Coach’s Call
Chapter seventeen
Jamie
Coach's Call
The phone rings just as I finish my morning stretching routine.
I glance at the screen and smile. "Coach."
"Morning, Cap."
His voice carries the same calm confidence it always has. Coach has never been one for small talk. If he's calling instead of texting, something matters.
"Everything okay?"
"Depends."
I wait. "The guys need to see you."
I lean against the kitchen counter and look out across the frozen lake. "Coach...practice is for players. I'm still doing rehab."
"I know."
"I'll just be in the way."
Silence. Not awkward. Patient.
Finally, he asks, "You really believe that?"
The question catches me off guard, not because he's challenging my shoulder.
He's challenging me. "You think the only thing this team misses is your wrist shot?"
"No."
"Your faceoff percentage?"
"No."
"Goals?"
I smile. "No."
"Then why are you acting like the only thing you ever brought into that locker room was a hockey stick?"
I don't answer. Because I don't have one. Coach softens his voice. "Jamie, I can replace a center for a few games."
He pauses. "I can't replace the man that room follows."
The words settle somewhere deep.
Annette would probably tell me I’ve been measuring the wrong things again.
She’d probably be right.
I stand there for another moment, phone still in my hand. For weeks I've been wondering how to become Captain Walker again. Maybe Annette has been trying to teach me the wrong lesson.
Or maybe I've been learning the right one all along. Maybe today I don't have to become the captain again. Maybe I just have to remember how to be Jamie.
***
The familiar hallway smells exactly the way I remember. Fresh coffee. Stick tape. Equipment that has seen one too many road trips. Home. I stop outside the locker room just long enough to hear the voices inside.
Laughter, someone arguing about fantasy football, a roll of stick tape bouncing across the floor. Normal.
For the first time in months, I realize how much I've missed ordinary. I wrap my hand around the handle and push the door open. Nobody notices me right away. A conversation continues near the equipment shelves.
Someone laughs. Then Toby looks up. His eyes widen and he nudges Caleb.
Within seconds the room grows quieter, one conversation at a time. Liam leans back in his chair, folds his arms, and grins. "Well..." he says. "...look who finally remembered where we keep the coffee."
The room immediately relaxes. Laughter breaks out, and I shake my head. "I was hoping you'd matured while I was gone."
"Terrible disappointment, isn't it?"
"I'd call it tragic."
"You wound me, Captain." He points dramatically above his locker. "You notice anything?"
Against my better judgment, I look to see a brand-new poster hanging proudly on the wall.
Across the top, in enormous letters:
BELIEVE IN YOURSELF
Underneath is a heroic photograph of Liam standing on top of the Zamboni wearing aviator sunglasses. And next the next caption reads: Someone has to.
I stare at it for several seconds. Then back at Liam. "You've got entirely too much free time."
He beams. "I've missed you too."
I bump his shoulder gently with my good one. He bumps mine back just as carefully. The room erupts again. Even Coach, walking through with a clipboard tucked under one arm, glances at the poster.
"Liam."
"Yes, Coach?"
"If that thing survives the day..."
He pauses just long enough. "...I'll assume you're paying for everyone's eye exams."
Coach disappears into his office while the room explodes with laughter. Liam sighs dramatically. "My genius continues to go unappreciated."
"It isn't genius, it's public safety."
More laughter. It echoes off the cinderblock walls in exactly the way I remember.
Nobody asks how my shoulder feels. Nobody studies me with sympathy. Nobody tiptoes around me.
To them...I'm still Jamie. Still the captain. Still the guy responsible for reminding Liam that common sense isn't optional.
Somehow, that's the best welcome home they could have given me.
I make my way toward my locker. Everything is exactly where I left it.
My nameplate.
My practice jersey.
My helmet resting on the top shelf.
Waiting. It’s as though no one ever doubted I'd come back. I run my fingers across the edge of the stall. "You kept it."
Caleb looks over. "Of course we did."
"As if Liam wasn't trying to steal it," Toby says. "I merely admired the location," Liam replies.
"It has better lighting."
I laugh, shaking my head. "You would've ruined it."
"I would've improved it."
"Subjective."
I look around the room. At Toby. Caleb. Ethan. At Liam still defending the world's worst motivational poster. And suddenly something inside me settles. For months I'd been trying to find my way back. Standing here I realize something. Maybe I never left.
***
The locker room slowly settles back into its familiar rhythm. Music hums from someone's speaker. Tape peels from a fresh roll. Someone complains about the training table coffee.
Normal. Wonderfully normal. I sink onto the stool in front of my locker, content just to sit and listen. Across the room Ethan finishes tightening the straps on his shoulder pads. When he notices me watching, he walks over.
"Hey."
"Hey yourself."
For a moment he simply stands there. "I still think about that hit."
I know exactly which one. "Ethan..."
"I keep wondering if I'd reacted faster..." I shake my head. "You stayed."
He looks up. "You got help."
A small nod. "You never left me."
His shoulders loosen just a little. "I wasn't going to."
"I know." I smile. "I'm glad you didn't."
Silence settles between us. Not awkward. Finished.
I clap his shoulder with my good hand. "You've got a game to win."
A grin finally appears. "I'll work on that."
"I know you will."
He heads toward the tunnel with the rest of the team. Coach lingers, waiting until the room empties.
"You ready?"
"For what?"
He smiles. "Come with me." Warm-ups are already underway when we step into the arena. The familiar sounds wash over me immediately. Skates cutting fresh lines into the ice. Pucks striking the glass. Kids leaning over the railing hoping for a wave from their favorite players.
For one dangerous second every part of me wants to grab a stick. Coach says nothing. He simply walks behind the bench. I follow. The assistant coaches glance up. One nod. Nothing more. As though this has always been the plan.
Coach reaches beneath the shelf behind the bench. When he stands, there's a headset in his hand. He tosses it to me. I catch it instinctively.
"Coach..."
He folds his arms. "Enough."
I wait. "Put it on."
I stare at the headset. "I'm not coaching." "No."
"I'm not playing." "I know."
"I'm..." The words disappear somewhere between my heart and my throat. Coach smiles. "You think that headset makes someone a coach?"
I look back at him. "It just lets everybody hear him better."
He taps the headset once with his finger. "They already follow you, Jamie."
His voice is quiet. Certain. "This..." another gentle tap, "...just puts you where you've always belonged."
For a moment I can't move. Annette's voice slips quietly into my thoughts. Maybe you've spent so long believing your value came from what you could do...
...that you forgot who you already are.
I swallow hard. Because standing here I finally understand what she's been trying to tell me.
Coach gives my good shoulder a gentle squeeze. "The boys are waiting, Captain." I slide the headset over my ears.
It fits exactly the way I remember. Only somehow it feels different. Lighter. Like it isn't asking me to carry the team anymore. Just...to be part of it.
The opening face off drops before I have time to think. The first few shifts are clean. Simple. Good hockey.
Halfway through the period Ethan misjudges a bounce at the blue line. The opposing winger slips behind him. Caleb makes a spectacular save. The crowd erupts.
Ethan reaches the bench looking frustrated. "I should've..."
"No." He looks at me. "You recovered."
He blinks. "You didn't quit on the play." I nod toward the ice. "You forced him outside."
"You gave Caleb a chance." One slow breath leaves him. Another. Finally, he nods. "Next shift."
"Next shift."
He jumps back over the boards. Coach watches him skate away. "You always know what they need to hear."
I smile faintly. "No."
"What then?" "I know what I would've needed."
Coach doesn't answer. He simply smiles.
Late in the third period Liam flies down the wing. This time Toby breaks through the middle with his stick on the ice.
I grin. "Come on..."
For one split second Liam glances toward the bench. Toward me. Then...instead of forcing the impossible play, he slides the puck across.
Toby buries it. The goal horn shakes the building. The arena explodes. Liam points toward Toby. Then toward our bench.
Then gives the smallest shrug in history. As if to say, I listened.
I laugh. Coach leans closer. "Looks like somebody finally made the easy pass."
"He made the right one."
The final horn sounds. Blizzards win. Players pour onto the ice around Caleb. I stay where I am. Watching. Smiling. Coach removes his headset.
"So..."
I look over. "So."
"You looked comfortable." I glance toward the celebration. "I felt useful."
A knowing smile crosses his face. "I wasn't talking about hockey." The words stop me cold. Because he's right. For two hours I never wished I was on the ice. Instead, I found myself exactly where the team needed me.
Maybe that was the point all along. Coach claps my shoulder. "Ready to head home, Captain?" I smile. For the first time since my injury the title doesn't feel heavy. It feels like home.