Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
I’m not alone in wondering why Coach Badaszek picked me as a mid-season, recently off-suspension player to join the Nebraska Knights. The internet and armchair jockeys have been speculating for weeks now, so when I arrive at his office, I’m more curious than I am nervous even though Badaszek has a reputation for causing people, even burly defensemen, to experience the latter.
I vaguely recognize his assistant. As far as I can tell, we’re about the same age.
She welcomes me with a smile. “How does it feel to be back?”
“As a member of the home team and not a visitor?”
“I mean in Cobbiton.”
Do I know her? If so, I need to find a yearbook and match faces and names. “It’s the same, yet different.”
“Better, if you ask me. I lived in LA for the last few years and was all too happy to come home.”
I’ve never really thought of this place as home, at least not as a welcoming place unless I was at the Rice’s house. My thoughts drift to when I dropped Heidi off last night. My pulse jumps from zero to an I-just-did-a-workout pace at the memory of her lips on mine.
“The Ice Palace is a new addition,” I say to fill the silence.
“The Barn was great, but this is a major upgrade.”
I nod, recalling last night when I came to check out my new/old home turf, er, ice. The arena is relatively new, having replaced the Barn, the old rink, though that still stands. I hear it might become a museum and public skate place, depending on the funding the CAC receives.
Here, the main concourse is huge and makes me feel like I’m in a giant igloo. The concessions area won’t leave fans waiting long for food and warm drinks—though like every other rink and arena I’ve been in, it smells like popcorn. Aside from this being Cobbiton, aka Corn Central, perhaps that’s why they serve it at the Fish Bowl. The merch shop overflows with fan swag. The locker room and lounge are well-appointed with loads of amenities. Plus, the galley for us players to fuel up contains a fully stocked pantry. This reminds me that I need to pick up some groceries at the market. I’d much rather be doing that than being scrutinized by my new coach.
“You can wait here. Dadaszek will be ready to meet with you in a couple of minutes,” the coach’s assistant says. From where I’m sitting, a plant blocks the name placard on her desk.
Hold up. Did she say Dadaszek as in Dad or is being back in Cobbiton tearing open my wounds?
Mr. Rice was as close as I got to a father, which was pretty great all things considered. He taught me how to change a tire, jump a dead battery, and tie a tie. Plus, the guy loves hockey and encouraged me during the ups and downs that brought me to the NHL. He sends me a text the day of all my games, telling me to Crush ‘em .
I regret falling out of touch with the Rices the last few years and declining their invitations for Thanksgiving and Christmas—mostly because reminders of this place are still painful. Derek and I talk every few weeks and it’s great to hang out with him again. In fact, after this meeting, I’m heading to his place to help him move his new couch. One good turn deserves another and all that.
To my surprise, Heidi was here last night too. I had no idea she and Trey had a kid. That she’s now a single mom. As far as I can tell, she’s nothing like mine, who was largely absent. If I were to suggest someone grow up anywhere, it would be with the Rice family.
Trey blew it big time.
At first, the venom in her voice about hockey players rubbed me the wrong way because it was totally uncalled for, but I cannot imagine what she’s been through. However, I want to prove her wrong, that I’m nothing like her ex.
“Federer,” a deep voice calls.
Pulled from my thoughts, I lift my head. Tom Badaszek, a large man in his fifties, fills the doorway to his office.
His gaze doesn’t waver from me as if he’s watching my every move. I feel like I’m heading into an examination room or an interrogation room. Maybe both.
He closes the door firmly behind me.
Or this might be my execution.
“Federer, take a seat.” Badaszek lowers into his chair. Elbows resting on his oak desk, he looks at me carefully.
“As you know, one of our best defensemen, Ted Powell, is retiring at the end of this season. That means he’s going to play this thing out and leave a winner.”
I nod, understanding the gist.
“But that does not mean that you’re going to warm the bench. We’re going to bring Federer back and he’s going to be better than ever. ”
I mask my surprise. “Yes, sir.” Maybe Derek was right and I will get game time after all.
He shakes his head. “Powell has achieved athletic excellence. The only time he’s taken off throughout his career was after a knee injury. You vanished from the public eye. But that just adds to the intrigue,” he says, almost as an afterthought.
I recall Ted’s prescribed downtime and his joining a charity team. I also take the comment to point toward my recent “downtime,” but what does he mean about intrigue?
“You’ll be his shadow without him knowing you’re there. You are going to study his every move, gauge his reactions, think like him, move like him, perform like him.”
I nod again, feeling a little bit like a puppet or a mime because up until now, I’ve developed my own strengths and skills—figured that’s what Badaszek wanted by taking me onto the team.
His eyebrow lifts sharply. “Pay attention on and off the ice. I train boys to become men. You could stand to learn a thing or two.”
The furrow in my brow deepens. I want him to explain, but I have a strong suspicion I won’t like what I hear.
“This is a trial period. You and I have to build trust.”
“With all due respect, sir, I haven’t done anything to demonstrate that you can’t trust me.”
“That maverick move could’ve gotten you a permanent vacation from the NHL.”
Lengthening my spine, I could play this two ways. Nod and yes sir Badaszek until he dismisses me or show him who I am.
“A man named Ed Rice once told me that keeping my moral character clean and being able to sleep at night is more important than getting to the top. He said never compromise what I know to be right.”
“And you’re telling me this because?—? ”
“Because you haven’t asked me why I was suspended . . .” Despite his comment about my maverick move, depending on your point of view, what I did was pretty radical.
“I read the report.”
“That’s not why I was suspended, sir.”
He narrows his eyes and leans back in his chair. “Would you like to tell me your side of the story?”
“It’s not my side. It’s the truth. But I’ll tell you when I know I can trust you.”
His eyebrows shoot upward.
“I don’t say this to be insolent, but because I’m honest, sir.”
His lips ripple with a smile. “Right. We’re on a trial period. Building trust.”
I nod because even though being an NHL player was my lifelong dream, it’s not more important than the man I am. “I didn’t lie, so much as not reveal the entire truth. I accept it if you want to tough-love me into shape and I appreciate the second chance.”
“And I value your integrity.”
“Thank you, sir.”
His brow ripples as if realizing something. “You seem like a rare breed, Federer.”
I reluctantly say, “Cobbiton born and raised, so not that much different than yourself.”
“I hope so,” he mutters as if that remains to be seen.
“Thank you for the chance, sir.” I leave off the rest of the sentence, but it’s implied—to prove that he made the right choice in picking me up for the team.
He says, “Thanks for meeting with me. I’ll see you at practice. My assistant will get you situated with gear, a locker, and whatever else you need.”
“Again, thank you. ”
I have my hand on the door and am about to leave. Relief sweeps through me.
Then Badaszek calls, “One more thing. The rumors about our organization being family-friendly are true. Despite what may or may not have happened concerning your suspension, I want you to clean up your reputation a bit. Arsenault will fill you in with those details, too.”
The sly smile he wears makes me think that I’m not going to like that part.
When I exit, I realize he means Cara Arsenault, his assistant.
She smiles and says, “Everything go well?”
I tip my head to the side. “I wasn’t sure what to expect.”
“I’d tell you that deep down he’s a big softie, but that’s not true. At least not while in this building.” She jiggles the mouse on her computer. “Helen, the previous assistant, had a system for everything but had not graduated to the digital age. I’ve been shifting everything over to the modern era.”
She passes me a piece of paper with some of my personal info.
“Scan the QR code at the top of that sheet, download the app, and everything else will be at your fingertips.”
Staying put, I try to download the app.
“Any questions?” she asks.
“Is I’m technologically challenged a question?”
She chuckles. “You and Hammer, huh? The anti-app guys. I think we’re going to have to do a class on this stuff. It’s really basic.” She takes my phone and swipes a few times then shows me an app that has the Knights logo on it.
“Cool. Thanks.”
“One more thing. Dadaszek said you’re our online activities chronicler pro temp.”
“I don’t know what you just said. ”
“Our social media manager ad interim.”
I shake my head. “Still not computing. Translation, please.”
She clicks away on her computer and then looks up at me. “He wants you to have a Comeback Campaign. See, I planned on doing the team social media management, but Helen’s workload on top of the aforementioned digitization, resulted in me needing to delegate. Dad thought you’d be the perfect guy for the job, plus, it would give you an opportunity to show fans the newest face of the Knights.” She lowers her voice. “Also, he has this thing about players learning humility—kind of like a Knights rite of passage.”
My eyes must be as wide as saucers.
“Just remember this: Most important is loyalty to the team and the game, meaning personal problems stay off the ice and out of the locker room. We’re one big family. Next, are the fans. They’re family too, which is another way to say fans first.”
That makes sense, I guess.
She adds, “So you’ll get started with the social media management while Ted finishes out the season.”
I laugh out loud. “Me?”
She nods. “He wants daily video diaries and engaging posts. You can put them on your personal account and add the team account as a collaborator.”
“I’m the newbie here and don’t quite understand what it is you want me to do, but I’m pretty sure chasing likes and follows does the opposite of teaching someone humility.”
She shrugs. “He said what he said. Also, if the footage involves you falling on your face your ego won’t puff up too much.”
My lips bunch up. “I did that already. Publicly.”
“Trust the plan,” Cara says as if she too has learned a lesson since joining the Knights in an administrative capacity .
I still don’t quite get it but figure the app will help me make sense of things. I murmur, “For the record, I hate my phone.”
“As I said, you’re not alone in that. Hammer too. The goalie.”
“Yeah. And I have to be Powell’s shadow.”
“Those are big skates to fill. But just think, you get to study one of the greats.” She points to my phone. “Now you have an excuse to watch and record his every move.”
I suddenly feel overwhelmed because this trade is going to involve more than me doing the single thing I’m good at—playing hockey.
After I leave the arena, I cruise over to Derek’s place to give him a hand moving a couch from the garage to the living room. I’d like to stop home first to take out my contacts and switch to glasses. My eyes are tired, but I’m already late since I told him I’d be there twenty minutes ago.
After Derek and I center the sofa against the wall, I say, “Looks good.”
Like a steamroller, Derek moves us back toward the garage. “While you’re here, do you mind helping with the entertainment center too?”
“Sure? Didn’t realize I’d signed up for moving day.”
“You got here just in time. Plus, Dad’s back has been bothering him.”
We get the unit in place and I also help him assemble some bookshelves and then rearrange the dining room.
“Deborah is going to love this.”
“I feel like you’re just using me for my muscle.”
He winks in a joking way. “Don’t all the ladies?”
I snort because there haven’t been any ladies since Alivia .
My thoughts jump to Heidi, hair dripping from the rain after our kiss. Her gaze lifted to mine, searching my eyes. What did she see? What do I want her to?
I stagger slightly as I belatedly realize that I didn’t see the warning, the Do Not Enter sign posted with a skull and cross bones. Not because she’s dangerous, but because she’s my best friend’s sister.
What Badaszek said about trust comes to mind. I’d never break Derek’s. Not like Trey did. Not like Alivia.
He tosses me a can of soda and I drop onto one end of the new couch.
Derek sits on the other, pats the cushion, and pulls the lever on the reclining feature. “Ah. This is what I’m talking about. Thanks for the help, man.”
“Next time you ask me to return a favor, I’m going to demand interest.”
He chuckles. “I ordered a pizza.”
I tip my head from side to side. “That seems more fair.”
“Figured I’d make it worth your while. So, how was it meeting big bad Badaszek?”
“First, I’m pretty sure his assistant called him Dadaszek. As in Dad . Is that a Nebraska Knights thing?” I sure hope my new coach doesn’t have people call him Dad. To this day, I call Derek’s father Mr. Rice even though he was as close to a dad as I ever had.
“Rumor has it Coach calls everyone by their last name. Considering he’s Cara’s father, that makes sense and is pretty clever. She’s a triplet. I can’t remember her sisters’ names. She graduated a year or two after us. I think she was in Heidi’s class.”
Heidi who seemed to hate me. However, if a kiss like that is what she does with people she despises, I do not want to be liked. Only I do. Except there’s a problem, and he’s sitting on the couch with me.
“I think Badaszek is trying to Mr. Miyagi me.” Maybe Heidi too—or use a warped kind of reverse psychology.
Derek almost spits his soda all over the new furniture. “Like from the Karate Kid movies?”
“This is strictly between you and me.” I tell him about being Ted Powell’s shadow. “See? I told you he’s not going to play me this season.”
“He will. You wait. He’ll give you a chance to prove yourself.”
“But that’s not all. He wants me to be the social media—” I’m about to tell him about the “Daily video diaries and engaging posts comeback campaign,” when someone lays on the horn from outside.
“Pizza is here,” Derek says.
“What happened to bringing it to the door?”
“She needs help,” he answers, springing to his feet.
Derek returns with a child in his arms, playing airplane and zooming her around the room.
“I thought you said you ordered pizza. Not a stork.”
A female laugh comes from the front porch. “Ha ha. Special delivery. I have the pizza and some Easter decorations Mom insisted you put on display for when Deborah gets home.”
I spin around.
Heidi freezes when she sees me. She’s wearing dark-washed jeans with stylish rips, pink Adidas, and a coordinating pastel pink off-the-shoulder sweater. Her hip is cocked and her arched eyebrow is locked and loaded.
Never have I been so hungry for pizza in my life. Heat creeping up toward my ears, I clear my throat.
She thrusts the Spaglietti’s pizza box into my hands and lists a bunch of details about the little kid’s care while setting down the bag of Easter decorations which spills out in a domino of sparkly plastic eggs.
The little girl gathers them up, nonsensically counting, “One, twee, nine . . .”
Derek says, “Nuh uh. You’re not going anywhere, sis. Sit down and eat a slice at least, but not on the new couch. We’ll eat in the kitchen.”
“You can’t force-feed me pizza, bro,” Heidi counters.
“Last week, you weren’t eating dinner until after you were done teaching and were hangrier than a starving hyena. Can’t do that to your blood sugar.” Derek steals a glance at me.
What I didn’t mention to Cara is that I hate my phone because it symbolizes my weakness—I can’t live without it because it’s constantly monitoring my insulin levels. I should appreciate that fact, but clearing that hurdle is harder than flying to Mars. In other words, it’s an impossibility. Much like how I’m stranded here on Earth, I have to live with my condition.
Finding the plates while Derek plays “Buckaroo” with the baby—this involves him on all fours with her riding on his back and making a fool of himself, which I have to be honest, is pretty heartwarming—I dish us up dinner.
We gather around the table and I flashback to being in the Rice’s kitchen, only we were much younger. Man, are things different now. We’re all grown up. Where does the time go?
Around a bite of pizza which the kid tries to seize from Derek, he says, “Finish telling me about the meeting with Badaszek. You started to say something about social media.”
“Yeah, he wants me to be the online activities chronicler pro temp czar or something.”
Heidi wipes her mouth. “You mean the social media manager ad interim. ”
Derek asks his sister, “Didn’t you do that before we were blessed with this little girl unicorn popcorn?” He bounces a squirmy Bunny on his knee and she giggles gleefully.
“Yeah. I did.”
“Then maybe you can help Grady.”
“No,” we both say at the same time.
Derek wears a perplexed look.
Then Bunny claps her hands together and shouts, “Yes!”
Heidi and I exchange a look like we both got caught eating the last piece of pizza. Though, she looks like she chased hers down with sour milk.