Chapter 24
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
JULIAN
“Right there, see? Damn it, Julian, you can’t pass a puck like that.
Not with the other team on your ass. You need to hold on to it.
Watch.” My father pressed rewind. “Right there. You did this during the game against DC too. And keep your damn head up. You are always looking down. That’s why you don’t know who you’re passing to.
You did that as a kid too. Up!” he shouted at the TV.
“Got it.” I had almost gotten out of spending Thanksgiving with my family, but then the Coyotes invited my father to tonight’s game. They were going to interview him and give him all the fanfare that came around Quinton Silver. So here they were. Staying with me.
“And what the hell was that?” He pointed to the TV.
“You and Anders think you’re cute with your fancy passing.
One of you needs to shoot the fucking puck.
Even the fans are yelling at you to shoot the puck.
That’s why you lost that game. In my day, my coach would have chewed me out.
And that’s the problem with players nowadays.
Everyone is worried about feelings. There is no room for feelings in hockey.
Or extra weight. You need to cut a few pounds. ”
There had been no room for feelings in my childhood either. We couldn’t feel too sick to practice. We couldn’t feel the pain of overused muscles and sore joints. We didn’t feel the pride of our father. I learned at a young age my feelings didn’t matter.
I sat back on the couch and let him get it all out. All the ways I had failed him and myself. I had offered to get them a hotel room on the Strip. They could make a vacation out of it. See a show or two. But my mother asked how she would cook Thanksgiving dinner. I suggested take-out.
“There’s another missed opportunity. Right fucking there.” My dad pointed to the TV. “One goal, Julian, is that too much for you? One goal, and you would’ve won the game. I would’ve scored. Twice if it was a good game.”
“Yeah, I know.” This had been going on for hours.
My father replaying every one of my games and pointing out everything I had done wrong.
Just like my childhood. Hudson, Beckett, and I all crowded on the couch, watching our mistakes in slow motion.
Mom in the kitchen making a dinner we’d eat in silence.
“I’m going to talk to Murry tonight. And that damn trainer of yours. 230 a good weight for a winger? Since when? Look how slow you are. That Hulton kid can skate circles around you. In my day, anyone over 200 was told to cut weight.” Quinton Silver motioned to the TV as he sat back on the couch.
“I gotta go.” I stood.
“Keep your head up.” My dad didn’t even look at me.
He watched the TV, mumbling about how when he played, that would never happen.
For once, I was going to be glad to be at the arena.
Murry would bitch about the same things, but at least I wouldn’t have to listen to how well he played back in the day.
My mother was fluttering around the kitchen. “Mom, I sent Dad the tickets. Anders’s and Graham’s parents are also in town, so you’ll sit by them. The team is putting you guys in a box. And I told you we could order one.” I nodded to the pie crust she was making.
“Oh, it’s fine. I don’t get to bake much with your father’s diet. And you look so thin. Are you eating enough?”
“Yeah, Mom, my trainer says I’m fine. How are Hudson and Len?”
“They’re good. Lennon had to work, so it’ll just be the two of them for Thanksgiving.
I asked her if she wanted me to make rolls or anything.
But she said she had it covered. She hasn’t been around much.
She didn’t come to Sunday dinner last week.
Your brother said it’s because she’s been working a lot.
They furloughed a bunch of people.” My mother shrugged as she placed the pie crust into a glass dish.
“You should call him. He seems a bit out of sorts.”
My older brother Hudson and I weren’t close.
We didn’t call each other when things were a bit out of sorts.
“Heard from Becks?” And I had less in common with my younger brother, who hated everything hockey.
We were good at playing the happy all-American family for the newspapers and documentaries.
The truth was my mother was the only American, and none of us were happy.
“Not since he told us he was photographing lions in Namibia,” my mother said, brushing flour from her hands. “Why he had to go all the way over there is beyond me.”
“I’m sure it has something to do with the fact that there are no lions in Minnesota. But I could be wrong. I should get ready—"
“I noticed that Emily’s things were boxed up,” my mother cut in.
“Yeah, that’s how a divorce works,” I said, taking a bottle of water out of the fridge. I had told my mother via a text message that I had officially filed for divorce. I didn’t want to talk about it then, and I didn’t want to talk about it now.
“So it’s over?”
“Yeah, Mom, she fucked another man. That’ll put a damper on a marriage.”
“Julian, language.” My mother frowned. “Have you thought about counseling?”
“For her or me?”
“For both. Marriage is tough, and when one of you is a professional athlete, it’s even tougher.
I know it’s hard for you to see this from her perspective, but being the wife of a hockey player isn’t easy.
It takes a lot. You have to put your life on hold to support your spouse’s.
You become the second most important thing in their life.
And for some women, that’s hard to learn. ”
My mom may have come second to my father, but she meant everything to me growing up.
She showed up—took us to practice, watched every game.
Baked cookies, gathered photos, did whatever needed to be done.
She dragged us from city to city, arena to arena.
My mother was the backbone to our family.
My father was the man who carried that title like all his others. “Mom, you were important to us.”
“Oh, I know. But Emily didn’t have motherhood to take up some of that time.”
“She knew that going into this.” I had told Emily after three months that I couldn’t have kids. She didn’t believe me. She thought I was just afraid of having them. That should have been the first red flag.
“Julian, there are ways for both of you to—”
“Mom. Stop! Whose side are you on?” I hadn’t meant to shout.
“You have to ask?” She wiped her hands on a towel.
“I understand what it looks like being on the other side. To love someone who loves something else more. To not be the first thing they think of. Your father missed Beckett’s birth.
He missed Hudson learning to walk, your third and tenth birthday, all because of hockey.
And now look at him.” She motioned to the other room.
I could count on one hand the times my father had been there growing up.
Even after he retired, there were months of him doing interviews and documentaries.
Then he did broadcasting for awhile. It wasn’t until Hudson and I started showing talent that he took notice.
Then our lives revolved around being better.
Playing harder. Skating faster. It had always been about hockey.
“She slept with another man. That has nothing to do with hockey.” The irony was not lost on me. So did Cassidy, and yet that didn’t bother me. Because that was her job. She didn’t do it to hurt me. To ruin me.
“I know, and I understand how hurt you are, but so is she. She wants to try again. She’s learned from—"
“You talked to her?” This was a new low, even for Emily.
“She called and—”
“Oh my god.” I ran a hand over my mouth. “You hated her when I first brought her home.”
“I did not.”
“Bullshit. When I brought her home you begged me to break it off with her.” My mother never thought Emily was right for me.
She thought I needed someone quieter, someone content to stay in the shadows.
And that was not Emily. She had a life outside of hockey, and I thought that was a good thing.
I thought choosing her meant she wouldn’t end up like my mother.
“Well, she was a lot when we first met her. She was upset that our milk came from cows. But after time I grew to understand her. To see that, well, she made you happy.”
When I met Emily, she fit into that part of my life. She was fast, bright, and fit in with all the other girlfriends. She was pretty and looked good standing next to me. People thought we made such a cute couple. Both golden like an LA sunset.
“She made you happy, right?”
“No, she didn’t. She couldn’t handle this life, couldn’t handle the ups and downs. She couldn’t handle me.”
“She was young.”
It was always about my age. No one ever said I was too young. Not when I was sixteen playing against eighteen-year-olds. Not when I was seventeen, being drafted by the NHL.
“And I wasn’t? I had my whole fucking career in front of me, and one bad hit and everything changed.
” Before that injury, I thought I was invincible.
So did those around me. And after the hit, everyone worried my game would never be the same.
I didn’t know how to deal with that. Emily had quit her job.
We fought about everything. I couldn’t practice, so I wasn’t spending time with the team.
And I had never not had a team. For months I lost the one thing that made me.
I didn’t know what to do. Six months later, I was traded, and Las Vegas wasn’t golden like LA.
“I can’t do this right now, okay? I got a game, and I can’t…” I can’t let this get in my head.
“You’re right. I’m sorry.” She patted my cheek. “I only ever want what’s best for you boys, and I’m worried about you. You are not like your father. You never were.”
“I’m fine. Don’t let Dad pay for parking.” I kissed her quickly and headed up to change.
Thankfully this was just a one-day holiday and they’d be on a plane in three days.