Page 61 of Home Ice

“But you’re the most important person on the ice. It’s why your team will fight for you. It’s why they’ll put their bodies in front of yours. And that comes with a lot of responsibility.” He pushes to try and pull ahead, but he’ll never beat me in a race, even with the extra energy his age gives him. I easily keep pace. “It’s your job to make sure you’re worth that dedication. You need to keep fit. You need your cardio to be the best on the team. Your flexibility and agility have to be unmatched. It’s one thing to stand behind a performing team and stop twenty or so shots on net. It’s another to have your defense abandon you, to be dragged into overtime, and to face a team who shell you the entire game. Goalies need to be capable of both.”

“I am,” he grits out.

“You’re fourteen. If you think you’re that good, you’ll never learn anything.”

“Fuck off.”

“Being the best starts with never thinking you’re the best. Lachlan Kikishkin is the first of us at practice and the last to leave the ice. He’s always watching tape, always practicing plays he fucked up, always going to the coaches for extra tips. He is the best on my team. He trains like he’s the worst.”

“You want me to pretend I’m shit?”

“No. I want you to remember that we never stop learning.”

He flicks a look my way that I pretend not to notice, and when we reach where Barrett is waiting in the center, I let him take over. Four laps is more than enough to warm up, and with how he was pushing, I don’t trust him not to injure himself.

Barrett starts out with stretches and making sure that Kasen is positioning them right. I leave them to it, biting my tongue every time I want to interject and remembering that on this ice, Barrett is the expert. I know a fucking lot about hockey, but I’ve never coached before, and there is a big difference between coaching and coaching kids. Given the care Barrett has in making sure he explains things at Kasen’s level, he’s clearly good at what he does.

There’s also a level of respect and comfort between them that … well, it hurts to see. I know it’s nothing personal and that Barrett has had that time to work with Kasen and get to know him, but that doesn’t make it hurt any less. I want him to come to me with questions. I want him to look to me for support. And when I tell him he needs to get deeper in his hip flexes, I want him to nod and do it, and not glare my way.

Baby steps.

It’s a good reminder, even if I want to stomp all over it.

Once the warm-ups and drills are done, Barrett has me step in and fire shots at Kasen. The small, petty part of me loves every time I sneak a puck past him, and maybe I should be taking things easy, but you don’t get to be a professional athlete by letting people win.

And he doesn’t get to call me the c-word without tasting defeat.

“I think you’re confused, son,” I say, throwing the word back at him like a weapon, the same way he says Dad. “The job of a goalie is to stop the other team from scoring. Not make it easier on them.”

He grits his teeth behind the mask and gets into position. “Top left,” I call, aiming up the shot, but at the last moment, I go five-hole.

Kasen lunges high, then figures out what I’m doing a split second before I act. He drops and snaps his knees together, pads cutting off my shot, and slaps his glove over the rebound.

He pops up onto his skates, grinning, and tosses the puck into the air before catching it. Something he does a lot when he makes a save. “Almost had me on that one.”

“I’ll need to try some new tricks next time.”

Kasen hands off the puck to Barrett and skates over. “Next time?”

“Yeah. I’ve got the whole summer. Might as well spend a lot of it here.”

“With Coach Barrett. Right.”

I nudge him. “And you.”

He pushes his helmet off and tucks it under his arm. His sweaty curls are plastered to his head in the exact way mine always are after a game. “Why?”

Why. Right. I need to face the conversation I wanted to have with him. It’s wild to me that I can confess to Barrett how much I want this little shithead in my life, but when I’m faced with Kasen’s stare, the words feel like I’m trying to drag them out of quicksand. “Did Amelia tell you we caught up?”

“Yeah.” His eyes cut away across the ice. “Finally signed me away, did you?”

“No.”

His frown deepens.

“No offense to Amelia, but I won’t be pushed out of your life again. Not by anyone … except you.”

“Me?”