Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 84200 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84200 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
I grit my teeth and force myself not to give personal opinions about Kantor. But I am vocal about what that means for Travis. “Not every coach—even the ones who know the most—are cut out to coach.”
Travis tilts his head. “Why not?”
I lean my arm on my tailgate. “Because coaching isn’t about who knows the most, it’s about who can learn the most.”
“That doesn’t make sense,” Travis says, his brows knitted tight but his tone isn’t dismissive. Rather curious, which I like.
The best example I can give him will hit very close to home, so I’m hesitant. But I remember something Danica said to me the other day.
She told me there are no ghosts. While there are moments of sadness that Mitch died, there are many more happy memories. I’ve observed that Danica doesn’t skirt away from talking about Mitch or the crash in front of or with Travis, so I’m going to go with my gut and assume the same.
“The best example I can give you is the Titans’ team. You know our current coach?”
Travis’s eyes light up at the trivia question. “Cannon West.”
“And before that?”
His face screws up as if he’s trying to remember. “Um… I can’t remember his name but he was fired.”
“That’s right,” I say in an even tone. “His name was Matt Keller and he was hired to coach the Titans after the plane crash.” I pause and observe Travis carefully. Something flickers in his eyes and I can’t help but wonder if he’s thinking about his dad at this very moment.
Probably.
“Matt Keller was a very knowledgeable coach,” I continue, relieved to see interest flare within Travis’s expression again. “Had a lot of experience and knew the game as well as any other professional league coach.”
“Then why was he fired?”
“Because he wasn’t any good at connecting with his players. And when a coach can’t reach a player—whether it’s teaching them skill, strategy or even just to inspire them to work hard—then they’re not doing their job. Coach Keller didn’t have the ability to transfer his knowledge in a meaningful way. He wasn’t able to excite the team to play their best.”
“And Coach West can do that?” Travis inquires.
“He’s outstanding. What all coaches should aspire to be. He’s managed to build a very successful team this season and it’s because he makes his players want to be the best.”
Travis considers that for a moment and finally nods. And then he about breaks my heart. “I bet it was hard for you after the crash. You had to get a whole new team and learn to play with them.”
I’m speechless. Travis stares at me with an earnest expression, waiting for me to confirm what he already knows. I suffered because of the crash too.
I put my hand on his shoulder and squat down to get eye-to-eye with him. “Yeah… it was tough. Just like I know it was for you.”
The kid swallows hard and a tiny muscle quivers in his chin as he nods.
“Your dad was so proud of you. He talked about you all the time. Whenever we were at practices, in the locker room, or on the team plane, it was always about you and your mom. He loved you both very much.”
“I miss him,” Travis says glumly, and while I hear all the sorrow a little boy who lost his dad a year ago should have, I also hear resolution. An acceptance of the situation. “Mom misses him too.”
Fuck, that shouldn’t bother me. But whether I like it or not, I have to share space with Mitch. That’s whether I’m helping Travis with hockey or dating Danica.
“I know she does.” I hope the admission solidifies with Travis that I’m his mom’s friend, too, and I’m sensitive to her grief as well. “Your dad was a great man, so there’s lots to miss. I know I sure do.”
I urge Travis into the back of my truck and turn the chat to something lighter to ease out of the heavy subject matter we left behind in the rink parking lot. We talk about video games, which is easy since I play them too.
When we reach his house, I’m lucky to get a spot right in front. I leave the truck running but get out to escort Travis up to the door. Before we even reach the front stairs, Danica steps over the threshold. It’s freezing and she doesn’t have a coat on. I refrain from pointing that out because that’s coming from a place of possessive concern and I don’t want Travis getting a hint of that from me.
Still, Danica’s eyes come to me after she drapes an arm over Travis’s shoulders. We share an exchange, silent but expressive, and I think we’re both saying the same thing.
It’s good to see you. You look amazing. I can’t stop thinking about last night. When can I see you again?