to catch up to me.

I walk straight past the bench gate on the right and onto the ice.

It’s a crazy move, but I want to see and feel it for myself—the crowd, the lights, the new mini jumbotron, and scoreboard, all competing for attention in a loud, flashy vortex of excitement.

A roar goes up when I appear, and I wave as I make my way carefully around to the bench’s gate from the ice. Archie is behind me, hanging onto the boards.

As soon as I close the gate behind him, the players erupt from the tunnel and explode onto the ice with palpable energy that ripples through the crowd, creating thunder and lightning.

Maybe it’s the size of the arena and the way we’ve packed in as many seats as possible that makes the place rock, or maybe Zappola Senior worked some acoustical magic with the place to give the volume a special earsplitting kick. Whatever it is, I grin and hope the guys hear my whistle as I blow hard and wave my hands to gather them in after their warmup skate.

* * *

The game.

The first period is competitive. At the moment the puck drops at center ice, I can tell the guys are so revved, their nerves are out of control. Dylan misses the face-off, and the other team controls the puck. Fuck.