Chapter Nine
Nine
On Monday afternoon Kyle decided it was time to face Wyatt. He’d been back a week and a half, and they were eating Thanksgiving dinner together next Thursday. He couldn’t wait any longer. The only reason he’d put it off this long was shame. Kyle had disappointed a lot of people when he left, but he knew he’d fallen off a pretty tall pedestal when it came to his brother-in-law.
Before leaving the house he took a few minutes to straighten up, make sure the dishes were done, trash emptied, laundry put away. Casey had been right, keeping everything spick-and-span brought some kind of peace to his father. He’d been less combative the last couple of days and even let Kyle help him with his exercises over the weekend. It meant being physically close to each other at times, holding him while he worked through squats and balance moves, spotting him when he used light weights to work his shoulder and arm muscles. There were still tense moments where they’d suffer some miscommunication and grumble at each other, but they were working through it. They’d even shared a good laugh yesterday over Dad’s speech therapy exercises, which included sticking his tongue in and out, and making a kissy face.
Once the place was tidy he bundled into his jacket and headed across the road. The temperature was dropping lately, and they were calling for more snow later that week. It made him wonder about Casey’s Bronco, whether it had started giving her trouble recently, in the colder weather. Had to be the battery or the alternator, and he could figure it out if she’d let him. He knew that truck inside and out, had kept it running long after it became more cost-efficient to just get her a new vehicle. But it had been her mom’s, and she didn’t want to give it up.
When Kyle neared the house, his old house, he gave it a wide berth and avoided looking at it close up as he headed toward the back. He was grateful Casey had picked up on the fact that he wasn’t ready to go inside. Frankly, when he pictured walking in there—stepping into the kitchen that had always been the heart of their home, laying eyes on their old furniture and photos, seeing the built-in hutch that they’d added their own memories to over the years—he didn’t know that he’d ever be ready. He heard music coming from the shop before he turned the corner of the house, some kind of 1990s grunge. Wyatt had always listened to music while he worked.
Kyle took a deep breath before stepping up to the door, which had a small window in it. There was Wyatt, wearing a hoodie with the sleeves cut off, leaning over the low island in the center of the space, working on something. One side of the shop was occupied by workbenches and larger equipment—a table saw, cast-iron wood lathe, industrial sander, drill press. Another wall was lined with shelves and cabinets full of smaller tools of his trade—clamps, wood chisels, mallets, handsaws. A commercial-grade dust collector still sat in the corner, but it had been upgraded since Kyle left. And there were several pallets of expensive hardwood lumber. Seemed like Wyatt’s business was thriving. He was in his chair, but Kyle saw his braces and canes were handy, leaning against the counter behind him. Wyatt had to operate certain tools from a standing position.
For a few minutes he just watched through the window. He worked with his hands all day, much like Wyatt, but there was no way around it—where Kyle solved mechanical puzzles, Wyatt created lasting art. Kyle had always loved to watch him work, watch how wholly absorbed he became while he cut, smoothed, and carved with such instinct and precision, as if he were communicating with the wood. It was like watching someone do exactly what they were put on this earth to do.
As soon as he opened the door he was hit with the powerful scent of freshly cut wood and varnish that took him back to all the hours he’d spent in here. Wyatt didn’t hear him over the music right away. Star was curled up on a mat beside him, and when she picked her head up and looked Kyle’s way, Wyatt noticed and did the same.
Kyle stepped inside and shut the door behind him.
Wyatt turned the volume down on the speaker sitting nearby on the table, then flung an arm over the back of his chair. His straight hair still swept across his forehead, and he had the same trim build and toned arms. “I wondered when you were gonna have the balls to come over here,” he said.
“I’m sure you heard I’m going to be around for a while,” Kyle said. “I was hoping we could get past this.” When Wyatt offered no response at all Kyle flipped his hat backward and walked toward him. “Whatever you want to say, I’m ready to hear it.”
Wyatt pivoted his chair to face Kyle and pursed his lips like he was considering what to do with that.
“Or,” Kyle said, stepping right beside his chair, tapping his stomach and spreading his arms, “whatever you need to do. Seriously. I’ll just stand here and take it.”
Wyatt rolled his eyes. “No, dude. I’m not gonna hit you.”
Kyle, a little disappointed, because that would have been a quick way through this, relaxed and let his arms drop to his sides. “Okay. Then can we talk—”
Wyatt’s fist pulled back and nailed Kyle square in the stomach with astonishing speed.
The world faded briefly, and he saw stars as he fell forward, bracing his hands against his knees, coughing and trying to catch his breath at the same time. When his vision cleared his eyes landed on Star. She was watching him from her mat but offered no sympathy.
“Did you really think I was gonna let you see it coming?” Wyatt asked.
Kyle sucked in oxygen and shook his head. It was true, he should have known better. After finally getting enough air he lurched up to standing. “Need to do that again?” he asked in a strained voice.
Wyatt mulled that over. But then he said, “No,” picked up his hand plane, and went back to smoothing the piece of wood in front of him, his strokes making a high-pitched swoosh sound. But he didn’t tell Kyle to leave.
So when he felt steady again he began wandering around the shop, checking out the machinery, some of which he didn’t recognize. He stopped at the circular saw, which was different from the one he had donated to the shop forever ago. “My old saw give out?” he asked.
“Yep,” Wyatt said. “After I took a hammer to it the day you left.” His matter-of-fact tone and the way he stayed focused on his task told Kyle he wasn’t joking. That was one of the things he’d always appreciated about Wyatt. He was honest and direct, and there was no wondering where you stood with him.
On his way past Star, Kyle held out a hand, hoping she’d warm up to him now that he was on her turf. She stood, giving him hope she’d come to him. But then she gave her body a long stretch and lay back down, settling her black-and-tan head between her big front paws. Out of the corner of his eye Kyle caught the edge of Wyatt’s smile before he moved on.
In the back corner the door to Wyatt’s room was closed, the heavy draft stopper in place along the bottom to keep dust from getting in there. Kyle doubted it had changed much: a large bedroom-and-bath combo with a mini fridge, sofa, and big-screen TV. He and his father had added on the little suite shortly after Wyatt graduated from high school, which gave him his own space and allowed Casey and Kyle to reclaim the dining room in the house. Dad had covered the cost, called it his wedding gift to them. They waited until Casey graduated from college to get married, though Kyle had been living in the Higgins house for four years by then, a situation Dad had heartily disapproved of. It’s not right. You’re both too young for that, especially her. She could have a bright future… He’d shake his head and leave it there, but his meaning was crystal clear to Kyle. Dad thought Casey was too good for him, too smart, with too much potential, and Kyle would be holding her back. Kyle didn’t disagree, but by then he’d made peace with it. Mostly.
“What do you want, Kyle?”
He turned to see Wyatt looking at him.
What Kyle wanted was to go back in time, to when he was welcome in this shop, where he and Wyatt had shared countless conversations. “Need some help?” he asked Wyatt, holding up his hands. “I’m pretty good with these.”
Wyatt sighed and glanced down at Star, who raised her eyes to him. It was like they had some silent exchange before Wyatt spoke again. “I guess you could varnish those boards,” he said, pointing to several large pieces over on the counter next to a gallon can and paintbrush. “But that black walnut’s expensive, so don’t fuck it up.”
Kyle nodded and got started right away, relief radiating through his chest. It would take time to get true forgiveness from Wyatt, but this was a good start.
Making his way through the fairly empty halls of the middle school the next afternoon, Kyle decided not much had changed. Same checkered vinyl tile on the floors, same drab industrial lockers lining the walls. All the chalkboards had been replaced by whiteboards, and the antidrug posters now competed with antibullying posters. But for the most part it was the same as when Kyle had attended. He could have done without revisiting this place. For him, middle school flat-out sucked. He knew that didn’t make him special, those were hard years for most kids. But he would always equate this place with his family’s meltdown. By sixth grade his parents were fighting all the time. By seventh grade a cold silence had descended upon their house. By eighth grade his mom was gone.
She was now Marianne Isles, an interior designer in Boca Raton, where she lived with her second husband, surrounded by her two other adult children and grandchildren. Kyle spoke to her some holidays, exchanged occasional emails. She came to their wedding, and he and Casey visited her once not long after that. But they hadn’t been involved in each other’s lives in a meaningful way since she’d left all those years ago. She was raised in a Boston suburb before attending Clarkson University. After getting knocked up by a local firefighter she met at a bar one night, she quit in the middle of her freshman year. Then she spent a decade trying to fake it till she made it as a wife and stay-at-home mom in a small town in the middle of nowhere—a life she’d never wanted. Danny McCray’s obstinance hadn’t helped anything. He never got on board with the idea of her going back to school, and he refused to even think about leaving Potsdam, where he’d lived all his life. So, at twenty-nine years old, Kyle’s mom left by herself.
She’d assured Kyle he’d have his own room at her new place and visit regularly, they’d spend holidays and school breaks together. And they did for a little while. She came back to town a few times, and he visited her in Miami. But he came to dread their visits, the two of them living separate lives but trying to find common ground over takeout food and board games in her studio apartment or a shitty motel room in Potsdam. When she said she wanted to introduce Kyle to the new guy in her life, he started claiming school and hockey obligations. Eventually she got too busy with her new family to bug him about visits. Which was mostly a relief.
The bottom line was his father was a difficult man who resisted change, and his mother wanted more than a small life in Potsdam. In Kyle’s mind they’d both been lessons in how to not make a marriage work. He had always vowed to do it so differently.
Fortunately he wouldn’t have to spend much time in the middle school. Practices and games took place over at the Pine Street Arena, but Casey had suggested making introductions in the quiet of the gym. He was running late; he’d lost track of time while working with Wyatt in the shop again. Wyatt hadn’t invited him to return, but he also hadn’t told him not to, so Kyle showed up after lunch and went right back to varnishing the pieces he’d started the day before. He’d go again tomorrow too. Maybe they’d actually converse a little while they worked next time.
As he neared the gym he heard the echo of young voices, and when he entered he saw a group of kids on the far side, lounging on the retractable bleachers. He started across the hardwood floor coated in polyurethane but slowed partway, wishing he could backtrack without being noticed. Casey was in the middle of those kids, chatting with a few and smiling—even laughing—and he would have liked to just watch that for a little while. But heads were starting to turn his way, so he kept going, and the blur of faces began to crystallize as he got closer. That’s when Kyle stopped dead, as if he’d hit an invisible wall.
Coach Geiger had told him he’d be coaching middle schoolers. But what Kyle hadn’t realized, hadn’t even thought about, was their actual ages. He did some quick math, and the result knocked the wind out of him. Most of these boys were thirteen years old. How had he not put that together? And a few of them looked vaguely familiar, including those ginger twins. When he recognized Logan Lopez—he was taller and thicker and had a trendy fade haircut now, but it was him—Kyle’s vision went fuzzy at the edges and he rocked back on his heels so far he thought he might keep going. But then Casey stood from the bleachers and her eyes found his, giving him something to hang on to. She understood what was happening to him. She was the only person who could. He took a deep breath but didn’t move.
She climbed down the bleachers, where the boys had fallen silent while they studied him. When she walked up and placed a hand on his arm, he felt the floor beneath him again, like she’d pulled him back into himself.
“Ready to meet the team?” she asked.
He nodded, not yet trusting himself to speak.
She turned to face the boys. “Okay, guys. Thanks for stopping in here before practice. Hopefully everyone’s recovered from our scrimmage last week…”
A big kid with curly brown hair scoffed. “Not really.”
No one else spoke, but Kyle saw several heads nodding in agreement.
“Sorry to hear that, Ben,” Casey said. “But I have some great news to share with you. Starting today, we have a new coach .” She threw her hands toward Kyle.
At least a dozen pairs of eyes landed on him, but that was about the extent of their reaction.
He raised a tentative hand.
“This is Coach Kyle McCray,” Casey said. “He’s going to be in town for a while, and he’s offered to work with you for the rest of the year, until Coach Geiger can take over.” Her shoulders sagged when she still got no response. “Listen, boys, I know you’ve been through a lot the last couple of years, and I’m sorry about that. But this is really good news.”
One of the twins raised his hand. “Wait. You guys are married, right?”
“No,” she said. “Not anymore.”
The other twin spoke up. “That’s weird.”
“Why aren’t you married anymore?” This came from a girl with glasses and a thick ponytail, and Kyle wondered what her purpose was here. As soon as she’d asked the question Logan nudged her arm and shook his head at her.
“It’s a long story, Rosie,” Casey said.
The big kid, Ben, piped up. “You don’t live here now?” he asked Kyle.
“Not anymore.”
There were some groans and eye rolls.
“Are you a noob?” Ben asked.
Kyle didn’t know what the hell that was so he looked to Casey.
“No, Ben,” she said. “He’s not a newbie. Not by a long shot.”
“Then what kind of coaching have you done before?” he asked. “I need help with goalie training.”
“Yeah he does,” Rosie said.
“Thanks, Egan,” Ben said. “But seriously, we came in dead last the past two Holiday Cup Tournaments, and we don’t want to do it again. The last few coaches had no idea what they were doing. No offense, Ms. McCray. You’re a dope teacher, but…”
“None taken,” she said.
Kyle cleared his throat. “I coached Squirt for a few years a while back.” He glanced at Logan, who’d been on that team.
“Little kids?” Ben asked. “That’s it?”
Kyle nodded.
Lots more groans and eye rolls. He was losing them fast. This wasn’t going to work. He was about to be a disappointment again, to this team, to Coach Geiger. To Casey.
“Hey,” she said, stepping forward and raising her voice. “I don’t think you boys realize who you’re getting here.” She flicked a thumb toward Kyle. “This is Kyle McCray. Some of your parents watched him play for years, they can tell you about him. If you don’t believe them, take a walk over to the high school and check out the championship wall. He’s a hockey legend in this town.”
That was a stretch. Kyle understood what she was doing though. If this team was going to have any kind of success, they had to believe in him. But he’d gotten off to a bad start, with his awkward entrance and weak words.
“I didn’t do a good job filling in,” Casey said. “However, I’ve managed this team for over two years, and I know you guys. I’ve seen the potential on this team. Everyone here has so much to offer, you just need someone who knows how to develop it.”
Kyle watched the kids watching her. They were listening, and a few of them shrugged at one another, as if to say they might give this a chance. It didn’t surprise him. Maybe Casey couldn’t coach hockey, but she could inspire. That he knew from personal experience.
“What about you, Ms. McCray?”
Kyle sought out the kid who’d asked the soft-spoken question, and his head spun when he found a wiry boy with wispy blond hair, light eyes, and fine features.
“Will you still be part of the team?” the boy asked her, his brow furrowed.
She tipped her head and gave him a smile. “Yes, Will. I’ll still be here. I’ll just be working more in the background, like before.”
Will smiled back and nodded in relief. But even without that Kyle would have suspected Casey had a special connection to this kid.
“So,” she said, running her gaze over the group, “what do you guys say? Can we give this a shot?”
The kids probably didn’t catch the underlying urgency in her voice, but Kyle did. He wasn’t sure why it was so important to her, but she badly wanted this team to get a win of some kind.
Logan stood up in the quiet and turned to his teammates. “Coach McCray’s chill, and he did a good job when I was on his team before.”
Kyle nodded at him as he sat back down, hoping to express his gratitude. Especially because, unless Logan had changed, speaking up wasn’t really his thing.
“I don’t know,” Ben said. “It’s nice and all that you used to be a hockey star, but you’ve only coached, like, peewee, and how do we know you’ll stick around?”
Since this was his make-or-break moment, Kyle bought some time by taking a few slow steps forward. It might be a long shot, but if he helped these kids find some success, it could go a long way toward earning some of that redemption he was looking for. If he stood a chance though, he needed to take control now.
He swung his cap around and rested his hands on his hips. “I was born and raised in Potsdam, and I played hockey here for a long time, many years under Coach Rod Geiger. I played all positions, but center was my sweet spot. In high school I had thirty-seven goals and forty assists, our team went to regionals twice, and we won our division my senior year.” He let that sit, hoping those numbers were accurate. That Ben kid would probably fact-check. “Now, I know this team’s had a rough go, and I give you my word I’ll stick with you until Coach Geiger can take over. But I don’t think the question is whether I can coach you. I think the question is whether you guys are still coachable.”
The room was silent. He had their attention.
“Like Wayne Gretzky said, you miss a hundred percent of the shots you don’t take. So why don’t we all head to the arena, you can lace up and take the ice, and we’ll see what we’re dealing with.” He turned to go—better quit while he was ahead—and found Casey staring at him in mild surprise. As he walked past her he gave her a wink, in gratitude and solidarity.
And then something happened. It was brief, it might have been for the kids’ sake, and it was probably in spite of herself, but she did it. She smiled at him.