9. Rook
Chapter nine
Rook
My phone vibrates in my pocket for the second time since sitting down in Coach’s office. I can’t stop my bouncing knee. I adjust myself in the seat and do my best to avoid thinking about the buzzing in my pocket. I need to answer this call.
Coach begins the lashing, but leaves after a few minutes, needing to get back out to the team for the last period. Even though he and the GM are pissed, they both saw the illegal check from the sidelines. Thanks to that moron, Dupont is still with the medical team, starting the concussion protocol. Although they can’t say it, I think they’re glad I showed up for my captain.
The GM leans against the coach’s desk, hands tucked casually in the pockets of his five-thousand-dollar designer suit. The guy oozes money, but thankfully not in a pretentious douche way. He’s earned it, working his way up from playing, he has paid his dues and, from his experience on a team, is a pretty good leader. One of the best I’ve worked with so far in the league.
With some parting words about making sure I’m useful for the team, he claps me on the shoulder as he strides towards the closed door, heading back out, ready for the third period. Standing, I move to follow him back to the locker room, but I stop when my phone vibrates once again.
I slide my phone out of my pocket and the name flashing across the screen makes my heart stop. The GM pauses in front of me, his eyes downcast to his own screen. “Oh, and Wills, I’d like you to make more of an effort to make more of a connection with the guys. After the game, I’d like you to join us in the family room. You need to get to know your team more off the ice so you can work better on it.”
“Yes sir, I’ll be there.”
Satisfied with my response, he turns his attention back on whatever crisis he needs to deal with as he disappears down the corridor.
My phone stops vibrating. “Fuck…” My thumb hovers over the three missed calls before I hit redial.
A chirpy voice answers after the third ring. With my heart thumped in my chest, I anxiously wait as I’m transferred. Another few heart clenching rings until an older sounding woman picks up. “Hello, this is Hazel. Am I speaking to Mr Wills?”
“Yes, it is. What’s happened? I missed your call. I’m sorry the, I was in a meeting and couldn’t answer.” My voice has an unintentional bite as I try to keep the fear out of it, succeeding a little too well and coming across pissed instead.
Her voice changes, sounding sterner than it had a second ago, like one of the mean teachers I had in grade school. “I’m calling because there has been an incident with your mother.” My arms fall to my sides, hands slacken, and I nearly drop my phone in the middle of the corridor. Scrambling to catch it before it smashes, I check the line is still connected before pressing it back to my ear.
“What happened? Is she okay?” My voice is still harsh but now traces of desperation filter through as my mind races through a million scenarios. Plans form in my head. How do I tell Coach I need to go? Letting down another team. What flights need to be organized? What’s the best way to rearrange my schedule for the next few days to make the trip home? Mom’s hurt. I inhale a sharp breath, struggling not to lose my shit in the main corridor of my new workplace.
My hand scrubs over my face before pushing it through my hair, getting it out of my face as I can hear her shuffling through the paperwork, the noise grating my ears through the speaker.
“She’s alright.” The nurse pauses, shuffling, sensing my increasing distress. “But she got a bit overwhelmed by another resident. She appears to have confused him with her husband and when he corrected her, she became inconsolable and started screaming and searching the facility. During the incident, she pushed several residents and attempted to hit staff as they attempted to calm her down.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, rubbing my eyebrows with one hand. I try to calm my rapid breathing, my chest feeling tight.
“But she’s okay, right? Do you need me to come? It would be rough, but I could move some things around with my schedule and hopefully be able to fly tomorrow, maybe tonight, depending on flights.”
“Mr Wills,” she says firmly to stop my spiraling. “I really don’t think that’s necessary. We have distracted her, and she was calm enough to give her bedtime medication a little early. She’s now resting in her room, with her records playing. We know she is quite fond of Elvis. She’s just had a warm drink and something to eat. I think for the rest of the night she will settle.”
“Can I talk to her?” My voice breaks on the question. My fingers go numb and I squeeze them before rubbing my legs to warm them up, trying not to sound like a lost little boy who desperately needs his mom.
“I'm sorry, I think that may do more harm than good. It has been a daunting afternoon for her and if she doesn’t recognize you or confuses you with someone else, it might upset her again.”
Silence. The world around me fades into the background. Never in my life did I imagine that my presence would cause my mother pain. She has always been the one person I could depend on, and now, when she needs me, instead of being able to help, I could hurt her.
“Yeah. Uh…” I cough, trying to hide the pain in my voice. “Yeah, I understand. I’m just at work, but… could I call back afterwards and check in? Maybe talk to her if she’s feeling better?” I fiddle with a loose thread on the cuff of my jersey.
“Of course, ring at any time to check in. Someone is always here.” And with that, she says goodbye and hangs up.
Feeling lost and useless, I stumble back to the locker room and collapse on the bench in front of the TVs. If I can’t support my team out on the ice, I sure as hell will do it from here.
With a swing of the door, Dupont enters the room looking like absolute shit, limping, back and neck covered in an ice vest. He shuffles like a zombie over to the bench I’m on and collapses next to me.
“How are they?” His head gestures towards the wall of screens.
“Defense is holding out, but offense has gone to shit. As long as Mav can shut it down for the next ten, we should be right. You?”
“Thankfully, they ruled out a concussion, just sore as fuck. I don’t bounce back the way I used to,” he says as adjusts the ice vest on his shoulders. At thirty-six, he still bounces back a hell of a lot better than a lot of other guys I’ve played with, while still having one of the best point averages in the league. Losing him to concussion protocol would’ve been an enormous hit for us at the beginning of the season.
Side by side, we sit and gaze at the screens, silently observing the game we should be out there playing.
A whistle, my only warning as he throws an electrolyte drink my way. Reaching out, I catch the bottle one handed. Dupont leans back on the bench, looking my way. Feeling his stare on the side of my face, I turn away from the screens and face him.
The creases on his forehead look deeper and shadows have darkened underneath his eyes. He looks tired, beaten down, not like the powerful leader I’ve come to know over the last month. “Thanks for having my back, man. I know you’re new to the team, but I really appreciate you jumping in when he knocked me down.”
“Yeah, well,” taking another swig of my drink, “you don’t fuck with my captain.”
Leaning forward to rest my elbows on my knees, my attention pulls back to the screen as the boys set up after an icing call. “Plus, someone had to wipe that arrogant smile off his bitch face.”
One of the medical team enters to dress the cut on my eyebrow and ice for my knuckles, and Dupont and I sit in comfortable silence as we watch the boys bring home the win. Cheers and shouts fill the tunnel. Dupont and I greet them, joining in with the celebrations.
Heading over to his locker, Dupont pulls out the team belt. It looks like a bedazzled championship belt a wrestler might carry, but the guys have been passing it around to the team MVP for the last two seasons and now the ugly ass belt is a favorite post win tradition.
Sticking two fingers in his mouth, whistling loud to grab everyone’s attention, Dupont yells over the amped up men that right now jump around like a bunch of teenagers at their first rave.
“Alright boys, settle down, settle down.” The room quietens. “We had a killer start and you boys kept the momentum going even when you were down two players.” Boos start filling the room, all of them clearly unhappy with the way we were both taken out.
“Honorable mention to Mav, thirty- seven saves tonight,” he continues as barks ring out across the room, celebrating the impressive save rate. He holds the belt up in the air so the entire room can see it glittering in the overhead lights. “The game belt today goes to the guy who not only scored two goals and one assist but also to the guy who had my back. Today, you proved you were part of this team. You had my back and we,” he points, circling the locker room with his finger as all the guys look my way, “have yours. Wills, this one is yours. You earned it.”
He walks over to me, pulling me in for a back smacking hug and hands me the belt. Holding my hand up in the air like I’ve just won a prize fight, the room erupts in barks and claps.
For a minute, I let myself live in this moment. All the other shit doesn’t exist and I’m just Wills, the Chicago Hellhound and not Rook, the disappointment.