CHAPTER TEN
SAM
ONE MONTH LATER
I walk into the arena. The cold hits me in the face, though it’s warmer inside than outside. They weren’t kidding when they warned me about Chicago weather. Take the temperature and automatically drop it at least another ten to twenty degrees from the wind chill. The weather is even more shocking since I’ve been living in California for the past three years. They don’t have winter there, not really. Not like this. When it hits seventy in Anaheim, everyone wears beanies and sweaters.
I stop to look at the banners hanging from the ceiling. The Hawks logo is displayed in the center of the ice. The colors are different, but the smell and feel of the arena is the same as it was in Anaheim. And I’ve played here a time or two in a different uniform. We never won, but I’ve competed in this building before.
“Sam Anderson,” a voice echoes inside the empty arena.
I turn to see one of the assistant coaches walking toward me.
“Ron Tremble.”
I extend my hand. “Nice to meet you,” I say, along with the handshake.
His grip is firm before he drops his hold. “We’re excited to have you here.”
“I’m excited to be here,” I say. And I am.
I’ve played for the past three seasons on the West Coast for a hockey team that was struggling and continues to struggle. The owners had a shortsighted view of the sport, in my opinion. And the organization continues to have issues. I never really found my groove there. I didn’t get along with a couple of my teammates, and even the ones I did like, we never gelled on the ice. It wasn’t easy the way it was when I was in high school and college. And I get that hockey is a business at the pro level. But it should still be fun, right? I want it to be. Then, there was the little incident with the GM’s daughter …
“Let me take you to Jim Coates’s office. He’s waiting for you.”
Jim Coates is the head coach of the Hawks. He has been for the past two years when the team made a coaching change. He’s known for being a hard-ass, but a fair one. And he was a hell of a player in his day. He played for fifteen seasons for various teams before retiring and shifting into the coaching role.
I nod and start following Ron out of the arena and down a few hallways. We end up at a set of private elevators. He extracts a key fob, which opens the elevator doors. He hits the button for the top floor.
The doors open, and we walk down another hallway to a set of offices. The wall is decorated with blown-up posters of current players, including one of Ollie. He’s had a good stint here so far. In fact, he leads in points for the central division.
We enter a large wooden door, and Ron smiles at an executive assistant sitting behind a large desk. They exchange some pleasantries with the familiarity of people who know each other well, and she greets me before ushering us into a corner office.
Three of the four walls are made entirely of windows. Natural light filters through them, brightening the room. The sun shining makes it look like it’s warmer outside than it is. Jim Coates is perched on a couch located at one end of the room, watching game tape. I recognize the game. It’s from last night against New York. The Hawks lost 3–2. He turns when he hears us enter and pauses the footage. He rises. He’s taller than he looks on television, but he still isn’t taller than me. We shake hands.
“Have a seat.” He motions toward the chair in front of his desk. Ron sits next to me.
“How was your flight?” Coach Coates asks.
“It was good.”
One of the perks of flying these days is that I do it in first-class seating. Even if the Hawks hadn’t footed the bill, that’s where you would find me. But the organization flew me from California to Chicago yesterday.
I was traded two days ago. I’d asked to be traded months ago, but my bad behavior was the nail in the coffin that finally sealed my fate. The entire time in California, I played hockey and partied. My days resembled my lifestyle in college, only there were no classes and no one scolding me to become a better guy. And there’s a lot more money to play with now. But if I’m being completely honest, I always felt like I was going through the motions. I never excelled on the ice. California never felt like home. I blamed my teammates and our lack of chemistry, but in truth, I’ve lost some of the fire I once had. And I’m not sure how to get it back.
“I want to be honest with you,” Coach Coates starts. “I wasn’t on board with the trade when it was first discussed. Sidney Haskas is a friend of mine.”
Sidney Haskas. The GM of the Anaheim hockey team. And the father of the girl I railed in a club recently one night. Only I didn’t know it was his daughter. And I didn’t realize anyone knew what we were doing in a dark corner of the VIP lounge. But when our pictures were plastered across a gossip magazine and on the internet the next morning, the entire world found out. Including Sidney Haskas. I discovered shortly after whose daughter she was and whose team I would no longer be a part of.
“It’s not that I doubt your skills on the ice. I just haven’t seen you stand out in the professional league the way you did in college. I know some of that is because the talent level is higher in the pros, but I don’t think that’s it. It’s you. There’s something missing.”
I stay quiet while my mind flashes back to the college freshman I once was, sitting in front of Coach Hardam while he told me that I wasn’t ready to play at the next level. That I had the talent, but not the maturity.
“And I’m not convinced that your behavior off the ice is worth the risk we’re taking by bringing you on,” he continues in that straightforward way of his. “The Hawks take pride in the type of players that play for the team. Men with integrity. Frankly, you’re a liability.”
I silently sit and take his criticism because he’s right. And I don’t have a leg to stand on right now, so I’ll eat the crow that he’s dishing up. But I don’t drop eye contact. Because fuck him for judging me.
“But I talked to some of the players and Kelley …”
Eli Kelley is the owner of the Hawks.
“And they are sold on you,” he continues. “Ollie in particular pushed me in your direction.”
I try to hide my surprise. I thought Ollie Burnham would be the last player who wanted me on this roster. He was never my biggest fan in high school and college, especially when I was dating his sister. He tolerated me on the ice. I never felt like our relationship when beyond that.
“He convinced me that you’re capable of so much more than you’ve shown so far.” Coach leans forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “That’s what I want to see from you. It’s what I demand to see if you want to be a part of this team.”
“Understood,” I say.
If there’s one thing I’ve learned over the past three years, it’s that hockey is a business. If you don’t perform well, you’re out. And they won’t bat an eyelash when they do it. It’s all about the bottom line. Wins. Reaching the playoffs and obtaining a cup. If you accomplish that, you’re rewarded. If you don’t, you’re cut. I’m a means to an end for these people. And it goes both ways. I’m using them too—for a big paycheck, a lavish lifestyle, and a chance to play the sport I love for as long as I can.
“Good,” he replies. “I’ll be trying you out with a few different lines to see where you fit.”
He continues to talk about the logistics of the team. I nod along and play my part, answering at the right times.
“One more thing,” he says as I’m standing to leave twenty minutes later. “You have to keep your nose clean. Squeaky clean.”
“I will,” I vow.
A short burst of air escapes his nostrils as his eyes narrow. “As much as I’d like to think your reassurance is enough, it isn’t. I don’t trust your judgment, and I sure as hell don’t trust your word right now. Not yet.”
I sigh and run a hand through my hair, looking away in frustration. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying that we’re making arrangements to ensure that our investment in you is a sound one.”
“Meaning?” Even I can hear the hard edge to my words. But I’m losing patience.
I might have made some mistakes, but I’m a grown man, and they’re treating me like a child.
“We’ll tell you more when we have things arranged.” He glances over at Coach Tremble. “That’s all for now.”
Tremble stays behind, probably so they can talk about me behind my back. Weigh my prospects. Discuss which guys I might complement on the ice and what to do about my antics outside of the arena.
I try to shake off the meeting as I stop in the locker room to talk with the training staff about how I like my sticks wrapped and to get my bearings. I touch my name plaque on the locker, right next to Ollie’s. It’s strange, being here and knowing I’m going to hit the ice for a skate around with my new team tomorrow, then start playing with them the night after that. And that Ollie and I will be teammates again. There isn’t much time to adjust to all the changes happening.
I leave the arena and grab a rideshare to my new place. I pick up some food along the way to eat at home. The doorman and concierge greet me by name, though I just arrived yesterday. I take the elevator to one of the higher floors. I’m not in the penthouse, but I’m not far below. Ollie is one of my new neighbors, but I’m not sure which apartment is his. Several of my teammates have places in the same building. The hallway is quiet when I exit and walk to my front door. There are only three other apartments on this floor, and I haven’t met my other neighbors yet.
I enter my new place and flip a light on as I go, noticing the sun as it’s setting outside of the floor-to-ceiling windows. I have panoramic views. One side shows the city. The other, the lake. It’s expensive to live in this building on one of the upper floors, but the view alone is worth it. And I can afford it these days.
I walk past unpacked boxes and furniture that was just delivered this morning. Most of it was arranged for me. I just pointed to what I liked, and it magically appeared in my apartment. That’s the beauty of team resources and personal assistants. I don’t have a PA myself, but I fully utilized the team’s. This place has five bedrooms and four bathrooms, more space than one person needs. Especially when the first house I lived in as a child only had one bathroom for the three of us. The kitchen is an open concept and flows into the living room. I have a huge couch and an even bigger television hanging on the wall.
I take my food into the living room and settle onto my couch. I turn on the television for background noise, but there’s not much on. I settle for an old hockey game that I’m not really paying attention to. I eat my dinner and watch the sun fully set. The room is mostly dark since I didn’t bother to turn on the overhead lights in here, only a lamp next to the couch.
Loneliness accompanies the darkness, creeping into the space. And I’m not sure where the emptiness comes from. All I know is that it’s there, waiting for me most nights. I hoped it wouldn’t follow me from California. It’s why I drink and why I hook up with random women so many nights. It fills the void. But that emptiness always returns, like an old enemy I can’t escape.
I’m new to town, so I haven’t made friends yet. And I could call the few women I’ve met who live in the city. But instead, I call my mom.
Mom is in remission now. She has been for three years. She still gets scans every six months to make sure the cancer isn’t back. So far, we’ve been lucky. Her hair has grown in, though she complains that the texture is different now. Wiry, whatever that means. But the color is back in her cheeks, and she’s regained the weight she lost. She’s back to teaching too.
I talk to my parents for a while, and they promise to fly out to see a game soon. I insist on paying for their flights, and we argue until they finally give in. It feels good to be able to do that. My family has always lived modestly. We never had a lot of extra material things. Now, I can spoil them a bit. It’s the least I can do.
I’m a little less lonely when we hang up the phone. But I’m restless when I attempt to sleep that night. I have no idea about what is waiting for me around the corner. All I know is, I’m young, but Chicago and this team feel like my last chance.