Head in the Game

Roger had kept in touch with Coach B over the years. He returned to La Crosse often to lend his expertise. He’d work with the high school team when there was some time off in the schedule. Coaching Coach B’s summer camp was also something he did as often as he could. This summer was different: Roger needed coaching too.

The late January call to Coach B had gone well.

“Jacobson, great to hear from you son,” Coach B had said.

He was always Jacobson. Just like Coach B was always that and never Steven, even though Roger had permission to call him that.

“Coach B. Hope everything’s good. Looks like the team is having a stellar season.”

“Yeah. They’ve made a great comeback from last year’s rebuild. We getting to see you at camp this summer? I’m hoping that’s at least part of why you called.”

“Yes, sir. If you’ll have me.”

“What kind of talk is that? Of course we’ll have you.”

“Think you can work with me too?”

Coach B was uncharacteristically quiet. “Your coaches going to be okay with someone else guiding you?”

“I hope so. I…” Roger had hesitated, not knowing what he’d wanted to say. “My game’s off. Way off.”

“I know.” Coach had been quiet, like he hadn’t wanted to acknowledge it either. “I’ve seen it over the past year or so.”

“That long?” Roger had suspected that was the case, but had hoped he was wrong. “I wish you’d told me.”

“I probably should’ve. Wasn’t sure it was my place. Get yourself up here and be in my office first thing on July fifteenth.”

“Yes, sir.”

And here he was at a few minutes before eight in the morning. He’d arrived the previous afternoon and settled into the studio apartment he’d rented for the six-week term. Coach B always offered to put him up, but he refused to be an inconvenience to him or Gabriela. They’d always been good to him, and he’d never wanted to push.

Roger looked at the building, which had opened another rink last fall. He’d spent so much time here as a kid, back when it’d been a single rink facility. It was better than being at home where he always struggled to rise to the bar his dad set for him. No matter what, he never accomplished enough.

You scored, but you should’ve stopped two other goals.

An A? Too bad it wasn’t an A plus.

You won the Norris Trophy? Your team should’ve won the Stanley Cup.

Why aren’t you a dad yet?

What’d you do to get traded? Did you screw up?

Coach B, though, cut through all that. He’d molded Roger into the hockey player and, in many ways, the man he’d become. Something was missing, though. His time in Washington wasn’t great. He’d been traded to Washington from Phoenix four years ago. When the trade had gone through, it seemed like it was going to be a fresh start. All that happened, however, was that he was more miserable.

This past season, it was bad, and he couldn’t shake it. He was moody, a pissy teammate, and, more and more, a sloppy player. He knew the team was considering not re-signing him. And if Coach B could see it, watching from afar, it was a wonder he hadn’t been sent down to Hershey or North Charleston.

From the driver’s seat, Roger watched as kids arrived with parents and some teens parked their own cars. Taking a deep breath, he got out and went around back to get his gear from the trunk.

He stared at the rink and the people walking inside

“Come on, Jacobson, Coach B is waiting,” Roger muttered under his breath as he slammed the trunk closed. He shouldn’t be having such a hard time.

Once he was in the lobby, the smell of the rink overtook him. That unmistakable aroma made up of the scent of the ice, the gear, and everything else. Unlike any other rink though, this one made Roger feel at home. For the first time in—he couldn’t remember how long—he smiled.

Panthers’ red and black colors were everywhere. This was Logan High’s home rink, although other teams routinely played here as well. The Panthers, however, dominated everything.

Roger headed to Coach’s office, which was tucked into a corner of the lobby. As he walked by a bench where two teenaged boys were tightening skate laces, they stopped him.

“No way! You’re Roger Jacobson. Are you here to coach?”

“I am.”

“That’s awesome. I’ve been following your career since—” The boy stopped talking fast and seemed to be counting. “Well, since forever. I loved watching you in Phoenix. I’ve recorded some of your games so I can try and learn to steal the puck like you do.”

“I’ll try to teach you.”

“That’d be epic.” The boy stood suddenly. “I’m Troy Masterson. This is my friend Carson. We’re a D pair for the Panthers.”

“Nice to meet you.” Roger traded fist bumps with them. “I should get in there.” Roger gestured toward the office. “Don’t want Coach B mad at me on the first day. I’ll see you guys on the ice.”

“For sure,” Troy said as Roger knocked on the door.

“Come in,” came the Coach’s familiar deep voice, which could shake the rafters of a rink if he had to yell. No one ever wanted to hear that directed at them, but it was a tool in the coach’s bag of tricks if he needed it.

Coach B came around the desk smiling, his hand outstretched. They shook hands before Coach pulled Roger into a quick, backslapping hug.

“It’s good to see you, Jacobson. Great to have you back.”

“Thank you, sir. Happy to be here.”

“You know the drill. Today and tomorrow we’ll see how everyone looks before splitting them up into ages and skills. I assume you’re up for working with D.”

Roger nodded. He hoped the coaching, plus working with Coach B, would be the right combination to get his game back on track.

“Perfect. Go ahead and get your stuff put away. Grab an open locker in the clubroom. We’ll hit the ice on rink one in about fifteen minutes.”

“Thanks, Coach.”

“No. Thank you.” Coach headed around his desk. “You able to stay this afternoon so we can talk about you?”

“Of course. I’m available whenever you want to work.”

“That’s the Jacobson I know. Get outta here and let me finish this prep.” Coach smiled.

“See you out there.” Roger already felt a little lighter and the day had barely started.

* * *

Dylan Barker loved the game. Loved being on the ice.

His father was a huge reason for that. The game hadn’t been forced on him, though. As soon as he asked for skates, when he was three, he got them. In high school, he’d gotten good-natured ribbing from his Panthers teammates because his dad was the coach. Coach B treated everyone the same, so Dylan had never gotten off easy. His passion had never waned in the years following.

The campers were starting to come onto the ice for warm-ups. Dylan had been out for an hour or so. He was at the rink even before his dad to skate, shoot pucks, and enjoy the morning. Some people went to the gym; he gravitated toward the rink. He spent many mornings working on speed, endurance, and puck handling.

So why was he getting ready to go to grad school instead of going pro? He fielded that question a lot. It wasn’t where his heart was. As much as he loved playing, he didn’t want that to be his job. Besides hockey, his other passion was teaching, likely acquired from his parents. Mom was a history professor while Dad coached and ran the high school’s Phys Ed department.

There’d been many talks with Dad on the pros and cons of going pro and teaching later. But even while he played for University of Maine’s Black Bears during college, it was working with young people that made him happiest. Helping them learn to skate and play the game he loved was the best job ever.

This summer was going to be perfect. Dylan was coaching alongside Dad for the first time. He’d always attended summer camp as a player through high school. The past four years he hadn’t been able to get home because he’d spent the summers in Orono working with youth camps.

Those jobs paid off because Dad asked him to take over as head coach of the under ten group. It was fortuitous the previous coach moved to Ohio for a new job. Things were clicking into place better than expected. He was going to be an offensive coach for the Panthers this fall too. It wasn’t a full-time job because he needed to focus on grad school, but the job would help limit his student loan debt.

As he stick-handled, some of the kids opted to skate alongside for impromptu passing drills. Others tried to emulate what he was doing as he passed the puck from his stick to his skates and back.

The hulking guy who stepped on the ice next caused Dylan to lose the puck between his skates. The longish brown hair, lightly scruffed cheeks, and an expression that was an odd mix of happy and sad drew his attention. Dylan stopped against the boards and watched as the newcomer talked with a couple of the older campers. It didn’t hurt that the rest of the guy was solidly built. Even in the sweatshirt he wore, it was clear the guy had bulk. It was an easy guess he was a defenseman.

Recognition shot through him like a lightning bolt. That was Roger Jacobson. He’d seen the name on the coaching roster and was glad one of Dad’s NHL stars was here this year. How was this guy not featured in the Hot Hockey Players group that Dylan was part of on Facebook? He might have to fix that personally.

A whistle blew from outside the rink’s Plexiglas barrier as Dad approached. More kids hustled to get on the ice and the rink filled with seventy-five of them, plus the dozen coaches. This was the biggest year yet for the hockey camp. He was excited that he’d be able to help Dad realize this by taking the empty job.

Drifting toward center ice, where he knew Dad would call everyone together, he watched Roger. The pull on him to go to the pro defenseman and ask what was wrong surprised him. What didn’t was his attraction to the man. In college, his attraction to older men had become clear.

As a freshman, he’d dated a senior on the hockey team, and it had actually lasted a few months after the guy’s graduation. Over the years, he’d dated a few grad students. There was also last summer when he went out with a guy he’d met while coaching. Gerald was eight years older and another coach. One thing led to another and it had become a summer fling.

What was he thinking? He’d known back then it wasn’t the best idea to go out with Gerald since he was a co-worker. No way could he do anything with Roger. This was work, not just his, but Dad’s too. Sure, his parents knew he dated older guys, but a colleague and friend of his father’s? That had to be a no. Roger would have to stay in the eye candy category.