5. Dean #2
Another silence passes between us, and then he sits behind his desk and says, “I’ve always tried to be a good dad, ever since I was a twenty-four-year-old NHL hotshot shithead who somehow lucked out and got an amazing woman to marry me.
I think I am a good dad. Most of the time.
But I’ve been carrying a lot of guilt because the night she had the accident she told me she wanted to learn to skate.
I forbade it,” he tells me. “I was in a shitty mood because I was tired. I’d been working without an assistant coach for a month.
She was probably feeling my stress, and I can’t even tell you which one of us picked a fight, but we weren’t happy with each other.
We argued. I laid down the law like she wasn’t an adult.
If I hadn’t done that she probably wouldn’t have snuck out to go drinking and then made the stupid decision to sneak onto the ice and had the accident. ”
“No need to make up stories in our heads, right?”
He grunts. “I get your point about the lessons.”
Sitting up, I tell him, “The thing is a kid on my team in Calgary had a brain injury a couple of years ago from a car accident. He had memory issues, cognitive delays, a few motor-skill problems. His doctors recommended motor-learning therapy, repetitive physical skills,” I explain.
“His parents enrolled him in dance classes and martial arts. His motor skills eventually came back, cognitive functions improved. The new repetitive movement created new neural pathways.”
Coach Barrett sits up in a way that tells me he’s intrigued.
Open. Not about to punch me in the dick or the throat.
So I continue. “As I’m sure you know, the brain can rewire itself through repetition and new motor learning.
I think that if Soleil learns to skate and practices every day, under my supervision, learning balance, coordination, rhythm, and build that confidence, it could help her—”
“But she’ll forget how to skate every morning.”
“I think we wait and see. My instinct—and I think you’d understand this as someone who works with athletes—is that the body remembers.
Motor memory is different from cognitive.
She might forget who I am or that she’s already had lessons, but her muscles will learn how to skate.
And she’s twenty-three, so she still has youth on her side. ”
He slaps his hand against his desk, startling me. “Well, shit. Why didn’t her doctor tell me this? Why didn’t I think of that?”
“I don’t know. I’m sure you’ve been too busy worrying to have that kind of perspective. But I’m glad I thought of it, and I’d really like to be the one who teaches her. And given that she’s asked me to teach her a few times, I think she wants that too.”
He’s got that intimidating Papa Bear look in his eyes again. “You think that’s what she wants, huh?”
“I’d be happy to teach her how to skate. As a friend. To you and to Soleil.”
“You wanna be her friend, do ya?”
I blow out a breath. There’s no sense in pretending I’m not into her. “Look, I’m not gonna lie to you—Soleil’s a lovely young woman.”
He holds up a hand. “Lemme stop you right there, lover boy. Listen, kid. I think you’re a good assistant coach.
I think you’ll be a great assistant coach.
Someday you’ll be a great head coach if that’s how you want your life to go.
And if that’s how you want your life to go, then you will not try to date my daughter.
I’ll let you teach her to skate if that’s what she wants. But if you try anything else—”
“If I could just ask, Coach, why exactly do you not want me to date your daughter?” The words are out of my mouth before I can think better of it. But I need to know. So I continue. “Because I have the utmost respect for you and for her. I would take it slow, and I mean it.”
He gives me a look, like he respects me for having the balls to ask.
“I think you’re a good guy, Rafferty. But I talked to Coach Crawford before I hired you.
I know about your reputation. I know I’m overprotective of my girl, but if she’s gonna date someone it sure as hell ain’t gonna be a guy with a nickname like yours. ”
Shit. “Well, that’s hardly fair. Dean the Peen was what they called me when I was in high school.”
Now he’s looking at me like I should have quit while I was ahead. “I meant what they called you when you were playing for the NHL. The Draft Picker. Because every night you’d pick a woman and she’d come play with you no matter where you were.”
Fuck. “Well, not every night. But fair enough. Okay.”
“Here’s how it’s gonna go. Tomorrow morning, I surprise her with a new pair of skates.
Apologize for the fight we had ‘last night.’ Tell her I’ve decided she should take skating lessons if she wants to.
I drive her to the rink at the park. You’re there.
I introduce you. You teach her how to skate,” he says.
“That’s it. If it goes well, we do it all again the next day.
And so on. After the outdoor rink closes, you can take her to the arena for public skate time. ”
“That’s a great idea.”
“You take it real slow with her on the ice, understand?”
“Of course. You can count on me.” I get up to shake his hand and leave before he changes his mind.
Walking down the hall, I realize I have a spring in my step. As if Soleil isn’t going to forget me every night when she goes to sleep. As if I won’t be a stranger to her every morning. But I’ll show up every day. I’ll make every day count.
And one day, maybe…
One day.
Maybe.