Page 70 of Gross Misconduct

I’ve thought about trying to find her, but I couldn’t bear meeting her only to get rejected again.

I toss the picture back in the box and cover it with my old uniform. I don’t have the strength to rip it up, and I hate myself for that.

How could a mother beam at her son and then leave? People are complex, and they contain contradictions, but it’s something I’ve never been able to square. In hockey, defense is the most important position, more important than offense. Same goes for life, I guess.

“You don’t need to bring over Mom’s stuff.”

“You looked good in your hockey gear. I thought you might…well, it’s up to you what you do with it.”

“She didn’t want me, so I don’t want her. Easy as that.” I close the box and place it on the floor next to my couch, one of the few places of free space. “You really came all the way over here to drop off a box?”

“I haven’t seen you in a bit.” Dad stands by the door, hands in his pockets, looking a little too innocent. “I’ve been hearing about that big game. The Sourwood Cup.”

I roll my eyes. Is this thing the Stanley Cup finals? Never underestimate people’s desire to root for something.

“Sounds like it’s going to be quite the event. I know I was dismissive of your interest in this league, but I’m glad you signed up. I’ve been hearing you had some great games recently. Just like old times.” His eyes twinkle with distant memories of cheering on his winning son.

“Thanks?” Hearing Dad be supportive is like walking down a dark alley in a horror film waiting for the killer to strike.

“People are talking about it. I saw the paper did a big profile on you and the team. It’s good to hear your name getting talked about again.”

I don’t even remember what I talked to the reporter about. Fingers crossed she made me sound like an intelligent human being.

Dad smiles, more twinkling eyes, more walking down the dark alley. I get the sense of wheels turning in his head. “Because the game has been getting a surprising amount of coverage, especially around you, I decided to be proactive and make some calls.”

“What kind of calls?”

“When players leave professional hockey, where do a lot of them segue into?”

“Shilling for crypto?”

Dad ignores my joke. “Coaching.”

The word is a pit dropping in my stomach.

“A lot of players become coaches. They coach in the NHL, in the minors, and even at the collegiate level. All of your coaches were former players.”

I remember old coaches regaling us with tales from the good ole days of hockey, when you could bereallyviolent on the ice.

“I made some calls to the local colleges around here?—”

“You’re no longer my manager. You can’t represent me.”

“I called as a father looking out for his son.” His warm tone makes me want to vomit. “Hudson University has an assistant coach position open. The head coach remembers you not only from the NHL but from when you played in high school. He was happy to read that you’re still playing.”

I hate to give him the satisfaction of being right, but I do admire the hustle on my behalf. Even though “my behalf” always means “our behalf.” I’m still jobless and moneyless, and coaching sounds more enticing than restocking an office fridge.

“He’s going to be at the Sourwood Cup. If you can kick ass on the ice and bring in a huge victory, it’ll show him you’ve still got the juice.”

The opportunity is enticing, but there’s a weird pang that hits my stomach when I try to imagine myself coaching. It’s like watching a movie and the sound isn’t synched. I can follow along but it’s still off. Part of the fun is that the league is recreational and only a small part of my week. I don’t know if I want to make hockey my full-time job again. As stressful as job hunting can be, there’s something exciting about imagining a new path.

“I’ll think about it,” I say.

“Think about it. Nothing’s going to happen until after the game. Coaching could be a great next step for you.”

There’s something slightly different about his overture this time, as if maybe a small part of this is coming from a genuine place of a dad looking out for his son.

He hands me a business card. “Here’s his information in case you want to talk with him more about the position.”

---