Page 97 of The Last Guy On Earth
“I know.”
“It’s not gonna stop, though. He needs to move home.Ineed to move home. I don’t have anyone here.”
Except for me.I don’t say it, though, because I don’t need verbal confirmation that I don’t really count. I’ve known it all my life. “You shouldn’t have put that idea in his head about me retiring,” I say. “That’s not your call.”
He lifts his eyes heavenward. “Really? You win the Cup, and you’re going back to training camp in August? How many championships does one man need?”
I eat my last bite of lasagna. Then I set down my fork. “What do you think I’m going to do with myself in Detroit, anyway? I can’t even think about working for my old team, not after the way they treated me.”
He shrugs. “You’ll take a little time and figure it out, either this year or next. Either way, your boy needs his mama, and our life is there.”
On that depressing thought, I swap my plate with Toby’s and finish the scraps he left behind.
Nobody can dent my appreciation for Clay’s lasagna.
Not even my father.
FORTY-TWO
Clay
Gamesthree and four are in Seattle. We load up the jet with our best players, equipment, all our hopes and dreams, and fly off to do battle against a young team that Iknowwe can beat. Even so, I spend the entire flight holed up in the office, worrying over my starting lineup.
There’s plenty to think about, but I spend most of my time mulling over my choice of goalies.
On the one hand, I don’t want to mess up our momentum. The “if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it” school of thought would have me playing Volkov again. On the other hand, we’re still wary of his lower-back issues and trying not to tire him out. I’ll need him in the next round, too.
Everyone has an opinion. Murph wants to put in Hale. The GM thinks I should play Volkov again, but my gut says he’s wrong. And I can’t decide if my gut is telling me the truth, or if I’m every bit as tangled up over this question as Jethro and I used to be, well, tangled up together, naked and sweaty.
Needing more input, I text Coach Demski, who’s traveling with us to Seattle.
You awake? I need a consult.
Gimme five, I’m in a hot hand of poker.
Sometimes I forget that other people think about things besides work.
Demski rolls in a few minutes later. “Thanks for your patience. I won fifty bucks off your D-men.”
“No problem. Let’s talk about game three.”
“Play Hale,” he says easily. “He’s looking strong. We need to keep Volkov rested.”
“Yeah, I was thinking that. But I’m also worried about breaking momentum.”
He taps the table thoughtfully. “Game three after a two-game streak is always a tough win. Seattle will come out strong. They’re fighting for their lives. Nothing about this game is going to feel like the last one. So no matter who you play, they’re going to get a workout.”
“True.” I lean back in my chair. “I just needed to talk it out.”
“You seem tense,” the older man says. “Don’t forget this is supposed to be fun.”
“Fun?” I snort. “I don’t think the owner cares how muchfunI’m having. We need to win.”
“Of course we do,” he says easily. “And winning is totally fun. But you have to try to enjoy the journey. Otherwise, your players are going to pick up on your anxiety. They’re going to think you don’t believe in them, and that will affect their play.”
I give him a skeptical look. “Is this some kind of goalie superstition?”
“Nah, just good advice from an old man. Athletes are like dogs—they can smell your fear. So you gotta find a way to embrace the moment.” He gets up. “Excuse me, I gotta embrace the moment, too. If I win a few more hands before we land, I canbuy the wife a nice gift to apologize for missing our anniversary again.”
