Page 45 of Shootout
Practice ended for my girls, and I sent them on their way to the locker room. The universe was smiling down on me this evening. Boris wasn’t present. I didn’t have to tolerate his judgmental glares from the bleachers or his scowls of disapproval when I ran certain drills. Most of the time, I managed to block him from my mind while teaching, but I was especially grateful not having to exert the mental energy tonight, considering I was already keyed up about joining the WAGs. Sitting in their suite bothered me more than it should. I felt like I was taking this fake relationship one step too far. I didn’t want to make friends with those women only to have them find out I was dishonest with them.
Why do they ever have to find out? I reminded myself I didn’t need to spill the truth. Not now. Not ever. The entire subterfuge could be Banks’s and my secret. Somehow that made it even worse, though. I hated being a liar, and I had no one to blame for this situation but myself, a situation that became more and more real every day.
I fell asleep last night while visions of Zambonis danced in my head. I hoped like hell they didn’t have security cameras in that part of the rink. I hadn’t thought about such a possibility until now. I hadn’t seen Banks since our dirty deed, but he’d left a package containing one of his jerseys with the admin for the youth program with this note:
Hey, babe,
Please wear my jersey to the game. I had a great time last night. I’ll never look at another Zamboni the same way. Banks
Hey, babe? And, yeah, I’d never look at the Zamboni the same way either.
I’d stared at his note for a long time before crumpling it and shoving it into the bag.
Shaking my head, I banished thoughts of Banks and Zambonis and started toward my office to get ready. Just as I stepped off the ice, Marnie came toward me, still wearing her practice gear and skates. “Coach Wilder, can I have a word with you?”
I was late already, but I tamped down my impatience. I frowned briefly before forcing an encouraging smile. I braced myself for her next words. My mind rushed through the possible scenarios, mostly focused around her father pulling her from my class.
“Certainly. Why don’t we have a seat right here?” I indicated the bleachers. I sat on one level, and she sat above me. I wasn’t sure if that was a calculated move to gain the upper hand or not. In my brief acquaintance with Marnie, we’d had our ups and downs. She challenged my authority at times while soaking in every word I said at others.
Marnie stared at her hands. I tapped one skate on the bleacher and had to stop myself. I took a deep breath. I hated being late, but Marnie was more important. I’d get to the game when I got there.
“My dad—” Marnie met my gaze with a soulful, stricken look. “He thinks I might be better served in another class.”
“What do you think?” I held my breath and waited for her answer.
“I think I’m improving, and I’m learning the finer points of the game. I don’t want another coach.”
I blew out a breath and carefully formulated my next words. “I’m happy to hear that. What can I do to help?”
“I don’t know.” She held out her hands, palms up, and sighed. “He’s always right, and no one can tell him differently. He wanted a boy, and he got me.”
“He loves you, Marnie,” I said for lack of anything else to say. “Sometimes we’re hardest on those we love the most.”
“How did you handle it?”
“Handle what?” Her question came out of left field and caught me off guard.
“Playing better than most guys but not getting the credit?”
“Oh, that.” I shook my head with a wry smile. “I still am. I’m working to change the hockey world’s perception of women in the game, one puck at a time.”
A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “It’s not easy for you either?”
“Hardly. Every day is a struggle, but if my struggle opens doors for other women and minorities in the sport, I’m willing to make that sacrifice.”
“You’re my idol. I’ve watched your Olympic gold medal games multiple times.”
I sat back, absorbing her admission. I had no idea. The girl hadn’t shown any interest in me as a player. If anything, she’d been ambivalent. “I’m flattered.”
“You probably expected my dad to be who I looked up to.”
I nodded.
“He’s a man in a man’s world. What’s so hard about that? You, on the other hand, have to be ten times better than the guys, and they still want you to prove yourself.”
“What do you want, Marnie, out of hockey?” I changed the subject because I didn’t want to get into a discussion about her father.
“I want to play at the highest level possible. I want to be like you. Maybe I’ll be the first woman to play on an NHL team, or maybe I’ll take women’s pro hockey to the next level.”
