Gametime: A Moo U Hockey Romance, Jami Davenport [best reads txt] 📗

By the look on his face, he didn’t appreciate my answer.

“And how do you do that?”

I felt like I was being grilled for a final exam and didn’t know the subject of the test. “I watch for the best scoring opportunities for my teammates. If they have a better shot, I pass the puck.”

He nodded as if he’d expected my answer. “And you often pass that puck to your brother.”

“He’s our top scorer.”

Garfunkle nodded sagely and leaned back in his chair, propping his feet on an end table and crossing his arms over his broad chest. I was six foot three of solid muscle, but he was stouter and shorter.

“What do you want out of hockey, Paxton? Do you want to make a career out of it?”

“Yeah, I want to give it shot.”

“You want to give it a shot?” His brows crept upward.

“I…uh…I, yeah,” I finished lamely. “I want to contribute.”

“You’ll have to up your game now to make it in the pros. You aren’t there yet, and you’re going to be older than a lot of those hungry rookies. How hungry are you, Paxton? How badly do you want it?”

“I love hockey.”

“The Sockeyes will expect you to be ready to play, not have to go back down to a minor league for a few more years. College is your minor league preparation.”

I nodded. I knew all this.

“Did I ever mention that I know the Sockeye head coach? We’re good friends.”

“You do?” I hadn’t heard this before.

“I do. We played some hockey together and kept in touch over the years. Were you surprised when the Sockeyes took you in the first round? It wasn’t expected.”

“Yeah, really surprised. So was my family.”

Garfunkle rubbed the goatee on his chin and nodded like a sage Buddha. “I’ve had a few conversations with Coach Gorst since they drafted you. Gorst is an out-of-the-box thinker. He took a chance drafting you as high as he did, considering your stats. He sees in you what I see. I won’t lie to you. They wanted your brother and didn’t get him. They picked you because Gorst and I both think the only thing holding you back is your own perception of your abilities and perhaps others’ perpetuating that belief.”

He spoke the truth. I swallowed hard and wished the knot in my stomach would lessen. I had no idea Garfunkle had been speaking with Coach Gorst. In hockey a lot of guys were drafted at eighteen like Patrick and I were. Then they played in the minors or went to college. Being drafted wasn’t a guarantee you’d make it to the NHL. In fact, I’d guess most guys didn’t. Yet the Sockeyes might have a slot for me if the timing worked out. No hockey player in their right mind turned down an opportunity like that.

When I didn’t offer any excuses or explanations why I wasn’t living up to my potential, he continued. “The Sockeyes want you at the end of this season. They predict they’ll have a few offensive holes to fill next season, and Gorst thinks you’d be a good fit with their current roster.”

“Next season?” I’d been toying with going pro at the end of this year. I had enough credits to graduate early.

“Yes, next season. Do you see a problem with that?”

“No, Coach Garfunkle.”

“Call me Coach G or Coach Garf. Garfunkle is a mouthful.”

I nodded, surprised the team hadn’t awarded him with a nickname previously. I guess we were still trying to figure him out. “Okay, Coach Garf.” Coach G seemed more impersonal, and Garf fit him.

“Now that we’ve settled that, are you willing to go for what you want? Make some uncomfortable changes?”

“I’m not a slacker. No one works as hard as me on the team. I—”

“This isn’t about working hard or playing harder, this is about taking risks during the game because you believe in yourself and your abilities. This is about confidence, not talent. The raw talent is there.”

“Okay,” I said. This was too much to absorb at once and went against everything I’d been programmed to believe about myself over the years by my family, coaching staff, and friends. Fuck, even unintentionally by my brother.

“Your brother won’t be around to lean on when you go pro, which might be the best thing that ever happens to you.”

“You think so?” To me, it was the worst thing to be without him skating by my side.

He nodded, and his eyes were full of intense determination. “You’ll be contending with a bunch of other rookies for a few spots on a team, and no one holds back, no one lets another teammate have all the glory at their own expense.”

“But I’m a team player,” I insisted.

“Plenty of time for that once you have a spot on the team.”

“Okay, sure, but I have a spot on this team.”

Garf sighed as if I was too dense to understand, and so far, I was.

“Do you want to be the best player you can be or to merely be a good player?”

“The best I can be.” That was a no-brainer.

“Is that what you really want?” He was pushing me out of my comfort zone, and we both knew it.

“I work my ass off for hockey. I love hockey. Hockey’s my life, even if I don’t express my enthusiasm as clearly as some of my teammates do.”

“Good. We’re going to make you the best you can be, and if my instincts are correct, you’re going to be the premier player on this team.”

I opened my mouth to argue, then shut it.

“You have to really want this, Paxton. You have to get beyond your doubts and believe in yourself and your ability. When you see that shot, you have to take it. I never thought I’d ask a player to be selfish, but when it comes to you, you need to be a little more selfish. Don’t always pass to your teammates. Trust your instincts; if you have the shot, take it. Your shooting percentage is quite good, you