“Hey, Coach,” she answers. “What’s up?”
“Send me Hayes, Sullivan, Everett, Mitchell, and Richardson. Now,” I say, hanging up.
I stand. Maverick is staring at his hands. His shoulders shake. Tears run down his face and I sit beside him, putting a hand on his arm. He jerks his chin up, staring at me, and I give his bicep a squeeze.
“Olivia’s mom went through the same thing,” I say.
“She did?”
“Yeah. It was the worst year of my life. I didn’t know how to help her. I didn’t know what to say. Of course I don’t fucking know what it’s like to give birth. That’s not something I’ll ever experience, so I was clueless on what to do.”
“Whatdidyou do?” he asks.
“I used my resources. I paid for her therapy appointments. I watched Liv when she went to support groups. I listened to her when she told me what she needed, even if it hurt my feelings. I made sure she was eating and sleeping, and I didn’t argue when she said she needed a night off, no matter how fucking tired I was.”
“I can’t do a lot of that. We’re in the middle of the season and?—”
“I’m making you a non-roster player,” I say. “Don’t sit there and tell me you’re fine. You’re not close to fine, and I’d never expect you to be. Family comes first on this team. Always. Your spot will be here when you’re ready to come back. And if you never feel like coming back, we can have that conversation down the road.”
“I don’t even know what a non-roster player is,” he whispers.
“It was added to the CBA a couple years back and requires league approval. It means you’re not playing due to a reason other than injury, illness, or disability. We can replace you with an AHL player, and it won’t count against our roster limit.”
“Does that mean I get to be home with Emmy?”
“Yes. No practicing. No traveling. No games. I don’t want to see you at any of the Stars’ facilities for at least a month, Miller.” The door to my office opens again, and five more players file inside. There’s barely any room for all of them, but I pop to my feet anyway. “Good. You all are here.”
“What’s going on?” Hudson looks at Maverick, then at me. “That loss wasn’t all on Mav.”
“I gave up eight fucking goals.” Liam scowls at the floor. “That was the worst game of my career.”
“Forget the game,” I say, and the room goes silent. “Miller is going to be taking some time away from the team effective immediately. Hayes, you’ll assume captain duties during his absence. Everett, you’re wearing the A on your jersey now.”
“Shit,” Grant whispers. “Are you okay, Mavvy?”
“No.” Maverick looks at his teammates. We’ve been working together for years—through losing seasons. Through roster changes and new lines. Through the worst years this organization has ever seen, and I’ve never seen him sodistraught. “I’m not okay. I think Emmy is going through postpartum depression and?—”
“How can we help?” Riley interrupts, wrapping his arms around Maverick from behind. “What can we do?”
“Why didn’t you tell us, Mav?” Hudson asks. “Why do you have to be such a stubborn motherfucker who doesn’t like to ask for help?”
“Doesn’t the league offer paternity leave?” Liam asks. “Fitzpatrick was out for two weeks when his kid was born.”
“They do, but Emmy told me to keep playing. She said it wasn’t that many days, that she was handling everything just fine, but it’s a lot of fucking days. And sheishandling things fine, but she shouldn’t have to do it on her own.” Maverick sighs. “I love hockey, but at what cost?”
“Here’s the plan.” I scratch my jaw, an idea coming to mind as I survey the room. “There are five of you. If Miller and Hartwell agree to it, you’re each going to pick up three days when we’re in town. You’ll go to their place and help with cooking and cleaning for a couple of hours. Laundry? Watching Murphy while her parents eat a meal? Cleaning the bathrooms? Changing sheets? All on the list. Rotating schedule, so you’re not missing too much practice, but you’re still available if they need you.”
“Hang on. You wantmeto watch ababy?” Ethan asks.
“I don’t know about that, Coach. Ethan burned the hot dogs he made for dinner the other night.” Grant laughs. “A baby is a lot of responsibility.”
“I’m not asking you to be a father, Richardson. I’m asking you to help Emmy warm up a bottle and Maverick fold a sheet so they have some extra hands,” I say.
“Fitted sheets are a bitch,” Liam grumbles.
“Right. Of course. I understand. I can help.” Ethan lifts his chin. “Iwantto help.”
“If Ethan needs to tap out, I’m sure Goalie Daddy would be happy to jump in,” Grant adds. “He likes kids.”
