Page 89 of Rematch
Preston hung up the phone and sighed, leaning against the wall, wishing he was back in Baltimore.
“Preston? Everything okay?” Coach Dean Fields stepped off the elevator, heading to his own room. “What are you doing in the hallway?”
Preston lifted his phone. “Called to check on Lennon. He got his vaccines today and he’s running a fever.”
“Ah. Well, that’s a normal thing, right?”
Preston shrugged. “I guess so. At least, Chelsea said it was. Apparently he’s fussy, and I can tell she’s at the end of her rope. I hate that I’m not there to help out.”
“I was just going to say you dodged a bullet,” his coach joked.
“Remind me again why you never married, Coach?” Preston asked, grinning widely.
Dean rolled his eyes, ignoring the bachelor jab. “Cut that coach shit out. Don’t mind hearing it from the young guys—nice show of respect—but when it comes from you and Victor, I feel a hundred years old.”
Dean’s last year as a Baltimore Stingray was Preston’s first, and the two of them had grown close during that season. Sadly, Dean’s hockey career was cut short by a series of knee injuries. Coming back following one or even two ACL tears was possible, but Dean simply couldn’t get his knee back into hockey shape following the third, so he’d hung up his skates and become an assistant coach in Vancouver.
Since then, they’d met for drinks whenever their schedules lined up. Then Preston had been thrilled when Dean was announced as the Stingrays’ new head coach at the end of last season.
“You’re not alone on that feeling-ancient thing,” Preston said. “During that interview this afternoon, I mentioned the year I started playing hockey. Fucking Rookie interjected that was the year he’d started school. Asshole was just going into kindergarten, and I was playing professionally. Talk about a kick in the teeth.”
Dean chuckled. “So other than the fussy baby, everything else going good with the new roommates?”
Preston’s love life had been the hot topic in the locker room since he’d found Chelsea at the beginning of December. Not that he cared. Given how much time he and his teammates spent together—on and off the ice—it wasn’t surprising they knew practically everything about each other.
“It’s great. Better than great. Which is why it’s hard to be here when they’re there.”
“That’s the life of a hockey player,” Dean replied.
Preston sighed. “It is. Before this season, I didn’t mind the away games.”
“And now?”
“Chelsea and I are still trying to find our way, and every time we start to get into a good routine, it’s disrupted by me hitting the road again. It’s also impacting how quickly I’m able to form a bond with Lennon. When I get back home after being gone a few days, it feels like I’m starting from scratch with him.”
“He’s only a baby. That’ll get easier as he gets older.”
“Yeah, I guess.” But Preston didn’t like the idea of Lennon getting used to him being away.
“Juggling this career and a family is hard work, Preston. The trick is to manage a life/work balance. I never figured that out myself, but if anyone can do it, it’s you. You’ve always been good at prioritizing things in the right way. It might take some time to get there, but you will.”
“What if I don’t want to get there?”
Dean frowned. “What do you mean?”
Preston hadn’t broached the subject of him hanging up his skates with anyone on the team except Victor, nearly two months ago. “I’m thirty-five, Dean. You know as well as I do, I’m quickly approaching the sell-by date on this career.”
“Plenty of guys play into their forties these days.”
“Says my coach.”
Dean smirked. “Physically, you’re still in top shape, Preston. I wouldn’t play you if you weren’t keeping up, but the fact is, you are. And more than that, you’re a hell of a role model to the young guys just coming up. They look up to you.”
Preston appreciated hearing all of that, but his current issues with hockey didn’t stem from his abilities. “It’s not the body that’s struggling. It’s this.” Preston tapped his temple. “And this.” He dropped his hand to his heart. “Because I’m standing in this hallway right now, resenting the fuck out of the fact I’m here instead of with them.”
Dean leaned against the opposite wall, grimacing. “Sounds to me like you’ve made up your mind.”
“I haven’t,” he said quickly, because he hadn’t. Not really. Although, it was something he’d been thinking about more and more with each passing day. It was stupid to even bring the subject up to Dean, considering he was Preston’s coach. However, the man had been his friend first and he respected his opinion.
