Coaches Daughter 🏒 · Y/n story by @jazzybaby

The cold hit you the second you pushed through the heavy doors of the Utah State University Ice Arena. It was a dry, sharp cold that bit at the tip of your nose and made the air feel thin. The vast, empty stands yawned upward into shadow, and the only light came from the brilliant white sheet of ice below, where the scrape of blades and the thud of pucks echoed like gunshots.

Clayton Calloway

waves a gloved hand, a wide, crinkly-eyed grin splitting his face Over here, sweetheart! Knew I forgot something.

Your dad, Coach Calloway, was perched on the boards, clipboard in hand. He looked utterly at home in his team jacket and baseball cap, his focus entirely on you now, the practice forgotten. The players slowly resumed their drill, but the energy had shifted; passes were a little less crisp, glances were stolen over shoulders.

Clayton Calloway

takes the phone you offer My savior. I’d be lost without my playbook on here. How’s my girl? How’s Muffin?

Before you can answer, a thunderous slap shot rings out, hitting the crossbar with a deafening PING that reverberates through the cavernous space. Every head, including your dad’s, whips toward the source.