Pucker Up

Chapter Two: Bobby

Bobby Jackson's P.O.V

As I stepped onto the rink, the familiar feeling of ice scraping against my blades caused a sigh of relief to fall from my lips. Everything from before, all my nerves and the misfortunate encounter, disappeared.

I moved around the straggling bodies skating laps, doing a few crossovers and pivots to warm up quickly, and suddenly nothing else mattered but the icy wind passing through the cracks of my helmet and the crunching sound of my skates digging in with each stride. The fluorescent lights shone on the horde of bodies of every shape and size skating around the ice, arbitrarily passing the puck and talking. I wanted so badly to skate a few more laps, but my dad blew his whistle and wrangled up the players to all take a knee before him.

"So nice of our assistant coach to finally show up," my dad taunted, knowing I had gotten dressed in record time for him being so late.

I reached for one of the discarded pucks, tapped the ice thrice in signal to my dad, and took a wrist shot expertly aimed for his helmeted head. Of course, he dodged it with a smirk; the puck soared through the air and hit the boards with a loud thump. I had no doubt in my mind he would move his head in time, but it made me smile knowing I could have hit my mark if he didn't.

I briefly surveyed the group of men before me, a sea of expressions ranging from impressed to tense took over their features as they looked between me and my father, waiting for his reaction. They clearly didn't know he taught me how to do that or our signal for: I'm about to shoot this puck at your head if you don't shut up.

His booming laugh broke the tension.

"I'll let it slide since it's my fault Bobby's late." His expression turned serious as he directed his attention to the players. "Tardiness will not be accepted or excused for any of you. Regardless of the situation. Is that understood?"

An affirmative chorus rang out from the boys.

I glided over next to my dad, trying to imitate his regal stance in my full equipment.

"As I'm sure all of you know, I'm your coach, Dan Russell. But if any of you address me as Dan, I'll be sure to bench you two games at least." He spoke with a straight face, but as I skated to a stop next to him, he clapped a hand on my shoulder and smiled wildly. He couldn't seem to hold back his happiness that I was here coaching alongside him. My success at having made it to this point was a testament to his coaching abilities. "This is Bobby, your new assistant coach."

I raised my hand in a half-hearted wave before skating over to the bench and hauling out a bag of velcro pinnies that didn't smell nearly as awful as they did last night before I was forced to wash them. I could still smell their stench if I thought about it long enough.

"We're starting with a scrimmage. Let's see how much damage the off-season had on all of you," Dad explained. "Defense, raise your hands and Bobby will split you up into teams."

I skated around the group, handing out pinnies to half of the defencemen and then did the same with the forwards. They split themselves into lines and those who were on the second shift made their way to the bench. We didn't have to explain how to set up for a scrimmage or where the guys should go... if we did, it would raise a few red flags next to those players' names.

My dad and I sat in the penalty box to evaluate the game as they all got into position.

"No puck drop, just play bully," he commanded, handing me a clipboard and a pen. When I gave him an unimpressed look at his lack of initiative he just shrugged. "I didn't want to get up and you probably would have complained if I asked you to go back."