Chapter 13
thirteen
. . .
Mason
There were many parts of the nearby streets surrounding Westchester’s campus that were unrecognizable to me now. Nearly every old restaurant or bar I had spent my nights in as a student here had been torn down and replaced by either a trendy brewery that only served IPAs or fusion restaurants most students couldn’t afford. The one staple that remained was Cornwhall’s, an old family-owned pub established in the late sixties, beloved by students and most locals. Walking into the pub and over to the bar I’m immediately met with the familiar scent of burgers and beer. The wall farthest back in the room is still covered in a shrine of newspaper articles detailing massive championship wins from Boston’s professional and college teams .
It takes me a few seconds to spot the photo of me, Mikey, and Bradon propping up the Bean Pot trophy. Of course, that would be the picture they decide to hang up. Not the one of our NCAA win, or even the night we became Hockey East champions. Instead, they memorialized a moment from a tournament based solely on bragging rights and school pride. Every year TD Garden, home of the Boston Bruins, would open its arena for two weeks to some of the biggest college hockey teams in the area. Tickets to the games would sell out months in advance as old alumni flew in from across the U.S. to attend. We’d won the whole thing my sophomore year after nearly a decade of losses and the entire arena exploded. The first place we brought that trophy was Cornwhall’s.
“I wonder whatever happened to those kids.”
The comment snaps me out of a daze, and I turn around to see Mikey standing behind me, a huge grin on his face. Damn, I didn’t realize how much I missed him until now. “Thanks for taking the train down.” Our hometown is only an hour away and I know driving into Boston could be a nightmare.
“You know I love this place.” He claps one of his massive hands on my back and slides into the bar stool right next to mine. “Glad to see you finally remembered how to use your phone, Hayesy.”
The nickname from the days we played hockey together takes me back. “I don’t even remember the last time someone’s called me that.”
He signals to the bartender who sets down two beers in front of us before turning his attention back to me.
“Damn you went to New York and everything changed, huh?”
“Yeah. It was like another world out there. Now I’m back here and everything feels different too.”
“Eh things aren’t that different.”
“You have a mullet now.” The last time I saw Mikey he had a buzzcut. Now brownish blonde hair was hanging at his shoulders.
“The ladies love the long hair.”
“You sure about that?”
A wicked grin takes over his face as he tugs down the collar of his shirt to reveal a hickey. “Positive.”
“Jesus.” I let out a laugh while I sip from my beer. “Still a fucking menace I see.”
“You’re one to talk. Back in the day, I could have used noise-canceling headphones when we lived together.”
“I plead the fifth.” I guess I deserve that. Both of us took being bachelors in college very seriously. “I do really appreciate you meeting me here. And I’m sorry it took me so long to reach out.”
Talking to Mikey had always been so easy. After spending a few minutes here, the weight of all the chaos in my life already felt lighter. That lightness is quickly replaced with a feeling of guilt. I never should have shut him out of my life. No matter how embarrassed or ashamed I felt, Mikey would’ve understood. Would’ve been there for me. Plus, I knew all too well how much it hurt when someone you cared about stopped talking to you without warning. “I was just in a really bad place after I had to retire and…and I couldn’t face you. Couldn’t face anyone really.”
He toys with the pint glass in front of him, eyebrows scrunched together like he needs to think about how he wants to respond. “I get it, man. I just wanted you to know that I was here for you if you needed it.”
We both take large gulps of our beers, needing a moment to work our way back from our unexpected heart-to-heart. Mikey clears his throat like he’s clearing the air. “So, what’s this I hear about you coaching at Westchester now?”
“Dude, it's literally insane. All I know is I went in ready to beg Coach to let me clean the locker rooms or wash some jerseys, and the next thing I know I’m an assistant coach. ”
“What the hell do you know about coaching?”
“Literally nothing.”
“Damn. He really must be desperate.”
“Fuck you.” I laugh, shoving his shoulder. “It’s a provisional position. Meaning if I fail, I’m back to square one.”
“You’re not gonna fail, Mason.”
“It wouldn’t be the first time.” The words come out of my mouth before I can stop them.
Mikey looks at me like I’ve grown a second head. “What are you talking about?”
“Well, I mean. Not exactly playing for the NHL anymore, so…”
“Because you got injured. After some of the best seasons we’ve seen from a player in decades.”
He wasn’t the first person to remind me of all I had achieved in such a short time. But being reminded of the glory doesn’t really ease the sting of the fall like people think it will. It serves as a reminder of all you had left to achieve. Now I have nothing to show for my efforts beyond a couple of healed scars and some old highlight tapes. And the lingering pain that comes with getting the one thing you always wanted and having it taken away from you in an instant. For the second time in my life. Unable to say anything, I just shrug in response.
“You’ve always been way too hard on yourself, Mason.” Realizing he had walked us back into a heart-to-heart, he switched gears. “Anything else going on in your life?”
Why is the only other thing I can think of related to Violet? “Violet’s at Westchester now, for her PhD. She’s also working as a teaching assistant for one of my players.”
“Oh.” Mikey was the first person I reached out to for advice once I realized Violet had ghosted me. He’d also spent many nights in New York with me as I drank my way through the rejection. He’s probably wondering why I just responded to his question about my life with an update about hers. Why did I do that ?
“The first time I ran into her it was like she didn’t know me.” That fucking sucked. “And the times where I’ve tried to confront her about what happened between us…haven’t gone well.” It felt good to finally talk to someone about this. Is this why girls are always drinking wine and complaining about their boyfriends? There might be something to that…
“That sounds about right.” He lets out a small laugh. “The only person I know who is more stubborn and better at denying their feelings than you is her.”
“Every time I say something to her now, I feel like I’m putting my foot in my mouth. In my head I’m just trying to go back to the times where we would bicker and tease each other, but knew that it was all innocent.”
“Maybe that’s the problem. Maybe you’re too focused on trying to talk to the old Violet that you’re not hearing what current Violet is saying.”
What the fuck Mikey? Now it was my turn to look at him like he had grown a second head. “That is awfully profound. When did you learn so much about human relationships?”
“When I decided to grow out my hair. Puts me in touch with my feminine side. The beer also helps.” He holds up his empty pint glass and waves it in front of my face.
“I’m pretty sure current Violet wants absolutely nothing to do with me.”
“Well, if that’s the case,” Mikey waves over the bartender, “we’re gonna need a lot more drinks.”
The rest of my night at Cornwhall’s is spent catching up on the things going on in Mikey’s life that I’d missed out on. He is still very single— hence the hickey— and hellbent on staying that way. Mikey claims he’s too busy to really settle down, especially now that his parents are retiring, leaving their restaurant in his hands. For as long as I’ve known Mikey, he’s always floated around finding new jobs, hobbies, or even girls every couple of months. I got the sense he has commitment issues. The only thing he ever stuck with for long was hockey, and a part of me always wondered if he stuck that out for me more than himself.
He brings up Castle Harbor, and he’s generous enough not to mention my parents. Though it was hard not to think about them whenever I heard about the town I grew up in. Maybe that’s yet another reason I avoided speaking to Mikey. He knew so much about me and my past that he served as a permanent reminder of my failings as a son.
He was a model child — making his parents proud with his immense physical talent and endless potential but dropping everything to return home and run the family business when they needed him. Me? I had slowly started shutting people out of my life the moment I landed in New York. It wasn’t something I had done intentionally; I just took so many people in my life for granted and assumed they would always be there for me regardless of my actions. And though I know my parents still love me, I hate the idea that they might be disappointed in me or, worse, ashamed of who I had become. I still check in with my mom here and there, but my dad and I still haven’t spoken since our fight. ‘ You moved to New York and turned your back on us.’
It had been a while since I relived those words, and when they came back into my head last night, I immediately ordered our third, and then fourth round of drinks. I was so exhausted — and inebriated — by the time I got back to my apartment I fell asleep on my couch. In addition to the pounding headache I woke up with, I also couldn’t seem to get Violet’s face out of my head. It’s like the more I wanted to forget her the more I couldn’t let her go. After trying to force myself back to sleep, I decided to carpe diem this shit. I chug three cups of coffee and head to the one place I know will quiet my mind.
Unsurprisingly the arena is pitch black and dead empty on a Sunday morning. It feels strange getting dressed again in my old locker room, seeing it decorated now with pictures of the current players and their loved ones. I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to the feelings of this place both belonging to me, but also moving on from me. I take a deep breath before stepping onto the ice, bringing a few pucks along with me. Though this isn’t my first time running drills mildly hungover, I am grateful to be alone as I settle into my skates. I set a pace for myself, circling around the boards a few times.
Eventually, I’m warmed up enough to switch to shooting drills. My first few wrist shots either bounce off the post or go completely wide. I repeat my movements over and over again until I get into a rhythm and the pucks start hitting the back of the net. Entering a meditative state, I lose track of the number of pucks I line up and send flying into the net. It’s not until I begin to feel my soreness turn into a more painful sensation that I decide to take a break.
I reach over the bench for my water bottle, splashing some water on my face before chugging the remaining contents when the sound of footsteps catches my attention.
“Your slapshot was always a thing of beauty.” Coach Jameson stands a few rows behind, now walking down the steps toward me. “Didn’t expect to see you here today.”
“Guess I could say the same about you.”
“I like coming in when I know no one else will be here. Something about the stillness of this place when it’s empty. It…”
“Clears your mind?” I offer.
“Exactly.” He gestures to the bench next to him and we sit. “You’ve done good with these boys so far Mason.”
“I’m trying, Coach.”
“I can’t believe you convinced Jake to get a tutor.”
“It was more of an ultimatum. Also, more of his teaching assistant’s call than mine.” Violet made it clear Jake could start attending tutoring and work to bring his grades up or he could spend the rest of the season on the bench .
“Fair enough.” He lets out a small chuckle. “Listen, I need a favor.”
“Of course. Anything you need.”
“I was hoping you would say that.”