Chapter 42
Chapter Forty-Two
Movement - Wyatt
On Monday morning, I walk through the fancy corridor of the hockey facility, thinking of Grace as I make my way to Coach Jorgenson’s office.
For the first time, I truly appreciate how luxurious every inch of this arena is.
I pass by elaborate displays of previous Golden Sharks hockey uniforms on mannequins in display cases and player awards artfully arranged on the walls.
Behind these walls, there’s a brand-new skate-sharpener machine.
A sprawling high-end gym with any weight I could want, with the Golden Sharks logo printed on the end of every single dumbbell.
We have multiple lounges, including some with expensive foosball tables for us to play on.
And Grace has to stare up at an old ceiling with missing tiles, or at best, stained ones, every time she gets ready for practice. Those tiles remind her of how the university athletic program values her, and I honestly don’t know how she does it.
It makes me want to punch something, I’m so mad.
But as soon as I get angry, it’s followed by a feeling of shame.
Shame because I never thought about anyone outside of the hockey program.
Shame because I didn’t know other teams were subjected to shitty locker rooms because of the pecking order in our sports.
Most of all, shame because I really didn’t care.
I shake my head, as if I can shake away my embarrassment.
That’s the old me. The past. I’m going to do what I can to change that.
I do care. Not just for Grace, but for any athlete who has chosen to compete for this school.
They deserve better than used, beat-up sofas and stained ceilings, at a minimum.
But even more than that? They deserve to be here.
I reach Coach Jorgenson’s office. He’s always here early.
I hesitate outside his doorway, and more thoughts hit me.
Coach is demanding and passionate about hockey, there’s no doubt about that, but he’s always maintained his door is open to us whenever we need him.
He has said he has resources to help us with resumes, career counseling, all that stuff, because he cares about us developing as men.
To be honest, I never listened to it or had a desire to use it.
But I find myself outside his door wanting his help. So I can finally be a man.
I spot him watching practice video on his computer screen. I rap on the door frame, and he swivels around in his desk chair, a look of surprise passing over his face. Coach is younger—thirty-six—and played a few years in the NHL before a degenerative knee injury ended his career.
“Jacobs, come on in,” he says, reaching for the Starbucks cup on his desk. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”
I take a seat in the chair across from his desk, and glance around the office. My eyes land on a phrase Coach says all the time. He has it hanging not only in our dressing room, but in here, too.
“Set the Standard.”
That’s it, I realize with a jolt. That’s why I’m here.
I turn to Coach and look him squarely in the eyes. “I’m here to set the standard.”
He puts down his coffee and stares at me. “Okay. What are we talking about here, Jacobs?”
“Coach. There’s a cause on campus I feel strongly about.
A cause I need to speak up for, because it doesn’t sit right with me.
I’m not exactly asking for your permission for what I’m going to do but informing you.
There are rumors going around that the athletic department is discussing cutting some of our teams. Without having conversations with them, telling them the numbers, or even giving them the chance to fundraise to save their sports.
That’s wrong. I always thought of the OCU teams as twenty of us together. But we’re not treated that way.”
“Does this interest have to do with the fact that you’re wearing an ‘OCU Artistic Swimming’ T-shirt?” he asks astutely.
I don’t even try to deny it. “Yes, sir. My girlfriend is on that team. She’s just as talented as I am, and she committed to OCU with the idea she’d be representing this school.
Listen. I know schools have to cut programs all the time due to rising costs.
I get it. But when I see what we have here, what the football team has, the incredible baseball facilities .
.. there should be some money for aquatic programs, too.
She opened my eyes to this, Coach. And being a hockey player, I might be in a position to help them. ”
Something shifts in Coach’s expression. I don’t know how much he knows about what the athletic department is doing, but he’s not tipping his hand if he does. “What do you plan to do about it?” he asks.
“I know reporters at the sports magazine are digging into it,” I say. “I would like to give them my feelings about it.”
Now his brows shoot up.
“The bottom line, Coach, is attention needs to be drawn to this now, so the school can rally behind the teams. So fundraising efforts can be started. At least give these teams on the chopping block a chance to show they can be viable. I know how popular hockey is here. The legacy we have. I can use that to get the story attention. I want to set the standard,” I finish.
Coach leans back in his chair, studying me. “You know, this is how a leader speaks, Jacobs.”
I swallow. I’ve never thought about leadership. I just wanted to play hockey and get drafted. “I’m learning about myself, Coach. I have to be more than a hockey player.”
He nods. “I’m glad to hear it. It will make you a better person. Thank you for letting me know you’re lending your name to this movement.”
Movement. I guess that’s what I’m doing, isn’t it? I rise from my seat. “Thank you for understanding.”
He nods, and I walk toward the door, needing to get to history class.
“Jacobs?” I pause and look at Coach.
“If you can get the other teams on board, to stand together as one in opposition, I have a name for you. Actually, you said it yourself, but I don’t think you heard it.”
“What’s that?”
“Twenty Together.”
Then he turns back to his computer and starts up the game video again.
I walk out of the office, my mind working.
Twenty Together. Twenty sports teams acting as one to save athletic programs. This could work.
Shit, one evening walking around the Athletic Dining Hall could get this accomplished.
I know my teammates will support it. I’ll bring it up in the dressing room today with Luca, our captain, and get the hockey team behind it.
But there’s one team that is vital to the success of doing this, and I set my jaw when I think about it.
It’s football. If football is onboard, and we get their fundraisers involved along with ours, we could possibly get the money we need to support the smaller programs.
But that means I have to ask one person for a favor, a person I don’t respect or like.
Asher Ryan.
***
I’m early to Professor Dickhead’s class, even with a stop off at a coffee cart on campus for two iced coffees.
Grace, of course, is already in her seat, her laptop out and notebook at the ready.
I grin. She has no idea I even bought an “OCU Artistic Swimming” T-shirt, and I can’t wait to see her reaction to it.
Or her response to my conversation with Coach this morning.
I have so many things I need to do. I think of them as I make my way up the stairs of the auditorium.
First, I need to find out what happened when Grace met with her coach this morning.
McCall is meeting with her magazine advisor today, so that’s another important step.
I’ll talk to the hockey team. Other team captains.
We’ll need to organize a meeting depending on what McCall finds out, which might take some time.
And I need to talk to Asher.
Shit, I really don’t want to ask that asshole for anything, but I need his support.
I get to our row, where I see Grace looking down at her notebook, reviewing notes while tapping her pen against her lips. I will talk to that shithead for her, I vow. I’d do anything for her.
She turns and looks up, and then her brow creases when she looks at my shirt. Her mouth falls open, and the biggest smile spreads across her face. It’s so easy to make her happy. All I have to do is wear a shirt supporting her team and she looks at me like I’ve hung the damn moon.
But what she doesn’t know? I’m proud to wear this shirt. My girlfriend is a talented athlete, and I’m excited for her upcoming season.
And I’m determined she will spend all her seasons representing OCU.
“Wy!” she says, beaming at me as I set a coffee down in front of her. “Where did you get that shirt?”
I put my coffee down and take the chair next to her, putting my backpack on the table. “I custom ordered it last week.”
Her eyes grow soft. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me. I love that I can wear a shirt repping you.” I set my phone next to my coffee and power up my laptop. Today is a test review day, and I need to focus on whatever Professor Dickhead says.
“No, I do need to thank you.”
I blink and look at Grace, who is obviously not ready to move on from this topic.
“Thank you for caring,” she says quietly.
“My mom discouraged me from being serious about artistic swimming. My dad didn’t care.
My nanny took me to practice. When I had competitions, my parents came, they cheered for me, but they couldn’t name a single move I was doing.
It was a chore to them to go to meets. So when you asked me to show you some moves on Saturday night, I was too choked up to tell you how that made me feel.
But it made me feel so good. It was nice to have someone be proud of me.
And to see you walk in wearing that shirt?
” She pauses, and I can tell she’s trying not to cry. “It means everything to me.”
“Hey, hey.” I put my hand on her leg, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “I love supporting you.”
She nods and bites her lip, and I find myself getting pissed off at her parents. My dad is too involved, while her parents don’t even care.
But I do. And she will always, always, know that.
“Don’t cry. Professor Dickhead won’t allow crying in his class unless he’s inflicting it in the form of a painful test,” I tease.
She chuckles at that, and she’s smiling now.
Good.
“I talked to Coach this morning,” Grace says. She pauses, and her eyes turn sad. “She’s heard the same rumors.”
Shit. I was hoping that wouldn’t be the case.
“Coach also said I had a voice and I should use it. Which I will, of course. McCall is meeting with her advisor this afternoon, so I should know more later, but I’m ready to fight if I have to.”
“Hell yeah, you are.” I’m about to tell her about my meeting with Coach this morning—which she doesn’t know I had—but Professor Dickhead strolls in and I decide to save it for after class.
We both shift our attention to the front of the lecture hall, but as Professor Dickhead is organizing himself, I vow to fight alongside Grace.
I’ll stand with the other athletes who might be in jeopardy.
Twenty Together.
I can’t help but think that in fighting to help Grace, to do the right thing, I might just have found a new part of myself, too.
And now that I’ve found it?
I intend to keep it.