Chapter Ten
Ten
Jack
We lost games one and two against Dallas, and for the last few days, I’ve done nothing but mope about it.
Logically, I know that it’s not entirely my fault, but the fact that Coach benched me for the third period of both games makes it feel like it is.
My arm has been relatively okay the last few days, actually, which feels like a slap in the face after the loss.
We have our third game of round one against them at the end of the week, and sure, it’s on our home turf, and sure, there are five more chances to eke out the win and go to round two—but it feels like a bad omen, losing right off the bat.
I’ve been sitting on my couch for the last three hours, staring at old game footage as if the answers can be found there, but in all reality, I’m just killing time.
Abby is in class today, not that I expect her to hang around and play therapy with me again, but I have to admit that after our talk the other night…
I felt lighter than I have since before my accident. The initial one.
Maybe it’s because I never let myself talk about all that shit, too worried about burdening someone, about coming across as anything other than the picture of (mostly) put together for everyone around me.
But it felt nice to just…be. Even if only for a short while.
No judgment, no expectations, just airing my shit out to someone who had actually listened and hadn’t made me feel like a mess after.
It’s weird how part of me feels like texting her, just to see what she might have to say about the way that I’m feeling, but I know that’s a bad call. She may have been nice to me for one evening, but she didn’t sign up to be my personal therapist.
It’s weirder that I’m sitting here fiddling with a gift I got her, something incredibly stupid that I got in the DFW airport on the flight back from Dallas—just something that reminded me of her.
I’m not even sure I’ll ever give it to her; the little armadillo key chain is probably the stupidest thing I’ve ever bought.
But its sewn face looks like it’s made up into a perma-frown, and it made me laugh, reminding me of her a bit.
The fact that I’m holding my phone, contemplating texting Abby still when it buzzes, means that I jolt a little though. I pull open the text message, frowning when I see what it says.
Ian: You busy?
I roll my eyes.
Me: busy with your mom
Ian: Do you want me to break your other arm?
Me: wow. I am definitely telling Christine about that mouth of yours.
Ian: Get off your ass and come with me today.
Me: …to?
Ian: St. Michael’s. I have some ice time scheduled with Kyle.
I’d almost forgotten Ian was still doing that. I don’t even know how he finds the time in the middle of all this.
Me: kinda busy over here
Ian: I know for a fact you’re sitting on your ass watching old game footage and moping. It would do you some good to get out of the apartment.
I consider that. On the one hand, I am working myself into a full-on depresh mode, but on the other, I don’t know how going back to that place is going to make it any better. Before I can really consider, another text comes through.
Ian: It will be good for you. Plus, you owe me for stealing my sister.
Me: REALLY. That’s the card you want to play?
Ian: I didn’t steal Lila. She came willingly.
Me: please do not ever talk to me about my sister and coming
Ian: You’re a very sick man. Now you’re definitely coming.
Me: always the coming with you
Ian: Jack.
Me: ugh fine. but you’re picking me up.
Ian: Be there in fifteen.
Me: fine fine
Ugh. So much for my very important plans of becoming one with my couch today.
I run my fingers through my hair, grateful that I had the foresight to shower this morning, at least. I’m not keen on going back to St. Michael’s, something I would never tell Dee, considering that her annual play day is so important to her, but it’s definitely not a place I would go to by choice.
And here I am, about to head back there.
I have a feeling it’s going to be a long day.
I have to admit, a day with the kid is just what the doctor ordered.
I watch as Ian walks him through one of our simpler plays, taking time to get on Kyle’s level, to really explain every step.
The intensity in his face is adorable; he’s only like eight years old, but the way he’s listening to Ian’s explanations with a furrow between his brows, you’d think he was a full drafted player.
“Next we’re going to try some chute angling,” Ian says. He glances over at me. “Can you help with this one?”
I nod, skating over and dragging the net below the face-off circle on the goal line.
Ian raises a brow at me. “You want to explain it?”
“Me?”
He nods. “You’re the one that always loves to play coach. Might as well keep the legacy alive.”
My eyes flick down to Kyle, who is now staring at me intently, and despite his small stature, the kid sort of intimidates me. He’s just so damned serious-looking.
“Sure,” I say finally. I skate over to the goal, tapping at the bar with my gloved hand. “So the point of this drill is to help you practice deceptive retrievals.”
Kyle’s face scrunches up. “What is that?”
“It just means you get to be sneaky,” Ian chimes in.
I nod. “Ian is going to stand over there with his stick, and I’m going to shoot the puck toward it.
After it’s loose, I want you to try to retrieve it before I get to it.
You’re the defender, which means you’re going to want to angle your body away from the center line and try to get it back toward your goal.
Get it toward the boards if you have to. ”
“You’re a bajillion times bigger than me,” Kyle scoffs. “How am I supposed to keep the puck away from you?”
“It’s not about your size,” I tell him. “Not always. That’s what this drill is about. Sometimes it’s about your speed and deception skills.”
Kyle looks unconvinced as we line up the drill, but determined all the same. I line up in front of him, ready to slap the puck toward Ian’s waiting stick just down the way, giving it a tap that’s just a little softer than I usually would, wanting to give Kyle a better chance at getting to it.
Kyle is off the second the puck starts to glide across the ice, and the second it bounces off Ian’s stick, he’s there, grappling for it with his own stick, which almost seems too big for his tiny body.
I move toward him like I’m going to intercept, but he turns his body, skating in a full circle to try to slap it in the opposite direction.
It ends up getting away from him to slide uselessly down the opposite side of the rink, and then his feet get away from him as well, causing him to drop down on his butt on the ice.
“Hey,” I say, skating up to him before I help him up. “That was a great first try.”
“I lost it,” he grumbles.
“That’s okay,” I tell him.
His lip juts out in a pout. “And then I fell.”
“That’s okay too,” I say.
I can’t help it then—something about his words and the look on his face reminding me of the conversation I had with Abby a few nights ago.
This is just a bump in the road.
I pat Kyle’s shoulder. “Even if you stumble a little, it doesn’t mean you can’t get back up again.”
Just repeating her words has a smile touching my lips, making me feel just as good to say it now as it had to hear it then. I guess it sort of pays off to be roommates with a future shrink.
His mouth curves into a toothy grin, giving me a nod. “Okay. Yeah, sure.”
“Why don’t you go grab the puck, and we’ll try again.”
His nod is more emphatic now, and I watch as he darts off across the rink after the lost puck.
“Good job, Coach,” Ian says, sidling up to me and bumping me with his shoulder. “I think he likes you.”
“He likes you,” I say. “I’m just an extra.”
“Shut up,” Ian tuts. “You’re really good at this, you know.”
“Sure I am.”
“You are,” he insists. “Not just with Kyle. With all of us.”
“If you’re trying to butter me up,” I say, “it’s working.”
He shoves me. “Feeling better about the loss?”
I scowl, making a noncommittal gesture.
“It wasn’t your fault we lost,” Ian says.
My lips turn down in a frown. “Oh, really? Any other disabled players on the team I hadn’t heard about?”
“You’re not disabled,” he says with a roll of his eyes. “You still scored a goal even with your bad arm at the Dallas game.”
“Wasn’t enough,” I mutter.
“You don’t have to take the brunt of every loss,” Ian tells me. “You have a bad habit of doing that, did you know? Even before this whole mess with your arm.”
“I…” I frown. I mean, sure, I hate it when we lose just as much as the next guy, but I wouldn’t say I take the brunt of it. “That’s not true.”
“Sure it is. It’s why you’re always working so hard. I mean, come on, you’re the only player on the team that spends as much time watching other teams’ footage. I can guarantee that. You’re sort of the heart of the entire team.”
“You just got back,” I mutter, my face flushing. “How would you know?”
“Because I know you,” he says. “And I know how much you love this game.” He pats my shoulder. “I also know how much it’s killing you to work around this whole business with your arm. But you can’t sit at home wallowing all the time. Life goes on, you know?”
I feel a flare of irritation well up. “That’s easy for you to say. You get to retire on your own terms. I might be forced the fuck out.”
“You’re right,” Ian sighs. “I’m sorry. I know that must suck to think about.”
“I just…There’s so fucking much that’s been taken from me, Ian. I don’t want to lose this too.”
And that’s the crux of it, I realize.
I don’t want to lose anything else.
Ian squeezes my shoulder. “I know, brother. If I could take this away from you, I would. I promise you that.”
“I wouldn’t let you.” I wave him off. “Can’t have you stealing away all my sympathy points.”
Ian rolls his eyes. “There’s the Jack I know and love.”
“We have to beat Dallas next time,” I tell him. “We can’t afford any more fuckups if we want to make it to the second round.”
“We will,” he assures me. “We just had a misstep, that’s all.”
This is just a bump in the road.
I hear her voice again in my head, and all over again, it makes me feel just a little bit better. Like maybe it really will be okay. Part of me knows that isn’t true, but the sheer fact that such a simple platitude could make me feel like it will is something, at least.
I rub my chest, a strange warmth blooming there.
“I got the puck!” Kyle calls, skating his way back to us.
Ian eyes me from the side. “You ready to go again, Coach?”
“Yeah,” I tell him, actually meaning it, as I feel a bit lighter than I did before. “Yeah, let’s do it.”
Maybe coming here wasn’t such a bad idea after all.