I chuckle. Benji showed me the Fox River Falls community page that reads like a gossip sheet. The fact that I’ve heard five different versions of why this place is closed makes me laugh for some reason, liking the idea that there’s something beyond the reach of Fox River Falls gossip.
Maybe that’s why I like it so much.
Turning toward my apartment, I wonder what that life would be like. I can see myself behind a bar, hockey vibes strong and obvious in the décor, the games playing on the television. Local beer on tap. Could I be happy watching others play, not being part of that world? Or do I need to move somewhere that doesn’t play hockey?
A shiver runs down my spine at the thought. I’m not ready for a life that doesn’t include hockey at all.
Anyway, are there actually places that don’t play hockey?
The next morning, I’m at the rink bright and early, hoping to get some time in the gym before we hit the ice. My addiction came from an injury that I tried to play through until it set meout. It’s a classic story of me not telling my trainer what was happening and ending up with a worse injury than I would have had if I’d faced it head on.
It’s also a classic story of hiding behind the fact that the pills I took were prescribed and used by everyone—abused by many players other than me. Hell, most hockey players couldn’t do the job without it. Our bodies aren’t made for what we put them through.
But I own my part. I listened to people telling me that I had to stick it out and play as hard and often as possible to have a shot of clinging to a place in the NAPH. There were always younger players coming up, ready to take that spot.
The long clarity of rehab and a year sidelined has shown me that playing through the pain was not sound advice. Not when it got to the point it did with me. Which is why I’m determined to get back to the NAPH—this time on my terms.
Also, the meds I was taking to cut the pain of the knee injury didn’t do me any favors in the long run. They just let me injure myself more. Technically, the knee is out of rehab, but I still give it extra conditioning now that I’m back on the ice with the Iceguard.
Coach finds me in the gym and tells me to hit the showers and come up to the office.
I don’t know how to read him yet, but when I run into Benji in the locker room, he gives me a raised eyebrow and doesn’t comment. I may be new down here, but what I do know is that no matter what league we’re playing in, a call to the office is never nothing.
I haven’t been here long enough for them to decide I’m not worth the time on the Iceguard, and I’ve had no opportunity to prove myself ready to go back either.
It’s time for my own eyebrows to rise when I walk into Coach’s office and Jerry, one of the assistant coaches from the Knights,is here. We shake hands and they make some small talk, but all I can really hear is my brain asking “why is he here” on repeat.
My old NAPH team shouldn’t have any concerns about me right now. They sent me here and I’m doing everything I’ve been told to do.
Alex joins us, and I expect him to just ask a quick question of Coach and leave, but instead I see Jerry and Coach share a look, and then Jerry turns his gaze to me.
“I wanted to come down and see you,” Jerry says, which is probably somewhat true. I was an expensive investment as a player for the Knights, and they have stuck with me, sending me here to the farm team and through rehab. Because of rehab, I didn’t have to get a waiver and wait to see if anyone would pick me up, and part of that was because I wanted to stay with the Knights. Jerry told me he’d put me here, and that I would have to earn my way back, and I appreciated his candor. Even if it wasn’t easy to hear.
Jerry checking on me is probably worth the hour on the train out of Chicago.
“Our first game is in a few weeks and I’m ready.” I project confidence because, to be honest, I feel confident. Practice is going well.
That choking fear from the first day with the Iceguard has stayed far away.
“I heard that you’ve been doing your recovery protocols and spending time with the team. That’s good progress, Roe.”
I nod. When things were bad with the Knights, I wasn’t playing well, and I was really using pills to cover my injury and my bruised ego. I pulled away from the team quite a bit, too.
But less than my best play was still good hockey for most players, and so it was allowed to slide.
“Been checking up on me, Jer?” I smirk.
He smiles in return. “There’s the smug guy I know. But seriously, Roe, tell me about the mentoring you’re doing.”
Mentoring?
“I haven’t—“
Alex pipes up. “He’s been working with one of our youth players—a twelve-year-old in Peewee,” he says, giving me a smile. “They’ve been staying after practices and running drills for a few weeks now.”
Does he mean Jamie? A few drills isn’t mentorship.
“Wait. I’m not really doing anything all that involved with him. He’s just got talent, is all. See, he could be a really key center, he has the mind for it, the athleticism, he just needs the confidence.”
