Page 31 of The Last Guy On Earth
Okay. Well. That’s something, I guess. I do another lap between the kitchen, where my pizza dough is rising, and my home gym in the next room. I bang out some pushups. Afterwards, I catch myself looking in the mirror at my pecs, like a teenage dumbass.
On the one hand, it’s important to stay in shape. I’d find it hard to ask my players to give me everything they’ve got while I’m sitting on the bench eating donuts.
On the other hand, I’ve caught myself dressing more carefully since Jethro turned up. And in the drugstore the other day, a box of teeth-whitening strips made it into my basket somehow.
God, it’s loud inside my head. So I do the only thing I can—I hit the mat for another set of pushups.
The Brooklyn game is scheduled for the night after Christmas, and I can hardly sleep. It’s almost a relief when seven o’clockfinally rolls around, and I have an excuse to get up and go to the practice facility for morning skate.
Naturally, the first person I run into is Jethro. We manage to park our cars in the lot at the same time in adjacent spots.
Pull it together, Powers. I put on my Coach Face and climb out of the car. “Morning, Hale,” I say as he joins me on the walk to the building. “How was your Christmas? Did Toby do okay?”
“We survived,” he says. He’s taller than I am, so I have to lift my chin to make eye contact. His green-eyed gaze socks me in the chest, the same way it always does. “He’s taking the separation hard. But at least there’s video games for that.”
“Ouch. Does he get video chats with his mother?”
“No, and it’s rough on him. He’s giving me a lot of grief about going to a new school.”
“I bet. If you need any help on the admin for that, Liana knows everything. She’s handled new-school stuff before.”
“We’ll manage,” is Jethro’s response. It’s sohim, too. He’d rather chew off his own arm than ask for help or show an emotion.
Fifteen years ago, I didn’t really understand that about him. I’d assumed there was something about me specifically that made him reticent. But it’s a perk of adulthood in general—and my job specifically—that I have a deeper understanding about the myriad ways humans respond to pressure.
“Ready to skate?” I ask Jethro.
“So ready,” he says. “Let’s do this.”
Inside, I watch some tape with Murph. “We can probably beat Brooklyn,” he says after we review their recent game against Carolina. “It’ll be a good matchup, though. You’re not going to mess with the lines, right?”
“Nope. We’re going to keep things steady. No experiments tonight.”
“And in the net?” Murph asks, a teasing smile on his face.
Yeah, that’s the big question. Do I play Jethro tonight? If I keep him on the bench for the third time, people are going to talk. On the other hand, tonight’s game has its own stresses. It might make sense to keep to familiar patterns. “Let’s go watch the scrimmage.”
On the ice, Murph blows his whistle before skating lazily over to drop the puck for a face-off, while I watch from the sidelines. “Shake it off boys, and loosen up,” he says before flicking the puck to the ice.
“Not gonna lie,” he says a minute later as he glides up to the place where I’m standing in front of the bench. “Our guys all look kinda tense.”
“Noticed that,” I grumble. The scrimmage has a nervous energy that isn’t typical before a home game the day after Christmas.
“Your guy Hale isn’t helping.”
I swing my gaze over to Jethro, who’s playing too far into the net again. His forehead is creased in frustration, and his game-talk sounds irritated. “Noticed that, too.”
“You putting him in tonight?”
“Still thinking about it,” I say.
Murph shakes his head.
After they shower, the players wander up to the third-floor video room. I ask Murphy to take the meeting, and I flag down Jethro. “Could I see you for a sec?”
“Sure,” he says gruffly. But his eyes are tense as he enters my office.
“Listen,” I say the moment the door closes behind him. I sit at the side—in a visitor’s chair. It’s a move that says,We’rehaving a friendly chat, and you haven’t been called into the principal’s office.
