Chapter Seventeen
EDDIE
There are bad days. And then there are teenage boy bad days.
And one can’t forget teenage boy hockey bad days—a special, volcanic category of emotional meltdown that no parenting book can prepare you for.
Today belongs in that category.
I know something is off the moment Joey trudges toward the car after his game, shoulders slumped, lips pressed flat in a way that makes him look like he’s nine again instead of fourteen.
As usual, after a game, I let him take his time with his team and wait for him in the car. I have no idea what could have happened from the end of the game to the locker room chat, but something serious must have gone down if he’s acting like this.
He opens the rear passenger door, tosses his hockey bag inside with a violence that isn’t like him, and climbs into the front without saying a word. My eyes are wide with confusion and disbelief as I watch him grab and slam the seat belt into its slot.
Hey, bud, I say gently, buckling my seat belt too. You okay?
He doesn’t answer.
He just stares out the window, jaw clenched, breathing unevenly in that quiet, restrained way he does now when he’s trying not to fall apart. I wait until we pull out of the parking lot to probe a little deeper. Did something happen after the game? No answer. Want to talk about it?
Another full thirty seconds pass. Silence.
Okay, great. He’s not going to tell me. I knew since his team had lost the game that he’d be in a funk, but this is something different.
His silence and the scrunched face he’s trying to hide from me speak volumes.
I know better than to keep asking him what’s wrong.
He’ll tell me when he’s ready. So I’m thoroughly surprised when he mutters a response a couple of minutes later, his voice shaky.
It’s my fault.
What is?
The loss. I missed the empty net. It was wide open. Wide open! And I missed it with five seconds left. Everyone saw. His voice cracks. They were all celebrating, Mom. They thought I was going to score. Coach did too. And I missed. I ruined everything.
He says the last part in a barely there whisper.
My chest tightens. Hey. No. You didn’t ruin anything. It’s just one play.
He shakes his head violently. You don’t get it.
Then help me get it, I say softly.
He blows out a shaky breath. The guys…they were mad. Like, actually mad. They said I should’ve passed to Liam instead. That he would’ve scored. And maybe they’re right. Maybe I should quit.
My fingers tighten around the steering wheel. How the hell did we jump from a missed goal to wanting to quit? You don’t mean that.
I do! he bursts out, voice breaking. What’s the point of playing if I’m just going to mess up everything for everyone? Now we have to win the next two games if we even have a chance at making it to the finals. It’s not like I’m ever going to be good enough to play professionally anyway.
Oh God. The helplessness hits me so fast it makes me dizzy. Teenage heartbreak is louder, heavier, sharper than child-sized disappointment. It slices differently because they’re old enough to understand things they can’t yet control.
I reach over, squeezing his shoulder. Joey, one missed shot is not a failure. One bad game does not define you.
A tear escapes, rolling down his cheek. He scrubs at it angrily. I let everyone down.
You didn’t let me down.
He shrugs me off. You’re my mom. You have to say that.
Not true, I say, turning into our neighbourhood. I would tell you the truth. And the truth is you’re allowed to have bad days, bud. You’re allowed to mess up. You’re only human.
He doesn’t answer. He looks so small in the passenger seat, shoulders hunched under the weight of pressure he’s put on himself, pressure others piled on top.
And for the first time in a long time… I don’t know what else to say. Nothing I’m offering breaks through the fog around him.
My son needs someone who isn’t me. I could say all the right things, but it would fall on deaf ears. And for once, instead of trying to handle everything on my own, I have an idea.
I park in the driveway, turning off the engine. Joey unbuckles, wiping his face aggressively before rushing out of the car and toward the house. I watch him go, feeling my heart ache for the hard lesson my son is learning today.
Reaching around my seat for my bag, I dig around for my cell. There is only one person I know who could talk sense into Joey right now, who understands the highs and lows of playing a game you love with all your heart.
This is big, me reaching out for help. Yet it doesn’t feel like the wrong move.
My fingers tremble as I hit his name.
Hey, Eddie! How’s it going? Sidney’s voice comes through, warm and grounding. Everything okay?
The second I hear him, something warm settles in my chest. Yes, this was the right call to make.
Kinda. I was hoping you could help me with a hockey problem.
A hockey problem, he jokes over the line. Like you need to understand a play or something?
Joey’s upset, I whisper, as if Joey can hear me from all the way in the house. Really upset because his team lost their game tonight, and Joey thinks it’s all his fault. His teammates are…not being kind about it. I’m trying, but he’s—he’s shutting me out.
What happened? he asks immediately, all seriousness now.
He missed a shot at the end of the game. The guys blamed him. He thinks he ruined everything and wants to quit. He was crying, Sid. He never cries.
There’s silence for a moment.
I’m on my way.
What? No, I—he’s probably in his room. I was just thinking maybe I could hand off my phone to him and you could talk to him.
It’s better if I do this in person. He’ll take my words seriously, face to face, Sidney states, firmly but gently. I’ll be over in an hour. I’m heading into a meeting now but will be on my way soon.
My throat tightens. Are you sure? This is…a lot.
I’m sure, he says, a no-argument tone in his voice. And Eddie.
Yeah?
Thank you for calling me. I’m glad you trusted me to help.
***
An hour and a bit later, there’s a knock at the door.
I’ve been pacing the last twenty minutes, hating how quiet the house is. Joey’s been in his room the whole time. I open the door to a large, warm, steady presence filling my frame.
Sidney steps inside, glances at me for half a second—long enough to see everything I can’t say—then pulls me into his arms for a long, tight hug. The breath I had been holding squeezes out of me, and it feels so good. In his arms, I don’t feel the weight of the world.
Is he in his room? he asks softly into my hair.
I nod. Door’s open, but he won’t talk to me.
Giving me one more squeeze, he releases me and focuses immediately down the hall. He doesn’t hesitate. He simply walks to Joey’s room and knocks lightly.
Hey, Joey, he says softly. Heard you had a rough game.
There’s a sniff. Then a stubborn, muffled Go away.
Nope, Sidney says. That’s not happening. He must have let himself further into the room, because the next thing I hear is, Whoa. Sweet room, bud. But this has got to go, he states about something I can’t see.
Against all odds, a small, choked laugh sputters out of Joey. Absolutely not. Romanov is the highest scorer in the league.
I honestly thought you had better taste. A freakin’ Boston poster. Gross.
There’s another silence.
You want to tell me what happened at today’s game? Your mom said your team lost.
Yeah, because of me.
That can’t be true. Hockey is a team sport. No one person loses the game. There’s a bit of a pause. I know how you feel though.
There’s a scoff. No you don’t.
Bud, seriously. I’m a goalie. I’ve been labelled the guy who cost his team a game. Let in a goal that meant my team lost the Cup. So I know exactly how you feel.
Silence.
Then another sniff. Their voices go lower. So low, I can’t hear them talking from my spot in the kitchen anymore. I want to creep closer and hear what Sidney is telling my boy, but I also want to give them their privacy.
Fuck it. I want to know what they’re sharing. I tiptoe down the hall, pressing my back against the wall when I’m a couple of feet away. I hold my breath as I listen in.
Everyone thinks I suck.
No, Sidney says. Everyone thinks you’re human.
Joey doesn’t answer, no doubt rolling his eyes and looking away.
Sidney’s voice softens. “You know what makes a great player? A short memory. You feel it. You learn from it. And then you move the hell on. If you stay stuck on one moment, the game passes you by.
Your teammates were emotional, Sidney continues. And trust me, people say dumb things when they’re emotional. Doesn’t mean they’re right. Doesn’t mean you carry it forever.
A frustrated breath gets released with a groan. But I disappointed them.
No, Sidney says. You disappointed yourself. And that’s the part that hurts the most. And that’s okay. It means you care. But quitting? No. Not an option. You’re too good. I’ve seen you on the ice, Joey. You’re magic.
Really? He huffs, not believing what Sidney is saying.
Really, Sidney says, voice unwavering. You’ve got great instincts. Good hands. And you hustle. I’d kill for half your speed.
You’re literally a pro player.
Sidney chuckles. Yeah, but I’m old.
A watery laugh finally carries down the hall. I feel the vise around my heart loosen.
There he is, Sidney murmurs. The kid who loves the game. The kid who cheers at my saves so loud I can hear him from the ice.
There’s a pause before Sidney continues.
You had a bad game—it happens. That’s what makes hockey the best game ever.
Because even with a loss, we win something.
More knowledge about our opponents, more insight into our own plays, and more determination to win the next time.
One loss does not define you, okay? Do you understand? Joey must nod. Good. Now, come here.
Not able to help myself, I take quick steps to the door and watch as my son launches himself off the bed into Sidney’s arms in a hug that cracks me open. Sidney holds him tightly, steady and patient. When Joey pulls away, wiping his face with the sleeve of his hoodie, he whispers, Thanks, Sid.
Anytime, he says. I got your back. Always.
I jump into action after that, rushing as quietly as I can back to the kitchen and acting like I wasn’t listening in on their conversation. I’m feeling a little emotional from their exchange.
They shuffle into the kitchen together seconds after me, Joey talking now, shoulders lighter, like a kid carrying less weight. And when Joey gives me a smile, heading in my direction and rushing headfirst into a hug, I want to cry in relief.
I duck my head, cradling my boy closer. When Joey has had enough and pulls out of my arms, my gaze meets Sidney’s.
It’s then, right at that moment, that I realize that I’m not falling for Sidney Crane.
I’ve already crash-landed…right into loving him.