Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Noah
Noel is at the big table in the lounge area of the firehouse, an iPad propped up in front of him, playing footage of last year's game.
He has a legal pad and a pen, and he's taking copious notes; every once in a while, he grips the pen in his curled-in lips, rewinds the footage, watches a specific play again and again and again before letting the tape run. He has glasses on, which is new.
I whack his shoulder as I pass him on the way to the coffee pot. "If you're wearing readers, then I am officially old as fuck."
"Well, you are old as fuck, obviously,” he says, “but these aren't readers, they're blue-blockers.
Watching tape always gives me headaches.
" He flips the tablet closed and tosses the pen onto the table in front of him.
"I like our lineup this year. Not having Bill on the ice is a hit to our offense, but having him behind the bench takes some of the pressure off me. "
Bill Ryerson tripped at home the other day and broke his wrist, taking him out of the game as a player, so he’s filling in as an assistant coach to Noel.
He's younger than me but older than Noel, and a talented hockey player; as Noel said, losing him at center is going to suck offensively, but he's as experienced a coach as he is a player.
He and I have been Tomlin Falls' primary hockey coaches for more than twenty years.
"Who's taking his place on the O-line?" I ask.
"Well, O'Shaughnessy can play offense or defense equally well," Noel answers, "so I'm thinking I put Juarez on the D-line and move Connie to the center.
" Connie is Conroy O'Shaughnessy, a ten-year FD vet and solid hockey player.
He's not showy or flashy, but he's reliable, powerful, and a real scrapper behind the net.
Adam Juarez is a new hire—a transfer from Ketchikan.
He played D1 hockey as a starter on the D-line for the U of M Golden Gophers.
He's a big lad, a bruiser who's quick to drop the gloves for his teammates; he's a hell of a defenseman besides, and was instrumental in leading the Gophers to a Frozen Four championship his senior year.
As a firefighter, he's proven invaluable, quick on his feet despite his size, with excellent instincts.
He's a great addition to the department and to the FD hockey team.
"Works for me." I sit kitty-corner to him with a mug of coffee in my hands.
He drops his glasses on the table and eyes me. "Still getting reps in before shift?"
I nod. "I am. I try to get ninety minutes in, sometimes a couple of hours. I usually manage to get in there twice a week, sometimes three.”
He nods. "Good, good. Not gonna lie, with Bill behind the bench, we're gonna need your leadership on the ice more than ever."
"Just saying, you could leave the coaching to Bill and lace up the ol' skates, son. The town would love to see you show us your fancy NHL moves."
Noel shakes his head immediately. "Nah. I'm not a show pony, Pops. Plus, when I'm on the ice, I've got one setting, and that's maximal intensity." A shrug. “That wouldn’t end up well for anyone.”
"I know, I know," I say. "Just putting it out there."
"I have thought about it because I obviously miss playing.
But this is about the community. If I go out there, especially with the added attention the game is getting this year, it'd become the Noel Austin show, and I don't want to and will not let it become about me.
It's not. It's about raising money in Mom’s honor. "
I cover his hand. "I understand, son, and I respect that. I just figure there's gotta be a part of you that's dyin' to get back out there."
He lets out a gusting sigh, raking his hands through longish, messy, dark blonde hair.
"Fuck, Dad, you’ve got no idea. I'm behind that bench watching the play, and I find myself leaning and shifting, trying to make them do what I’d do.
Like when Mom would hit the invisible brakes when you were driving. "
I laugh, shaking my head. "God, that drove me nuts. Someone in freaking Kamchatka sniffs their brake pedal, and Taylor would gasp and stomp her foot like we were a split second from wrecking."
He cackles. "The Mom Arm was the best."
I frown. "Mom Arm?"
He throws out his arm sideways with a freaked-out gasp, exactly the way Taylor used to. "If she had to hit the brakes unexpectedly, she'd throw out the Mom Arm like an extra seatbelt."
I snort. "Oh, that. Yeah. She did that to me, once…while I was driving."
"Her protective instincts ran deep, I guess," he says.
I swallow hard, nodding. "That they did. Bone deep."
He gets up and pours coffee into a TFFD mug and sits back down, sipping noisily. "Heard you had a little incident with Morgan Wheeler at practice the other day."
I frown. "You did? From who?"
"Gotta protect my sources, Pops."
"It wasn't an incident."
"I was told she stormed off."
"There may have been a little storming, yes," I allow.
"So?"
I sigh. "It's nothing. Her daughter, Mallory, wants to play hockey, but she won't let her.
The girl's damned good. It's a waste of God-given talent and passion not to let the girl play.
She can skate and stickhandle circles around everyone but the Ryerson twins, and even against them, I wouldn't count her out. "
He eyes me speculatively. "And that's all it is, huh?"
"Yes, Noel, that's all it is."
He pulls a face. "’Kay."
I blink at him over the rim as I sip. “Passive-aggressive doesn't look good on you, No-No."
“It’s nothing, Pops."
I set my mug down a little harder than I mean to, sloshing some over the rim. "Noel, if you have something to say, say it."
"Just Morgan Wheeler is gorgeous and single, you ain't ugly, and you're single…there could be worse things than you two hanging out."
"It's not like that, son. We…we sometimes share the ice for morning skates and chat a bit.
That's it. I don't know if we'd even be considered friends.
" I sigh. "Especially after the non-incident-incident at practice the other day.
She probably hates me now. Seems like she has a personal issue with hockey more than she does with her daughter specifically. But I'm just theorizing."
Noel grins. "Hey, you gotta start somewhere, sometime, Pops."
I shrug, shake my head. "No, I don't."
"So even though you're not even fifty-five, you're just gonna be a monk the rest of your life?"
My heart aches, and burns, and my brain tries to feed me the memory of the promise Taylor extracted from me; I resist it.
"Maybe,” I grumble.
"Dad—"
"Noel," I snap. "Quit it. Please."
He shakes his head. "I'm not saying you should get on Tinder and start trolling for hookups, Dad. I’m merely suggesting that you could do a hell of a lot worse than a friendship with Morgan Wheeler, even if it's just a friendship."
"I don't know how to do that."
"Do what? Be friends with a woman?"
I nod. “Yeah, pretty much. I haven't been alone with a woman who isn't your mother in thirty years, Noel."
"You and Morgan weren't alone in the arena for those morning skates?"
"Well, yeah, but—
He grabs my hand. "Dad, listen to me. Part of me will never get over losing Mom.
I know that's true for you, too. And I know I can't fathom how you must feel—I've never even been in love.
But I do know that Mom would have wanted you to be happy.
I know she wouldn't begrudge you finding companionship.
It's been three years. You could maybe start letting yourself just think about it, y'know? "
I frown at him. "Never been in love?"
He shrugs, shakes his head. “Nah. Not really. I’ve had some relationships that were meaningful, sure, but in love?
I dunno. I guess I've always held up you and Mom's kind of love as the standard, and I know I've never felt about anyone the way you and Mom felt about each other. If it's not that, I don't want it."
"It doesn't start out that way, though."
"No?"
I shake my head. "Nope. Love isn't a feeling, son, it's a decision, and one you make multiple times a day, every day.
Feelings change and fade and grow and get mixed up.
You can't rely on emotions." I sigh, lean back, dragging my mug across the table toward me by a forefinger.
"Your mother and I…what we had initially was attraction.
Raw, physical, intense desire for each other.
It took time for us to see the emotional aspect as separate from the physical.
And honestly, son, we almost didn't make it a few times, early on. "
Noel nods absently, lost in thought. Eventually, his gaze clears, and he turns his attention back to me. "So maybe someday, sooner or later, you'll let something grow between you and someone else."
"Maybe."
"Has it crossed your mind, with Morgan Wheeler?"
“Sure it has," I admit. "I'm a straight man with working eyeballs, bud. It hasn't escaped me that she's not exactly hard on the eyes. But I get the sense she's as disinclined to let anything develop as I am, if nothing else."
"But you don't know that."
"No, I don't know that."
"So talk to her. Smooth things over. Just be friends. Skate together. Doesn't have to be a thing. Just…" he shrugs. "Chill."
"I'm not good at chill, kiddo."
"Gotta start somewhere, don't you?"
"S'pose so. If nothing else, I don't want her to think I'm trying to get in the middle of her parenting."
"Just keep an open mind, yeah?"
I point at him. "You too, Mr. Never Been In Love."
He grins. "If someone comes along who's right for me the way Mom was right for you, I'll be all in. Just gotta be the right girl. I've waited this long for love, may as well keep waiting till it's right."
The tones go, then, and coffee is left on the table as we bolt for the engine.