Then I pulled up the thread with Wyatt.
Me
I won’t be at your rehearsal dinner or your wedding.
And I need you to respect that, even if you don’t respect me.
I hit send, then stepped out into the bright Maine afternoon to go for a drive with the man I loved.
CHAPTER 15
TAYLOR
Down on the ice,a handful of rookies were running drills, getting their first taste of what it meant to play professional hockey.
Bell and Cam “Bonesy” Bonelli had already claimed two stationary bikes in front of the window that looked out over the rink by the time I arrived.
“T-Mo!” Bonesy hollered when he saw me. “Get your ass over here. You’re missing the show.”
I jogged over and hopped onto the bike on Bell’s other side.
“We’ve been taking bets on which one of them is gonna puke first,” Bell said, upping his resistance.
“My money’s on number seventy-three.” Bonesy pointed at a tall kid who was already doubled over, his palms braced on his knees, his back lifting with labored breaths. “Kid’s been green for the last ten minutes.”
I began my workout, watching the action unfold down on the ice. “Jesus Christ. Coach is really putting them through it.”
“Better them than us,” Bonesy said as I picked up my pace.
We rode in silence for a few minutes, watching the rookies struggle through a set of suicide drills until number seventy-three skated off to the side and threw up, bright red Gatorade leaving his body like a scene from a horror movie.
“Called it,” Bonesy crowed triumphantly.
“And there goes another one.” Bell lifted his chin to indicate a guy skating in the opposite direction, his hand over his mouth.
“He’s going for the trash at least,” Bonesy observed. “Though it doesn't look like he's going to make it.”
“You're terrible,” I said, right as the kid hurled, missing the trash can by at least a foot.
“Half these kids aren’t going to make it past the first cut,” Bell pointed out. “No use getting too attached.”
I snorted.“Easy for you to say.”
He’d been a first-round draft pick, but chose to go to college first, where his team won the Frozen Four. When he eventually went pro, he showed up in Austin knowing he had a spot on the roster waiting for him.
That wasn't my story.
I was more like these kids.
I’d been solid at the collegiate level—good enough to get scouted, at any rate. Which meant I was good enough to dream, too. But an abdominal injury in my senior year meant all those scouts stopped reaching out. I’d spent that summer rehabbing and wondering if my shot at the NHL was over.
Thankfully, the San Francisco Gold Rush took a chance on me in the third round. Third round picks were a gamble—some guys made it, but most didn’t. I’d shown up to my first camp with a chip on my shoulder and something to prove, terrified I’d be the guy who got cut the first week.
I made the roster that first year, but just barely. My second season, I got sent down to the team's AHL affiliate in Sacramento. My coach had explained it was only temporary, just until I worked out some kinks with my game, but I felt expendable. But when one of the Rush’s top defensemen wentdown with a gnarly knee injury six weeks later, I was called back up as injury cover. I was only meant to fill in for a couple of games, maybe two weeks at most. But when the injury turned out to be worse than initially thought and the poor fuck had to have surgery, I made damn sure they couldn’t send me back down.
Two seasons in San Francisco, then I was traded to Seattle. A year there, followed by Vancouver. Then it was off to Chicago and Atlanta. By the time the Marauders picked me up in the expansion draft, they were my sixth team in ten years—seventh, if you counted Sacramento.
All of which meant watching these rookies fight for their lives hit a little too close to home.
