“This is crazy.” I’m unable to help the smile tugging at the corner of my mouth.
Going on, her voice cracks. “I don’t want him to lose everything before he ever gets a real chance. He’s been dreaming about this since he was three. Frankly, I’ve given up all my hopes and dreams for this. Can you please consider staying late? I’ll pay for your time.” She starts to reach for her worn purse slung over her shoulder, and that’s when I stop her.
“Look, ma’am.” I hold out my hand, stopping her from digging in her purse.
“You can call me Ruth.”
“Ruth.” I shift awkwardly, my fingers curling around the clipboard like it might shield me from how wrecked she looks. “You must understand how these things work. We need guyswho can make this team their priority. If they can’t make it to their tryout, that’s a big sign about their loyalty.”
“I—I’m not saying he has to make the team, but he was so happy yesterday,” she stammers. “I messed this up, but can you at least pretend to let him try out?”
Before I can even respond, my headset crackles. “Bill, we need you down by the benches now.”
I glance over my shoulder, where everyone’s in a huddle, and then back at Ruth. “I have to go,” I tell her as my regret slips in.
She holds up her hand in a nonmoving wave. “Of course. Thank you for your time.”
I head down to the huddle, where the stats are being reviewed. It’s not as tough of a cut this time, because there are a few clear standouts. As the last whistle blows, I’m confident in the list of guys we’ve kept this round.
Amid the bustle, a small table has been set up where final decisions are being handed out. One by one, players approach with tension visible on their faces. Coach Carlson hands each skater a sheet of paper. For some, the news is disappointing. I offer a firm handshake to everyone and try to encourage them to continue to work hard. When Axl, my top pick, comes to the front of the group, the tone shifts. I reach out to shake his hand with enthusiasm. “Well done,” I say. “See you back here next weekend.”
“Thanks, sir.” He shakes my hand and sidesteps out of the way. That’s when something catches my gaze in my peripheral vision.
Ruth.
And jogging up to meet her in full gear, with his helmet under his arm, is her son, Noah. She turns to look at him with a frown and shakes her head, clearly saying something likeit’s too late.
She doesn’t see me watching.
And something in me gives.
I don’t know what to call it. I’m not exactly the type of guy to hand out anything. I didn’t get where I am by getting pity. I find myself lifting my hand and calling across the ice, “Number nineteen! Glad you could finally make it. Let’s see what you’ve got.”
Ruth whips her head around, and her eyes pop wide.
And me?
I already know I’m in trouble. I don’t see the point in carrying this out any longer. The guy isn’t good enough. He’ll be heartbroken in thirty minutes, but at least he’ll be mad at me and not his sweet mom. She seems to have enough guilt.
Not that I care about her guilt.
Call it my good deed for this decade.
Noah heads to the ice, and I speak into the headset. “Coach, we have one more tryout. Can you head to the ice and let him run a drill?” I barely turn my gaze that way, and footsteps crunch in the snow coming from the other direction. What do you know, Ruth is standing a few feet away from me, her arms crossed, most likely from the cold, but her eyes eagerly search for mine.
To be honest, the woman looks exhausted. Not like she got a bad night’s sleep, but from the kind of tired that piles up over a long time. "Hey," she says quietly.
I nod only once. “Hey.”
She shifts her weight from one foot to the other. “I want to say thank you. We both know you didn’t want to do that, but I appreciate it." Her voice is sweet, but there’s no mistaking the weight behind her words.
“You don’t need to thank me.” I fix my focus back on the ice. Noah’s skating super-fast again. Lucky for him, this time he hasn’t wiped out yet.
A beat passes, and she goes on, “I’d like to repay you somehow.”
I shake my head. “That’s not necessary.”
She lets out a breath. It’s like someone who’s had to accept help more times than she’d like and is clenching to the last piece of pride. “I know it’s not much, but I’ve got a little diner, just down the road,” she says, quieter now. “It’s nothing special, but I’d love for you to stop by sometime when you're hungry, and it’s on the house.”
