The Assistant Coach (BOOK 1: OMEN KING SERIES)

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Kohl Warren

My absolute favorite part of the day is practice.

Well, it used to be until this sorry excuse for a team came along. Now, it's the bane of my existence.

I clench my jaw as I watch the freshmen goofing off in the locker room. They're flexing their muscles like they're auditioning for a bodybuilding competition. The older guys look just as annoyed as I feel, and I can't blame them.

I quickly throw on my shin pads and tighten my skates, ready to get this show on the road.

"This season is gonna be a disaster," one of the freshmen remarks, causing me to arch an eyebrow under my helmet as I turn to him.

He's the only one who seems to take practice seriously and gets mad at himself when he messes up. Some of the freshmen see this as just a hobby unlike the rest of the team.

But he's different. I forgot the kid's name, but he's probably the only freshman I can stand. Most of the players are freshmen because nobody really wanted to join after our star, Todd Zenderski left last year because of an injury.

"Get on the ice already!" Coach Johnson's voice booms through the door before it slams shut.

"Let's run some drills," Owem suggests, motioning for me, Ant, and Tim to join him.

We're the first ones out of the locker room and in the arena. The cool air of the arena doesn't faze me as I glide smoothly across the ice, grabbing my hockey stick from beside the barricade.

As I make my way towards the cones set up on one half of the ice, I can't help but wonder if Coach Johnson has some new drill up his sleeve.

"Alright, everyone line up in a nice, straight line, side to side" Coach bellows, and we all exchange puzzled glances, unsure of what's going on as the guy's shuffle into position next to me.

"Sorry for the delay, folks," a female voice chimes in from behind us.

I turn my head to see a woman standing there, clad in black leggings with white skates and a black sweater, holding a white hockey stick.

Her curly black hair cascades down her back, partially hidden by a blue cap pulled low over her eyes. She effortlessly glides around us on her skates before coming to a sharp stop next to Coach Johnson.

"Holy fuck, it feels good to be back on the ice," she gushes, clicking her skates against the cold surface with a chuckle.

Coach Johnson clears his throat pointedly, and she straightens up, revealing a whistle dangling from her neck.

"Oh, right, I'm Leia Welsh, your new assistant coach," she announces, raising her head to meet our gaze.

Leia Welsh? The same Leia who's been rejecting me all day? What is she doing here as an assistant coach? Does she even know the first thing about hockey?

I can feel my confusion growing as Leia flashes a mischievous grin. What the hell is going on?

"What's the dealio?" Tim mutters to me, his helmet clanging against mine, causing me to shrug in confusion.

I'm just as confused if not more confused as to what's going on. I don't know what she's doing here, but everything in me is telling me it's bad.

"I ain't gonna spill the beans on why I'm suddenly the assistant coach, all I'll say is, your Coach begged me for help cause you guys are playing like a bunch of amateurs," she says with a smirk, earning a chuckle from yours truly.

She's not wrong, we suck.

I notice the aggravated looks of the other players after what she said. She's coming off snooty and I like it, but the other guys seem to hate it.