Finally, almost like he had just remembered he had a whistle, Shea blew into it and silence fell over the ice. “Ladies. Wow. First things first—”
“He’s the realest,” Benji and Angie said at the same time under their breath before meeting each other’s gaze. When she grinned up at him, Benji paused, his heart hurting a bit.
He liked her.
A lot.
What a great kid.
“I’m your coach, Shea Adler. You can call me Coach Adler,” Shea said, his voice booming through the rink. “I’m excited to be coaching you girls. Just a little bit about me, in case you don’t know who I am—”
“Everyone knows who he is,” Angie said then, and Benji nodded as Shea went on.
“I played in the NHL for a lotta years. I have four Stanley Cup rings, and I was very successful—”
“Why’d you leave, though? My daddy says you had a least ten more years in ya,” Number Ten said, and a lot of the girls nodded, agreeing that their daddies had said the same.
Shea smiled, glancing over at his daughters. “I wanted to coach my kids, and I have this nagging pain in my shoulder, so it was time.”
“You quit to coach a bunch of kids?” Number Thirty asked.
Shea nodded, his smile not faltering. “I always said I wanted to coach my kids when they wanted to play. Shelli and Posey said they were ready to play, so I retired.”
Wow, that was some love right there. Benji had always been awestruck by Shea Adler. Since day one, the guy leaked awesomeness. He was a leader, and a damn honest man, but the love in his eyes for his daughters was breathtaking. He loved those girls—and his boys. He was just an all-around good man, and Benji respected his choice. Yeah, he wished like hell they hadn’t lost him on the team so early, but Shea loved his kids and his wife, way more than the sport.
Which was a beautiful thing and Benji craved that kind of love.
Man, to be loved and to love someone more than he loved his stick and puck, he almost couldn’t fathom it now. It seemed so foreign to him. Yeah, he’d had that love, for a little bit. But back then, he was so drunk he couldn’t remember what it felt like—to be consumed by such a love. He wanted that again.
But how?
And did he even deserve it?
He wasn’t sure, but as Shea spoke about his years and years in the league, Benji realized Shea did miss playing. Who wouldn’t? It was the greatest sport ever. Benji loved hockey. It was his go-to, his identifier; he’d been playing since he was a baby. It was something he and his dad always did together, every day. Not so much now, since he hadn’t spoken to his mom or dad in almost ten years, but he still had good memories of the long nights in the driveway, playing some stick and puck with his dad. Back when he spoke to his family. Back when they loved and supported him. Back when Silas was alive and begged to be their goalie.
He missed those times.
He missed his family.
Jesus, he thought, shaking his head and swallowing hard around the painful lump in his throat. His memories were flooding him like mad today, which wasn’t unusual—he was lonely—but today was different. He may need to call Richie after practice. Just a quick check-in with his sponsor since he hadn’t done it in the last three days. He was due.
“Thinking again?” Angie whispered up to him and he looked down at her, shrugging.
“Yeah, sorry.”
“He’s calling your name.”
Benji looked up, meeting Shea’s expectant gaze. “That’s Coach Benji, who is off in his own world, and Coach Vaughn. I used to play with them on the Assassins.”
Benji waved awkwardly as Vaughn rolled his eyes, waving too at his name.
“Coach Benji is here in replacement of Coach Jayden, so don’t get too attached to him.”
He heard Angie complain beside him, and he was two seconds from doing the same. He liked this and he hadn’t even really gotten started; he’d need to talk to Shea. He felt right here. Like this was something he needed to do. He hadn’t felt like that in a really long time, and that had to mean something.
After blowing his whistle once more, Shea broke everyone up into groups. Benji got group two, which included Angie. He had three drills he was supposed to run with the six little girls, and as they skated toward the other side of the rink, he thanked his lucky stars because he had all the kids who had played last year. They knew the drills, ran them like champs, well, except Angie.
“It’s okay. You haven’t done them before,” he reassured her as she skated back, upset. He was starting to think he had misread her at the beginning. She might have been nervous instead of determined and focused. Each time, though, she watched the first three go to the blue line and back. He kept trying to reassure her, but more and more, he noticed her anxiety was getting worse. Until finally, when he blew the whistle, she stood there frozen as the other two girls raced around the cone, picking the puck up and going through the many little cones that were set up. So he blew the whistle again, but she didn’t move.
Okay, then.
Lowering down into a squat, Benji met her worried gaze. Well, more like panicked. “Hart?”