16. Rook
Chapter sixteen
Rook
My bike rumbles to a stop. I look around the car park of our training barn, spotting all the guys making their way inside to get ready for morning skate. Before I can head in though, I need to make a call; the nightmare has shaken me.
I take my helmet off and rest it on the gas tank in front of me. Dropping my gloves on top, I slip my phone out of the pocket on the inside of my black leather riding jacket. I hate these phone calls, but they’re a necessary evil. If I can’t be there in person, I need to know she’s doing okay.
“Can I put you on hold for a minute while we grab her for you?” the chirpy voice on the other end of the line asks.
“Ah, yeah sure.” I adjust my stance, crossing my legs to lean up against the seat.
“Hello,” a soft, familiar voice calls across the line.
“Hey, Ma. How are you doing today?” I switch hands with the phone, blocking the microphone from the wind whipping around me as I scan the car park, holding my breath for her response.
“Oh Rook, I’m so glad to hear from you. It’s been so long.”
I exhale a sigh of relief. It’s a good day. “Yeah Ma, I know.” Although it wouldn’t have mattered if I had been in to see her this morning. The chances of her remembering at my visits are slim. Most of the time, she thinks it’s been months since we’ve talked.
“You work too hard!” she scolds, and I chuckle. Between skating, training, team meetings, gym, home and away games, I work a lot. That’s the point. The harder I work, the less I have to think about what a huge disappointment I am. Plus the added bonus of being more appealing to teams, making it possible to get traded closer to home.
“What have you been up to today?” I ask, changing the subject away from the one thing keeping me away, but also the one thing that has kept me sane over the last eighteen months.
“Oh, you know, this and that. Did you know Doris from number nine spent last night wandering the street in her underwear? Such a strange woman. I’ve invited her for supper so many times, but she just stares at me and walks away. Reminds me of your Aunt Eleanor. She was a weird one too, but being related to your father, that’s not a surprise.”
I rub my brow and smile. “What else have you got planned for today?”
“Oh, I’ll need to start dinner soon. You know how Randall always likes his dinner ready when he gets home from work.”
My smile falls to the asphalt. It isn’t as good a day as I’d hoped.
“Yeah Ma, I’ll let go so you can start getting ready.”
“Ready for what?”
“Dinner, Ma,”
“Oh, is it that time already? I need to make a start. You know how he likes his dinner ready when he gets home from work.”
“Yeah Ma, I love you.”
“I love you too, Randall. I’ll see you when you get home.”
“Ok, bye.”
I wait, hearing the phone shuffle between hands and the chirpy voice is back.
“Mr Wills?”
“Yeah, I’m here. Any updates?”
“No, not much new to update you on. She is doing well despite the confusion. She seems happy with everyone in her wing and appears to be making some friends with a few of the new arrivals. Today she seemed to really enjoy the afternoon activities. We had a school choir come in and perform. Really seemed to brighten her mood. Apart from that, medically, she is incredibly healthy and appears to be coping with the change well.”
“Ok, please let me know if anything changes, or if she needs anything.”
“Of course, thank you for calling so frequently. I know with your schedule it’s difficult, but I know she really appreciates the familiarity of your voice.”
“Yeah, of course. I’ll call around the same time tomorrow.”
“Sure, anytime you’re free.”
I hang up the phone and blow out an exacerbated breath. I will never stop calling her, even if they take a piece of my soul each time.
“Move your ass, Wills!” Coach yells from the sidelines, whistle blowing. We’ve been running drills for forty-five minutes and the anger I used to fuel me at the beginning of the skate is now tapping out. I’m gassed, and he knows it.
Coach blows his whistle, and I slide into position as the puck is slid to me. Glancing up, Maverick is primed in the goal, ready. I feign left before swerving to the opposite side, lining up my twig and slapping the puck so hard I feel the vibrations move up my forearm.
It flies towards the wide open lower right side of the net, but a split second later, Mav had already caught on to my feint and shifted himself into position, snapping his knees together, dropping into a butterfly to catch the puck. I drop my head, Coach’s voice echoing around the barn.
“Pack it up.”
Gliding around scooping up pucks with my stick and flicking them into the air, catching them in my glove, as Cap slides up next to me and begins picking up pucks.
“You good?”
I shrug in response. What can I say? This week I’ve performed the worst of my career. I just can’t shake this dark cloud over me.
He stares at me, trying to work out what my problem is. “You know we’re a team, right? Your problems are our problems too. Especially if it affects you out here. We all go through shit at times, man, but me and the boys got you, right? I don’t know how your last team worked, but here,” he circles his finger to encompass the whole barn, “we are one, on and off the ice.”
I give him a quick nod, letting him know I heard him while continuing to collect stray pucks off the ice, not ready to share, even if I know his intentions are good. Not that he could help, anyway. I don’t think he has a way to give me any more time.
Time is one thing that always feels like there’s never enough of: not with hockey, not with my mom. I hope this will be the last year I spend flying back and forth trying to make work of what little down time I have. One day I will lose her, probably not physically, but she will go to a place I can’t reach, which feels just as shattering.
“Your commitment to your team is commendable. We just need to work out a way to get on the same wavelength. You will have our back out there next week, I don’t doubt it.”
I nod, not sure what else to say. Marcus looks like he wants to ask more of me, but gives up assuming my one-word response is probably the best he’s going to get today.
Coach’s whistle ends any further line of questioning as he calls us all to the bench to chat. He stands against the boards as we all skate up to him, taking our positions in a semicircle around him.
“I know this has been a rough year. We haven’t been hitting where we need to and our offense has been lacking. I’m hoping this change will help boost the team not only on the ice but also the morale I’ve been seeing lack in the locker rooms. Please welcome him back to the team.”
We all look toward the tunnel as a figure in a t-shirt and sweatpants strolls out.
The team erupts with cheers and stick taps as Rian James walks over, hands in pockets and nodding to us all. Coach offers him a hand and then reaches over, clapping him on the back.
“This year has especially been a shit one for Jammer. He’s decided it’s time for him to come back to the team. I don’t know about you assholes, but I’m sure as hell glad to see him back.”
Sloane’s death had shocked us all. She was only twenty-eight and, from all accounts, perfectly healthy. My mind flashes back to the last time I saw her in the family room, heavily pregnant but looking so happy. They both did. Now, the Rian standing in front of us looks nothing like the man I knew just a few weeks ago.
Everyone quietens as we wait to hear from Rian. “Yeah ah, thanks Coach. I look forward to getting back out on the ice. God knows I need it.” He looks away from us, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ve been working with the trainers over the last week and I look forward to joining you guys full time, tomorrow for training and then this weekend for the away.” His usual upbeat energy is gone, but I can’t fault him for it.
The first month after Mom’s attack, I was numb on the ice. The only emotion I could funnel through was rage, and I ended up spending more time than not in the box. That was bad enough, but to lose your wife, the mother of your child, not even three weeks after she was born… That’s as fucked as it gets.
I tap my stick to break the silence, giving him an out, which, guessing by the relief that crosses his face, he’s glad for. The team joins in and Coach dismisses us for the day as we make our way back to the locker room.
In the shower, I find myself, not for the first time, thinking about Othelia. How is she coping since the funeral? She seemed incredibly close with Sloane on the night I first saw her.
My heart ached watching her disappear into the music as she lost herself to her goodbye. I held my breath when our eyes met across the sea of mourners. I don’t know what I expected given the circumstances and my sudden exit from the pool, but her icy indifference as she looked away was like a knife straight through my heart.
I’d be lying to myself if I said I hadn’t searched for her online, but any socials I’ve found have been quiet since Sloane’s death. Pages usually packed full of photos cataloging her life, are now at a standstill since one final post: a Polaroid picture of her and Sloane, both with big cheesy grins and no caption.
I’d also be lying if I said I hadn’t spent hours staring at her posts, captivated by a girl I barely know.
Part of me knows it’s dumb to hope that Rian coming back might mean I’ll end up seeing more of her. Those gray eyes still haunt my dreams. We hadn’t even had a proper conversation, yet the blush that crossed her cheeks when she caught me watching her behind the glass, those shared touches in the pool, how she melted into me when I called her a good girl, or the sharp intake of breath when I held her waist and whispered in her ear. It sparked something in me I haven’t been able to shake.
I dunk myself under the stream, attempting to drown out that train of thought. What am I thinking? Even if I want more, it can’t happen. My life in Chicago has a one season expiration date and then I’ll be gone.
Walking out of the barn and towards my bike, I take in a slow breath before putting my helmet on and slipping my gloves over my hands. Straddling the bike and turning the key, taking one last look back at the barn and my new team now exiting after me.
What sort of life can I give her, anyway? I’d just end up hurting her like I have everyone else.