I Want You Back (Want You #1)(61)

My counselor had an emergency and postponed our appointment on a week I really could have used a neutral party to talk to.

Nolan reminded me I still hadn’t hired a decorator/designer for my new apartment, which meant the only room that would have furniture was Mimi’s bedroom, since I’d rented a furnished place at Snow Village.

I hadn’t had time to work out since Sunday night.

And Lucy had gone radio silent—no calls, no texts . . . nothing.

Although it was only Wednesday afternoon, it’d been the longest three days I could remember.

I walked into the front offices of Lakeside Ice Arena to drop off Mimi’s registration paperwork. No sign of Crabby Gabi, but as soon as Margene saw me she hustled over and bumped my shoulder.

“Hey hey. The big shot is in the building.”

I made a show of looking over my shoulder, and Margene laughed.

“Glad to see you’ve got a sense of humor.” She sobered immediately when someone came through the door behind me. Under her breath she said, “Trust me, you’re gonna need it.”

“Thanks for the warning. I’m supposed to drop off this paperwork.”

“I’ll take it.” She frowned. “Mimi isn’t with you? Doesn’t she have skills class?”

“I’m meeting her here. Her mother is bringing her.”

“Gotcha. Come on. Let’s get this over with.” She sidestepped me and headed down a hallway.

I followed her into a conference room, where a little gnome of a man was laying into Gabi. And he didn’t bother to keep his voice down.

“I don’t know how many goddamned times I have to tell you this. I am the coach. You are just the assistant. Your opinion is just that; it means nothing to me. You know you’re lucky to even have a job—”

Margene cleared her throat. “Excuse me, Dennis, but we have a parent here.”

His look said “So?” and I immediately disliked him even more.

“His daughter is starting skills class today,” Margene continued. “It’s always been our practice for the parents to meet their child’s coaches.”

Surprisingly he offered his hand first. “I’m Dennis Dyklar. You can call me Coach Dyklar.”

Wow. Okay. I shook his hand. “Good to meet you. I’m Jax.” I felt both Margene and Gabi staring at me for not sharing my full name.

And when “Call me Coach Dyklar” scrutinized me, I thought he’d recognized me. But instead he said, “Been a while since I’ve met a parent new to hockey. So I have to ask if you’re one of those helicopter parents that’s always hovering in the background, on guard to rush to your kid’s rescue?”

“Not that I’m aware of.”

“Good. As long as you stick to my rules we won’t have a problem.”

Buddy, I’ve already got a problem with you. “What rules would those be, Coach Dyklar?”

“First off, your kid needs to be fully dressed and ready to hit the ice five minutes before the first whistle. Second, I’m the coach, not you. If I feel you’re a distraction, I’ll limit the amount of time you’re allowed rink side, maybe even deny you visiting privileges entirely.”

No way in hell would I walk off and leave my daughter with this guy.

“Third, she needs to be able to handle criticism. Coaches yell at players. A fact of hockey life. Some girls can’t handle it. Some girls cry.”

“Some boys cry too, Coach Dyklar,” Gabi pointed out.

He shot Gabi a dirty look.

She merely blinked at him.

A little tension there.

“Any questions?” Coach Dickhead asked me.

“Just one. Are you her skills coach or her team coach?”

He sighed, as if I’d asked a dumb question. “Both.”

“I assumed there’d be a dedicated instructor for skills.”

“When I took over the ten-and-under levels, I combined the two positions,” he said proudly. “Who better to test their skills than their coach?”

It wasn’t about “testing” skills—it was supposed to be about teaching skills. If players didn’t learn the basic skills and practice them, how would they win games? And a coach as a skills teacher at this level meant the kids who had a better handle on basic skills would garner more of the coach’s attention and more ice time.

“Sorry, Jack—”

“It’s Jax,” I corrected him.

He waved his hand at me in the ultimate “whatever” dismissal. “I’ve got to go over some important coaching stuff with Gabi before class starts. Margene can answer any other questions.”

All of a sudden I had a lot of questions for Margene.

As soon as we were out of the conference room, Margene faced me and put her finger over her lips, then led me down the opposite hallway into a tiny office.

She skirted the desk to sit behind it. “Close the door.”

I did and remained standing, leaning my shoulders against it.

Margene made the “out with it” motion.

“He’s the reason why there are openings in the eight-year-old class.”

“He’s also the reason why we’ve lost half a dozen really good coaches in the past year alone. He’s an egotistical asshole with nothing to back it up.”