Chapter One #3
Ben’s nephew Charlie snorted as he set out more snacks on the buffet table by the grill. Whatever. Chris had helped out at the shelter often enough to get used to all the teenagers mocking him relentlessly. And Charlie had spent so much time with the kids that he must have learned from them.
“Breezy, my man.” Phil turned away from the grill to face Chris. “Chill. I’m not going anywhere. I applied to be the new defensive coach, and I got it.”
A wave of relief crashed over Chris. Phil was staying. With him in a guiding role and still functioning as the beating heart of the team, they would manage to stick together. He wrapped Phil in a big hug, trying not to cry with gratitude. “Oh, thank God. The team wouldn’t be the same without you.”
Phil patted him on the back, bemused. “It won’t be the same with me coaching either. Get ready for the A on your chest, kid. It’s coming.”
The wave buoying Chris up receded with the tide, dragging him down, down, down, and under. He mumbled something, panic making his words slur together, and then he left as fast as he could, making a fool of himself and bumping into half the tables while he did it.
Oh, well.
Being an embarrassment was nothing new.
He couldn’t leave the party. He’d driven Luca and Howie, so they needed a ride home. Instead, Chris sat in the front seat of his car and called Matty.
“Hey, big bro. What’s up? Aren’t you busy being a super-important NHL player with no time for your family?”
“Ha, ha,” Chris said, though the accusation stung. “The season hasn’t started yet.”
“Yeah, the Sea Lions still have an unbroken winning record.”
“Oh, hey, I never thought of it that way.” He liked the idea—as if they were starting from the top.
Matty made a disbelieving noise. “Only you, man. So why are you calling?”
“You in a hurry? Big date tonight?” Chris had a duty as the elder brother to ask these things. No matter that Matty would start college in a month and was five times smarter than Chris ever would be.
“Jealous?” Matty asked.
Chris was, a little, which he could never admit.
Matty had dated the same girl for all of high school.
He’d met Tabitha, a feisty brunette, in his after-school debate club.
They talked about things like whether Napoleon could have stayed in power if he hadn’t gotten greedy about Russia, or when the US government would lift the embargo on Cuba.
Chris hadn’t known the word “embargo” or that the US had put one on Cuba until he heard them discussing it, curled up on the overstuffed couch in the Calabrese family living room while a documentary played.
He’d also never been comfortable enough with a girlfriend to hang out in sweatpants watching documentaries.
“Pff, as if,” he said instead of admitting his jealousy.
“It’s our last date anyway. Gotta get it in one last time before college.”
“Gross,” Chris said automatically, and then, “Wait, what? You’re breaking up?”
“Yeah, of course. She’s going to Vancouver.”
“So?”
“So.” Matty repeated the word with the inflection people used when they thought Chris was being slow. “Vancouver’s on the other side of the country. We don’t all have fancy NHL charter planes.”
“I would pay for your flights.”
“I don’t want you to. Anyway, college will be full of girls. Better this way.”
“But—”
“Look, I’m gonna be late. Why are you calling?”
Chris frowned, bereft. He’d thought Matty would end up marrying Tabitha.
Not anytime soon, when they had both finished their educations, but they seemed so solid.
Chris had gone to bat for them with his parents when his dad complained that she wasn’t Italian and then again when his mom found out they were having sex at age sixteen.
“Chris?”
“Oh, right. So Phil’s going to be a coach this season, not a player. Means there’s a spare letter in the locker room. Who do you think should get it?”
Matty sighed, a blast of noise and static in Chris’s ear. “Well, it’s definitely not you.”
Chris nodded to no one. “Right. Yeah, that’s what I said. Have fun on your date.”
“Wait—” Matty started, but Chris hung up the phone.
He leaned back in the seat. Matty and Tabitha breaking up.
Visits home would be so different now, with only Mom, Dad, and Matty waiting for him after games.
No one to change the topic at the dinner table when Dad got going about how Chris ought to settle down with a nice Italian girl if Matty wasn’t going to.
No one to kick Matty under the table when he called Chris an idiot.
And things would be different in San Francisco too.
As glad as Chris was that Phil would be staying with the team, he wouldn’t be on the team.
He would be sitting with the coaches on the plane, going over tape, and discussing strategies.
He might eat breakfast with them, but it would be unprofessional for him to join them at bars in the evenings.
This meant it was down to Tom and Jax to keep an eye on Howie when he got wasted and started word vomiting about the history of ice skating as a sport or, worse, literally vomiting.
They’d also have to smooth things over when tension boiled up between Mooney and Hayes.
And they’d have to plan team bonding events and make sure those plans weren’t derailed by the team’s internal conflicts or by Vanderbilt’s habit of slipping off to the bathroom for some coke.
Tom and Jax could do it. Chris knew they could.
They’d taken care of him when he’d gotten wasted last year.
But they couldn’t handle it all alone. Even at their best, Tom and Jax couldn’t keep their eyes on a team of twenty. Chris would have to help.
He took a deep breath, just like the team’s sports psychologist Michelle had taught him when he first went to see her because it turned out skating in front of thousands of people was really stressful. In for three seconds, hold for five, release for seven. And again. And a third time.
Different didn’t have to mean bad. Last year, things had been pretty bad with Coach Trout, who had ramped up practices until they were harder than some of the games.
He’d yelled a lot too. Chris didn’t mind that part.
He’d rather have a coach yell at him about what he did wrong than not improve.
But he knew Hayes had a hard time with it, and maybe having Phil as a coach would make it easier for him to get along with everyone.
Or maybe it would make things worse.
Deep breaths. Chris could do this.
When a loud knock sounded against the passenger seat window, he shot up in his seat. He’d closed his eyes at some point without realizing it. What a dumb thing to do.
Luca stood next to the car, one fist pounding against the window, the other shoved into the pocket of his tight jeans.
Chris fumbled for the unlock button, and Luca slid into his customary seat.
“So,” he said. “It is strange that Ben and his nephew are still living here, no?”
Chris tried to laugh it off but found he couldn’t. “Didn’t he say his apartment was being renovated last year? Maybe it took longer than they thought.”
“He also said he was a hockey coach.”
This time, Chris managed to laugh. “Right.”
For a while, they sat in silence.
Luca twisted in his seat to look at him. “The A—”
“What did you think of Lindy?”
The look Luca skewered him with was full of pity. “She seems to be a wonderful person and a competent coach.”
“Yeah, I guess it’ll be nice to have one of those, eh?”
“Eh,” Luca mocked. “And you call yourself Italian.”
“I am!”
“You are so Canadian you own snowshoes!”
“They’re useful!”
“You live in California.”
Chris waved him off with what he thought was a very Italian hand gesture. “So do you.”
“Fine. But no self-respecting Italian is as good at French as you.”
Chris gasped. “Was that a compliment? From you?”
“Being good at French is not a compliment. It is the linguistic equivalent of waving a white flag in the air. Any real European would know as much.”
Chris rolled his eyes. Luca stuck his tongue out.
“Will you come back to the party?” Luca asked. “Phil is worried.”
Reluctantly, Chris nodded. “But I don’t want to talk about…the thing.”
“I won’t let him,” Luca promised. “Every time he tries, I will remind him of a ridiculous thing you did last year. I have enough of those to last at least five barbecues.”
“You’re a good friend. Please don’t move out.” The last part slipped out of Chris’s mouth before he could stop himself, a ridiculous plea for things to stay the same.
Luca took it in stride, being that he was calm and cool and an all-around better person. “I was not planning to. But I would like to pay rent all the same.”
Chris frowned.
“And if you will not let me, I will find other ways to contribute.”
“You can try.” In a two-bedroom, upkeep and cleaning stayed minimal. Neither of them left food or clothes lying around, and between the two of them, there was only one functional cook, and it was not Luca.
“I will. So. Ready to apologize to Jax for knocking over his homemade bread?”
Chris sighed. He would be mocked for this afternoon forever. “Just let me text someone first?”
Luca indicated he should go ahead, so Chris opened his thread with Tabitha. He didn’t know what to say, so he asked if she was okay. Maybe not everything had to change all at once.