Page 3 of The Chemistry Coach
Connor
Theworstfeelinginthe world is when you do everything right, but something still goes terribly wrong.Connor did his best to shake off the own-goal.It happens.No matter how hard you try, sometimes puck luck isn’t on your side.
Focusing on the next play was the only path forward.With the puck on his stick, he tried to pass to Connor Valentine, or “Lover” as his teammates called him, but miscalculated where he would be.Instead of a smooth pass that should’ve cleared the zone, the puck flew right back at him on a nasty slap shot.
“Fuck!”he yelled.Connor got caught in a position every hockey player both loves and dreads.A split-second choice.He could dodge the puck and hope the shot missed and the goaltender locked in, or he could block the puck.Connor refused to hang the poor goalie out to dry, so he chose the second option.He gritted his teeth and slid into the path of the puck.
The impact to his side brought immediate pain, in between the coverage his pads offered.Connor doubled over, watching in horror as the puck bounced off his body and over his goalie’s glove, into the net.He gasped for breath as the crowd went wild for their home team.God fucking dammit.
Connor skated to the bench.Grabbing the tablet from an assistant coach, he watched the replay as he waited for the pain in his side to subside.His inevitable bruise would be a bitch.
On his next shift he paid extra attention to his positioning—he couldn’t be responsible for yet another bad pass.And he wasn’t.But he misread Connor Hale’s intentions and followed through on a hit he shouldn’t have.His opponent fell to the ice like a sack of potatoes and the ref’s arm flew into the air.Connor let out a curse.The whistle sounded.He executed a slow, shameful skate to the penalty box, helpless to assist his team.
Thank fuck for Harland Reese, because Connor’s line sure as hell wasn’t putting up any points.His team squeezed out a win, no thanks to him.Of course, he got called in for the after-game media availability.Icing on the cake of the shit stain of a night.
Connor hated these interviews.He endured twenty minutes of poorly veiled reprimands from the local broadcasters and relied on the non-answers his media coach had drilled into his head.If a reporter asked what they needed to do to score goals, the answer was always to get the puck deep and get behind the defense.If asked why his line struggled, they weren’t connecting and needed to work on chemistry.That one was the unfortunate truth.
At twenty-eight years old it had been over a decade since Seattle drafted him.He bled blue and white.His connection with the Freeze was so ingrained in his play he never had to worry about chemistry.He and his old linemates, Casey and Evan, had stayed together throughout their careers.They attended college together.They’d been drafted together.Their NHL debuts had been within two weeks of each other, and they never returned to the minors.They were magic on the ice.Until this year.Connor’s contract still had a year left, but Casey and Evan were traded at the deadline the previous year.The team couldn’t afford to give them all the raises they deserved.Now he had to play with two young wingers who were cutting their teeth in the NHL.
The past few weeks had been brutal.At the start of the season, Coach Bree put the lines in a blender.Connor had been playing with different teammates every night.But thirty games into the season, with Christmas in the rearview mirror, the rest of the team had found their groove.Coach stopped mixing things up.He needed to fix his game.
A reporter shoved a tiny microphone in his face, and he snapped back to reality.The young woman watched him in anticipation, and he gave a sheepish smile.
“Uh, sorry.Can you repeat the question?”
He never recognized the media at away games.She gave him a reassuring smile.“No problem.I asked if your line is doing anything special to get on the same page.You seem to struggle with communicating out there.”
Connor’s mouth went dry at the question, and he swallowed, trying to think on the fly.“Oh, you know.Practicing what we can, getting to know each other’s play styles.The other Connors are both talented; we need to focus on complementing each other’s skills.”He grinned at the camera and turned to the next reporter.
The press didn’t let up.They put him through the ringer, and he wanted to head home, take a hot shower, and collapse into bed.
Dylan, Connor’s seven-year-old nephew, took pride in kicking Connor’s ass at Mario Kart.
“Uncle Bean!You have to dodge the banana peel!”The sticky little boy put his money where his mouth was, effortlessly avoiding every obstacle on the screen.Connor’s own car spun out on the side of the track.He laughed and chased after his nephew’s character.
“When did you get so good at this?”Connor asked him.
Outside of hockey, Dylan was the best part of Connor’s life.Connor needed to get his game back to stay with him.Failure to repeat his previous season’s performance would result in being traded.It wasn’t personal.Underperforming players up for contract renewal got traded away at the deadline.If he got traded, there would be no more casual visits with his nephew.His sister Sarah was great, but Connor doubted he could convince her to move.
“I’ve been practicing,” Dylan said.
Connor let out an amused huff and tried to steer his virtual car onto the race track.“I see that.”
Dylan lapped him and crossed the finish line, tossing his game controller onto the couch and dancing in celebration.
A lump formed in Connor’s throat as he watched his nephew wiggle his butt and flail his arms.He lived for these moments.What would he do without them?
He had hoped for a contract renewal before Christmas, but it never came.Connor didn’t care about the raise.Dylan had a robust college fund.Connor would never have to work again.But he didn’t want to be done.The best part of his career had yet to come.
If Seattle didn’t renew his contract, he’d have to consider retiring.Connor needed these moments with his nephew, but his nephew also needed him.
Dylan’s father sucked.He’d knocked Sarah up at the ripe old age of fifteen and then abandoned her and Dylan to go off to college.Connor understood pursuing an education, but leaving behind a partner and newborn was a wretched thing to do.
Connor didn’t hesitate to fill the gap left behind by that skid mark of a human being.He’d housed them when their parents kicked a pregnant Sarah out.He had helped Sarah get her GED.Connor had braved the late nights and diaper blowouts so she and Dylan could grow and thrive.
Sarah had since moved into her own house with Dylan and wouldn’t let Connor help with bills or groceries.Her fierce independence filled Connor with pride, but despite her insistence that they were doing fine, Connor still felt as responsible for her and Dylan as any parent.
When Dylan kicked Connor’s butt for the fifth time that night, Connor scooped the little boy into his arms and tickled him.
