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Both Reed and Briggs are spending the week on vacation with their families before we head off to training camp, and Asher is tied up with his girl, so I’ve been giving all my extra time to Wren and this damn puck.
I slap the puck to him and watch as he drops, and the puck sails straight past his leg into the net.
He groans, tossing his stick down. “Fuck.”
“Language.”
I skate over to the net, using the bottom of my sweatshirt to wipe the sweat from my brow.
“Alright, your drop was good. Even. Quick. Here’s the problem. When you scoop your glove like that, you’re leaving too many holes for the puck to fly through. That’s what you’ve got to keep working at. Being a goalie isn’t just about blocking a puck. It’s about focus. You’ve got to mentally prepare for every time you step out onto that ice. When you’re only reacting to the game in front of you, then it’s impossible to be consistent. Your job is to envision every damn scenario that you can think of and how you’re going to keep that puck out of the net. It’s mental as much as it is physical.”
Wren nods, but I can see the disappointment in his eyes. I remember that feeling, and to this day, I fucking hate it.
“You’re good, Wren, but if you’d listen to what the hell I’m saying—” I tap my stick against his helmet and give him a wry grin. “—and practice until you feel like you’re gonna puke, you’ll begreat.The kind of goalie they talk about years from now.”
“Thanks, Coach Hudson.”
“It’s nothing. We’ll get it. Me and you. I gotta get out of here—I have some stuff to do tonight. Your stepdad coming to get you today?”
Pulling the helmet off, he nods. “Yeah, he, uh, should be here soon.”
He reminds me of myself growing up. Sometimes, I’d be the last kid at practice because my parents were working late.
I didn’t grow up rich. My parents are blue-collar; my father worked in the electrical plant, and my mom’s a kindergarten teacher. Sometimes money was tight, and I’d have to reuse skates some years or miss out on a training camp because my parents couldn’t afford it. It’s why for my entire career, even more so than some, I’ve never taken for granted what hockey has done for me. I paid off my parents’ mortgage and bought my little sister a new car when she graduated from college. It was shit that I could’ve never imagined growing up, and it means everything to me.
It’s part of the reason why I’m here, coaching my team. I want to give back however I can. It’s also why I donate a huge chunk of my salary to organizations that support underprivileged youth. To schools.
And because I’ve been on both sides of the coin, I can see the fire in Wren’s eyes and see that just because he has whatever problems at home, it doesn’t mean he can’t be successful.
I’ve noticed that he’s always the last kid at practice, and when I asked him about it, he just said that his stepdad is on the way. Except he’s been over an hour late before, and it worries me that something else is going on at home that Wren isn’t telling me. Last year, his mother passed away from cancer.
Shit that I can’t imagine a kid at his age having to go through, and now his stepdad has custody of him.
I’m worrying because I’ve grown closer to him, and it’s hard not to be attached.
“Practice Tuesday?” I ask, tossing my stick down onto the bench next to my water bottle, which I scoop up.
“Yeah, I can see if I can get a ride. I could always take the bus.”
I pause bringing the water to my mouth. “Hell no. If you need a ride, call me.”
“Okay.”
“Rookies are headed to training camp Monday, and vets will follow the next Monday, so I won’t be here that week to coach, but I left Erin in charge, and he’s going to slap you shots.”
He eyes me with a smug grin. “You know, if you keep working with me one-on-one, people will think I’m your favorite.”
“I don’t have favorites. I told you that. I just… I think you need the practice.”
“Mhmmm.” He heads toward the locker room. “If that’s what you need to tell yourself. I mean, I’d be my favorite, too, if I was the coach. I’m the shit.”
That little shit. He starts to disappear into the locker room door, and I call, “Language!”
These kids are going to give me gray damn hair.
After grabbing my stuff, I check my phone and see that there’s a message from Caroline. She left early to study, and we agreed for me to pick her up tonight. Which is a good thing because lord fucking knows that if she were here, I wouldn’t be able to concentrate for shit, and Wren needed that today.
Caroline: How do you feel about biology?
