Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 113072 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113072 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
I point toward the goal line. “Let’s line up. Two full laps, guys. Two by two, avoiding the cones in the center. Let’s go.”
They make quick work of lining up, and the first skaters take off, followed by the next two. I can’t look everywhere at once, but my camera setup will help me get more from this later. “Long glides! Deep lunge!” I remind them as they circle.
When I’m satisfied, I blow a short blast to gather them again. The damn whistle is more useful than I thought. “All right! Not bad, but most of you can get a longer glide. O’Connell? Can I pick on you?”
There are a few chuckles as he steps forward.
“Really solid extension there—that push-off is strong. But I want you to watch the angle on your recovery leg. You’re lifting it higher than you need.” I push off and demonstrate, lifting my foot too high off the ice. Like a flamingo in skates. “Keep that foot lower and closer to the ice on each stride, almost like you’re skimming the surface. You’ll hit that next push even faster, without losing momentum.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And, Moreau—”
He scowls darkly, which is rich, since he’s one of the most ragged skaters on the team. “It’s okay to use your hips in these long strides, but keep your shoulders straight forward. Like headlights. Otherwise…” I bend low into my stride and push hard to gain some speed. Then I move my shoulders like he’s been doing. “See how inefficient this is?”
I’m concentrating on my form, so it takes me a half second to realize that something is wrong with my right skate.
A half second, though, is too late. I suddenly trip, then fly forward through the air for a shocking moment until I land in a sprawl.
But the humiliation isn’t over yet. I keep on moving, sliding along the ice on my stomach, knocking straight into the orange cones that Aiden and I set up last night. Four of them bonk me in the arms and face before I finally come to a stop.
The first thing I hear is Jean-Luc Moreau’s laughter.
The second thing I hear is the scritch of blades on ice as a couple of players quickly come to my rescue.
My chest locks up with horror. And then shock and shame. And finally anger when I try to stand up and find that my legs aren’t the same length anymore. Even as I recognize this fact, I almost fall right over again, because one of my skate blades is gone.
Twenty feet or so away, Chase is bending over to pick it up, a deep scowl on his handsome face.
“Shit, Coach,” Tremaine says, steadying me by the arm. “What the hell?”
“No clue,” I grit out. In my whole life I’ve never seen a skate blade just fall off. “Can you text Bernie?”
“I can do better,” he says. “Hey, rookie!”
“Yeah?” Weber says, gliding over.
“Take Zoe’s fucked-up skates to Bernie, and bring her a replacement.”
“Anything in a Bauer size five,” I say robotically. I don’t know the protocol for leading a clinic after your skates fall apart, but I’m going to have to wing it. The whole team is staring at me, looking uncomfortable.
Shaking off Tremaine’s grip, I sit down right there on the ice and unlace my broken skate. It’s just sinking in that this was probably sabotage. Someone did this to humiliate me. Or maybe even hurt me.
Fuck you, dude. Whoever you are.
Quickly, I take off both my skates and then rise in stocking feet. “Let’s keep going. Nothing to see here. Our next drill will be a long glide through the slalom course.”
A dozen and a half players just stare back at me, mouths open.
“You’re, um, bleeding,” says Weber as he takes my skates from my hands. “On your chin.”
I press a hand to my chin and then peer at it. Sure enough, there’s a trace of blood from where I abraded myself on the landing. I want to scream, I really do. But I take a gulping breath instead. “It’s just a smear,” I growl. “I thought hockey players didn’t even notice a little blood. Stop staring at me and skate this damn drill. While I’m young.”
Tremaine’s eyes widen, and for a long beat, nobody moves.
“Now!”
Everyone scrambles.
Chapter 34
An hour after the ill-fated clinic, I’m sitting in my cubicle, head in my hands.
No hockey angels wept for the class I just taught.
It was not, in fact, the most insightful ninety minutes of hockey coaching. I spent the balance of the session giving disjointed advice while a huge bruise bloomed on my chin.
The worst part is how exposed I feel. Everyone could tell how rattled I am.
When Darcy’s face suddenly appears over the wall of my cubicle, I startle violently.
“Oh my God! Why are you hiding in here?” she demands. “I’ve looked everywhere.”