Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
TYLER
I stepped into the community center after my walk down memory lane, and smiled at the girl behind the desk. She couldn’t be more than sixteen or seventeen. When her grin widened, she exposed the metal of her braces and her black and purple rubber bands. Been there. Done that. Got the retainer to prove it. Her curly hair was pulled up into something called space buns and her freckles stood out against her pale flesh.
“You’re Tyler Grant,” she said, growing more excited by the second. “I watch you play—er, well, used to, all the time. I’m Jenna.”
“Oh yeah?” I said, stepping closer to the counter. “Well, it’s always nice meeting a fan out in the wild. It’s nice to meet you, Jenna.”
“Sorry about your accident,” she murmured. “That was a dirty play by Chemek.”
I clenched my jaw to not let loose the expletives sitting on the tip of my tongue. If a kid who probably never played a day in her life saw the truth of the blow, why couldn’t everywhere else? “It is what it is.” I gave a nonchalant lift of my shoulder. “Not everyone gets their fairytale ending in the NHL.”
“You should have,” she hedged.
“Thanks,” I replied, staring at her eager light-green eyes. “Is Coach Brown in?”
She nodded. “Yeah, he’s on the ice with the seven and eight-year-old boys and girls. They combined the teams on account there weren’t enough kids to divide them boy/girl.”
“Then I’ll see myself that way. I still know my way around.”
She hesitated then shoved a clipboard at me. “I know we all know you ‘round these parts, but formalities and such. Could you sign in? Don’t mind if you use an alas.”
I snorted. “Reckon everyone will know I’m home after meeting with coach. Why hide myself?” I filled out the form then handed it back. “Thanks for looking out for everyone here.”
“It’s my job,” she stammered. “Have a good day.”
I’d try to. Lifting my hand, I gave a little wave as I started for the rink.
Walking along the corridor there were photos of different events, sports teams, and classes the community center provided. There, beside all the small photos of kids painting and laughing was a huge poster of the Clinton Road Dogs . There I was too. Looking back at the steely-eyed, tow-headed boy, who was missing a few teeth, a sense of pride filled me. I’d been so damn determined to prove myself; I hadn’t wanted to ever give up.
The same determination flowed through me today.
I followed the stairs down to the basement-level of the building where the ice rink and basketball courts were located. The sound of skates cutting through ice along with the bounce of a ball was nostalgic music to my ears. I missed this. I felt like I was seven again, figuring out a sport I wasn’t sure I could do, but wanted to try.
The day the game clicked in my head and on the ice, I was dialed in.
I pushed the door open to the rink and came to a halt as two kids collided on the ice. A wry laughter built in my throat. Neither was paying attention to the other. Both went for the same space on the ice, knocking themselves silly in the process. Coach Brown blew the whistle bringing practice to a stop as he went out on the ice to check on the boys.
“Let this be a lesson for you to learn. All of you. Always pay attention to where you are on the ice, or you’ll get hurt. Whether intentionally or not.” He picked both boys up and studied their faces before sending them to the bench. The rest of the kids looked on a little wide-eyed while the others went back to skating up and down the ice. While one, a little girl, glided across the ice dancing to some song, only she could hear. She was a remarkable sight, especially when she danced with her hockey stick.
I shook my head. Kids. Amirite?
“Never gets old,” I said, joining Coach Brown at the bench.
“Well, I’ll be,” he muttered then blew his whistle again. “Bring it in.”
The group of kids surrounding us stared at me in fascination. Some murmured to each other saying my name as if I’d held the holy grail to their childhood. Others stared at the ice instead. I didn’t take it to heart. My passion was out there too. Not listening to someone talk about the sport.
“Everyone,” Coach said, “I want to introduce to you Tyler Grant, Forward for the Portland Thrashers and former Road Dog .”
I gave a small wave. “Former Forward. I’ve had to medically retire.”
The kids blinked, tilting their heads.
“Conversation for adults,” I said. “Anyway, it’s nice to meet you.”
“You took the headshot,” a boy said. “I saw it. It was brutal.”
I nodded. “Didn’t feel too good.”
“Why are you here?” another asked, rubbing snot from his nose.
“Well, I heard Coach here could use an assistant,” I said, kind of springing the subject on Coach Brown. Probably should have called him first, but I was here now. “Thought I’d apply.”
Coach’s eyes got big around. The excited chatter from the kids, bolstered the energy surrounding us. “You’re back for good then?”
I couldn’t say. I had nothing else I could do for the time being. Playing was out of the question. So was going back to Vancouver. Doing so would only remind me more of what I lost. Clinton was home, though an uncomfortable reminder of my past. “Yeah, suppose so.”
“You’ll have to talk to Dave—the director of the facility,” Coach Brown said. “Having a pro on the team is going to piss some people off.”
“Good thing I’m not pro anymore then, huh?” I chuckled. “Saw the poster on the way in and talked with Sherilee last night. I don’t think the photo of us kids was big enough, however.”
“Can never be too proud of you kids,” he muttered, motioning me to follow him as the group ran back out onto the ice. “Let’s talk.”
We stepped into his office—more the size of a closet than an actual office. When I was younger, I used to be in awe of his space. Trophies sat on shelves. Rule books on others. Sports memorabilia interspersed with newspaper articles and jerseys. Even smelled like stale, burnt coffee and an old water machine. Now, it was too dark. Unkept. Papers and folders lined the room. Trophies had cobwebs on them. None of the team photos hung on the walls. The whole place had lost its luster.
“What happened to this place?” I cringed, realizing too late I’d voiced my worries out loud.
“Triple bypass and three temporary coaches,” Coach Brown said. “I’m getting too old for this shit.”
Coach couldn’t have been over sixty, give or take a few years. Yet, I saw the truth in his dull hazel-brown eyes. He wanted to leave the job, but thought of the kids first. “What do you want me to do?”
“Coach,” he said. “Not assist. I know this isn’t where you want to be. I wouldn’t blame you if you turned around and walked out. These kids need someone who can take them to conference titles and state championships. We might be a youth no-name team, but they have potential. Especially with Evan on the team. He’s a natural. But me... I’m done.”
I sat there, staring at a man who made my dreams come true all those years ago. Saying he was done? That was a punch to the gut. What did I say to that? I wouldn’t blow smoke up his ass. He’d never done that to any of us. Also didn’t feel right, watching him walk away. “Coach, I?—”
“You need time,” he replied with a nod. “I know. You’re still on concussion protocol from the last I heard. I can give you six weeks to figure out if you want the job. In the meantime, if you want to get to know the kids...”
“Alright,” I said, “I’ll do it.”
Shock colored his features. “That easy?”
I couldn’t say what’d gotten into me. Sitting across from Coach caused a shift in me and my thinking. Or, perhaps, being back home. Neither of those sat right since there was the chance I’d leave after I figured out what I really wanted. “Look, you need help. I need something to fill my free time. I can’t say what the future holds for me, but I’m here.”
He grunted, sitting back in his chair, the springs groaning as he settled. “I’m not saying you have to stay for the rest of your life, Tyler. Give it a couple of years. Then make a choice.”
Couple of years might be pushing it. “I’ll try.”
I stayed with Coach Brown for the remainder of practice. He introduced me to Evan and for a second, I had a bit of déjà vu. The boy had light blond hair, gray eyes and freckles across the bridge of his nose. Every time he skated past me, it was as if I’d seen him before, which was impossible. Yet, a brush of something important tugged at me. A memory or a thread of a memory I should have been able to pick up on.
Yet I couldn’t. Not with my head still fucked up.
By the time Coach blew the whistle most of the kids’ parents had joined the practice. Some stood in small clusters talking to each other. Some stood off to the side by themselves watching the kids. Strange how I was sure I grew up with most of them, but I couldn’t recall their names or their faces. Sure, I could blame the concussion. Truth was, I set my sights on leaving Clinton and never coming back. I never want lasting friendships or lasting relationships. I guess at the time I was a loner asshole, however I didn’t make promises, either or whisper sweet nothings, either.
“Mr. Tyler come meet my mom,” Evan said, tugging at my hand. “I know she’d love to meet a professional.”
Before I could say no or voice my opposition, I was dragged toward a gorgeous blonde with the bluest eyes I’d ever seen. She wore jeans and a Road Dog team jersey. She didn’t have a ring on her finger that I could see, and she looked to be about my age—almost thirty. There was also something in the way the corner of her mouth tilted upward. The sly grin that snatched at my gut. I knew her, but I couldn’t place her. This... This person standing before me wasn’t the person I knew back then, yet... “Da-Daria?”
“Hey, Tyler,” she said. “Long time no see, huh?”
My mind superimposed the Daria I knew over the woman who stood before me. There’d been a point in my young life where I found girls like Daria alluring and unattainable. They were the goth girls. The super into The Cure, Morrisey, and Bauhaus , crew. She wore all black. Had blue-black hair and wore gothic makeup. She stuck out in a crowd of “Wednesday cattle auction” kids and “Sunday church” goers.
“Sure has been,” I said, a little dumbstruck as I raked my fingers through my hair. “So, you’re Evan’s mom?”
She nodded. “Yeah. Last time we saw each other was your parents’ funeral.”
I frowned. “You’re right.” I hadn’t even wanted to come home.
In my second year of college, I’d hit my stride, trying to get noticed for the US men’s team. Losing my parents cost me. I didn’t know whether it was depression or anger. Hating myself for creating the chasm between us or still being mad at them for not seeing my passion or talent until it was too late. Over the years, I thought about how many times I wished they could see me play professionally without their preconceived notion of wanting me to join them in the factory.
Especially after it’d been the factory that stole them from me.
“Mom... You know Tyler Grant?” The awe in Evan’s voice made me chuckle.
“She does. We went to high school together,” I said. “Your mom was one of the cool girls.”
She snorted and rolled her eyes. “Not even close, Evan.” She held out her hand to her son. “We’re about to grab a burger a Jerry’s , want to join us?”
“That place still exists?” I thought for sure someone would close the greasy burger joint down.
“Yep. Same sticky tables. Same great food.”
I glanced from Evan to Daria, that niggle of recognition at the back of my head sounding off bells and whistles, like I was missing something obvious, but with my addled brain I was missing it. Still, I nodded. “Sure. I could eat.”
“Great do you want to meet us there?” she asked.
I rubbed the back of my neck; a habit I’d seemed to pick up here lately. “Could I get a ride?” If I walked, it was almost five miles. Not that I couldn’t do it, but if they wanted to eat before the sun went down... “I haven’t been cleared to drive yet since the injury.”
“Sure,” she said without batting an eye. “Where are you staying?”
“Parent’s house,” I answered while Evan gathered his gear and removed his skates. “Considering, it’s free and used to be home.”
“You sound sick about it,” she said without a trace of censure.
“Old memories are all,” I mumbled then changed the subject. “So, who’s the lucky guy?”
“There isn’t one,” she replied as Evan raced back over to us. “It’s only Evan and me.”