Chapter 31
CHAPTER 31
R en
I pull my baseball cap down and take a seat at the corner of the hotel bar, where I can sit with my back to anyone coming in. The place has a nice dark wood bar with a mirror on the back wall and six barstools with leather seats. A few low tables are scattered around the room, with club chairs upholstered in purple velvet. It immediately makes me think of Trix and what she’d say about the textile choice. I’m betting she’d say the style works, but the color doesn’t. Before I realize what I’m doing, I snap a photo with the intention of showing her.
No. She asked me to take time to think. Sending her pictures of velvet chairs is not going to prove that I want to be with her, not when she thinks she roped me into something.
It nearly killed me to walk away from Buttercup Hill the other day. I wanted to protest, but I know when I’m beaten, two goals down at the end of the third period. I’ll pretend to think, even though there’s nothing to consider. I don’t need space. I need to close the gap between us for good.
My barstool gives me only a partial view of the flatscreen TV, but I don’t need to see sports highlights when I just lived the real thing.
Tonight’s win had a different feeling from the ones we eked out earlier in the season. It wasn’t accidental. It wasn’t luck. We played like a team, and we earned the win.
Now, celebrating in downtown Nashville with the team, I’m holed up in the half-empty bar, which is too bright for my liking. But I’ll focus on the half-empty part. No one is in my face to talk to me about hockey. Or my life.
“I’ll have what he’s having.” Coach Barrington loses his voice a little bit during every game, and tonight’s rasp is per usual. It always comes back by morning.
“This is scotch, neat. You sure you want that?” I ask him, half hoping he won’t take the empty seat next to me.
He nods at the bartender. “Make mine a double.” He regards mine. “Just like his.”
Swinging a leg over the barstool, Barrington makes it look harder than it needs to be. He’s in his mid-fifties but he stays fit, working out in the team gym for an hour each day. His hockey career ended early with an injury at around my age, and he’s been coaching ever since. I play the same position he did, so I’ve always felt a bit of kinship beyond our normal day-to-day.
“Good win tonight,” he says.
“Felt good,” I say, hoping that will be the end of the discussion.
“It was palpable, the rhythm. You’re building unity. It’s good to see.”
I nod and take a sip of my drink. The bartender brings Barrington his scotch, and he holds it up to clink my glass. Neither of us toasts to anything, but the clink of the crystal draws its own conclusions.
On the bar, my phone vibrates with a text.
Trix: Great win. I watched
It’s the first time I’ve heard from her since we spoke the other day, and even the generic congratulations feels like hope. My fingers itch to respond, but I still don’t know what to say to her.
I flip it over without responding, embarrassed that Barrington might see Trix’s name entered with heart emojis before and after her name. Like I’m a hapless high school freshman or some shit.
“Don’t mind me. Feel free to answer your phone,” Barrington says, raising an eyebrow as he sips his drink. Instead of responding, I take another drink from my glass. The whiskey burns my throat as it goes down, and somehow it feels right. Even with the win, I’m acting like an asshole toward Trix. Punishing her to punish myself.
“It’s fine. I can deal with it later.”
Barrington drums his fingers on the bar and looks up at the partial view of the TV. I’m not sure whether he’s interested in the sports highlights or just trying to avoid looking at me. Doesn’t stop him from talking to me, though. “Can I give you a word of advice?”
I can’t say no. He’s my coach.
“Sure.”
“Don’t neglect the people in your life.” He’s still looking at the TV. He can see slightly more of the screen than I can, but there must be something really absorbing going on. I glance up, but it’s only a news crawl of scores and two talking heads discussing baseball with subtitles. Not interesting to me.
“You mean the players?”
“Did I say the players?” His gaze snaps from the TV to my face so quickly that it creates its own wind.
The back of my neck feels hot, and I slap a hand back there to wipe what will be sweat in about two seconds. Barrington is the nicest guy in the world, but when he wants to make a point, it’s best to get out of the way and listen. Otherwise, he gets testy. It’s a great quality in a coach, less so in a guy sitting on the next stool at a bar.
“Just thought maybe we were still talking about team morale.”
“We’re not. I think you’ve got that covered.”
It’s a relief, but he still sounds aggravated, so I haven’t fully exhaled in about a minute. I pull the napkin from under my drink and fold it into squares just to have something to do other than sweat on the hot seat.
My phone vibrates again, but I ignore it.
“Goddammit, Renaldi, if that’s your woman you’re ignoring, please stop being a dumbass and answer her.”
I blink heavily and think about my options. I can tell my coach to go fuck himself, which would not bode well for my career, or I can do what he’s telling me. The second option falls much closer to what I want to do, but I don’t trust myself not to lose my focus on the game.
“It’s Trix,” I admit, feeling like a naughty child who got caught with a stash of candy wrappers in his underwear drawer. And because I know Barrington won’t let the conversation drop until I’ve told him everything, I tell him everything. “The short version is that I love her, and I think she’s afraid I’m only with her out of obligation. Worst part is that I bailed on her ten years ago, and I’ve regretted it ever since. Now, here I am, not wanting to make the same mistake again.”
“So don’t make the same goddamn mistake, Renaldi. I don’t need a degree in psychology to tell you that one, but I’ve got one.”
This piece of information pulls me from my wallowing for enough time to push my chair back and take a good look at my coach. “You do?”
He nods and takes another sip of his drink. I do the same. We’ve both finished about half, and I’m already feeling the effects of the alcohol. Not drinking a drop for the past few months, combined with a hundred proof liquor, is making me a lightweight. The kind who’s dangerously close to confessing way too much to his coach if he’s not careful.
I look around the bar for something—anything—that I can use to distract myself from pursuing this conversation. I find only a couple at a table behind us, laughing and chomping tortilla chips with their margaritas.
Turning back to Barrington, I think I’m asking a question but that’s not how it comes out. “You never said anything about it before.”
He shrugs. “I don’t advertise it, but it’s not something I hide. Anyone who looks at my bio on the team website can find it.” He lets that land before smiling. “I don’t expect you to hang out and read bios on the team website.”
“Still, seems like something a semi-observant human would know.”
“Don’t beat yourself up.” Barrington signals to the bartender and asks for a bowl of nuts. It occurs to me that I’ve never done this before—sat with my coach in a hotel bar. Maybe he does this after every game, and it’s just news to me. I wonder what else I don’t know about him. Before I can ask, he waves a hand dismissively.
“What I studied or didn’t study in school isn’t the point because most of what I know was learned on the job. As a player and a coach.”
I nod. “Yeah. Same here.”
“Good. So you should understand that what makes a team powerful is player health, and I’m not just talking about physical fitness. If your head’s a mess, you’re a mess, do you hear me?”
“Yes.” I take a long pull from my drink.
“So get it straightened out. Especially with a baby in the mix.”
I nod.
“You said her name’s Trix…” He looks up at the ceiling like he’s imagining what someone named Trix would look like.
“Yeah. ”
“Pretty name. I don’t need to ask if you love her because it’s written all over your dumb face. You’re nuts about her, so I don’t understand why you’re ignoring her texts.” The bartender puts a small dish of peanuts in front of us and a second dish with green olives. Barrington pops a handful of nuts into his mouth and chomps down on them, talking as he chews.
“Because I don’t know how to convince her I’m serious about the two of us. So I’m giving the team my total focus until I can get back and talk to her.” I figure he’ll respect my commitment to the team.
He rolls his eyes and eats a few more nuts. “That’s not how it works. You don’t get to put people in boxes and decide when to take them out and play with them. You integrate them into your life, or you lose them. I learned that the hard way many years ago, and I won’t make the same mistake again. Neither should you.”
“I thought you were married.”
“I am. Third time’s the charm in that department. Now that I’ve gotten it right, I’m not going to do anything to jeopardize my relationship. Not one thing,” he says, slapping the top of the bar. The bartender looks up, but Barrington waves him off. “Just emphasizing.”
“Not sure it works that way for me. I don’t know how to do both, and I’ve always been a hockey player.”
“Learn,” he says. “Learn to do both equally well. I know you’ve got it in you, Renaldi. I didn’t choose you as captain because you’re a charity case. And I don’t want your broken-hearted ass showing up for training after she dumps you for acting like an ass. If you think being in love’s distracting, try heartbreak.” Barrington finishes his drink and holds up a finger. “Scratch that. Don’t try heartbreak. Just do the right thing. At least check your phone for crying out loud.”
Flipping the phone over, I find another text from Trix.
Trix: Don’t want to freak you out, but I’m feeling some weird pains
While I’m reading that one, she pings me again with another text.
Trix: Julie is taking me to the hospital just to be safe
I show the text to Barrington as I feel the blood drain from my face.
“Take the jet. It can come back in the morning for the team.”
“Are you sure?” I can’t think straight. I don’t know whether I should just text Trix back or get on a plane.
“It’ll just be sitting there all night waiting to take us back in the morning. Go. Go now.”
He doesn’t have to tell me twice. I hop off my barstool and take off at a run.