“What do you mean?”
“I mean, what’s going on with you? You were off at morning skate today. Two seconds slower than usual. Granted, that’s still faster than an average player, but it’s slow for you.”
“I was distracted,” I admit.
“And this afternoon? Normally when you show up early, I walk in and you’re already leading the meeting, going over tape. Instead I walk in and Weston is shaking his ass in front of everyone and you’re watching gay porn.”
“We weren’t watching gay porn,” I assure him. “We were just…” I trail off.
Because he’s right. I’m always deeply focused on the game. It’s a single-minded dedication that’s been with me since I was old enough to skate. I lead team meetings. I show up early, offer extra help to guys who need it. I sacrifice my own time, my own sleep, and my own schoolwork to ensure that every weapon on our team is locked, loaded, and in working order.
For the past five days, my head hasn’t been in it. And maybe five days doesn’t sound like a long time in the grand scheme of things, but it is when you only have five more to prepare for arguably the most important game of the season. Not the second most important, because that’s operating on the assumption that the Frozen Four is a given, and it isn’t. We need to beat Briar in order to move forward; therefore, this is the most important game, and the only thing that should matter at the moment.
“You’re right,” I tell him. “I haven’t been as focused as I should be.”
“What’s going on? School? Do we need to set you up with a tutor?”
“No, I’m good with all that. A couple final papers left to write, but I’m not having any trouble. They’re not due till May, anyway.”
“So what is it? Shit at home?”
“No.” I readjust myself in my chair. Uncharacteristic embarrassment heats the back of my neck. “I feel like a moron saying this, but it’s a girl.”
Coach rumbles in displeasure. “You want my advice?”
“Please.”
“Forget her.”
A laugh pops out. Well. That’s not helpful. “That’s one solution,” I say carefully, because Coach Pedersen doesn’t appreciate being challenged.
“Trust me, kid, it’s the only solution. Women are goddamn headaches. Even the nice ones,” he says, shaking his head. “It’s like they all take a master class in manipulation, learning how to play with your emotions. They either turn us into slaves, or fools.”
His volatile reaction catches me off-guard. I hear a lot of bitterness in his tone, and I wonder who broke his heart. As far as I know, Pedersen’s never been married. He doesn’t have kids, and if he has a girlfriend then he never talks about her. A few of the guys have posited the theory that he might be gay, but I don’t think he is. There was a team event at a Boston hotel last year, and I saw Coach leave the party with a hot redhead in a skintight dress. That doesn’t mean he isn’t gay, but, hell, who knows?
From the sound of it, though, he has absolutely no interest in relationships.
“At the end of the day, these women want something from you, kid. They always want something. They take and take and take, and they don’t give anything back. Nobody gives a shit about anybody else, so you might as well look out for yourself, right?”
That’s what I usually do. It’s what I’ve done my whole life. I’m not sure why the approach isn’t working for me lately. My stomach’s been twisted up in knots ever since Brenna ended things.
“You know what I like most about you, Jake?”
“What’s that?” I ask warily.
“You’re selfish.”
I find myself bristling. He’s presenting it as a compliment, and it’s not even a new revelation for me—I know I’m selfish. Yet for some reason, being called selfish by my coach raises my hackles.
“You don’t let anything come in the way of your goals,” he continues. “Your own needs come first, and that’s how it should be. That’s the reason you’re destined to be a superstar.” Coach shakes his head again. “This girl that’s causing you all this grief? Forget about her. Focus on winning, focus on this sweet new job you’ll have come August. One misstep on the ice can end a career. Loss of focus leads to dangerous outcomes, and not only the risk of injury. A bad game reflects poorly on you, and you’d better believe that your new bosses are watching every single game and studying your film afterward.”
He’s right.
“So get your head in the game. Forget this girl. There’ll be others. When you’re up in Edmonton I guarantee you’ll find a lot of cute bunnies to keep you warm.” He leans forward and claps a hand over my shoulder. “We good?”
I nod slowly. “We’re good. Don’t worry. I’ll get my head on straight.”