“Sure you are, Arty.” My father’s laugh is hollow. Like he heard someone laugh once in a movie and decided to replicate it. “Just make sure you stay that way. Distractions will be the end of you.”
Elliot’s face flashes in my mind as he ends the call. She is not a distraction. She’s not.
Just because I no longer spend every second of my downtime obsessing over strategy and overanalyzing game plays, doesn’t mean I’m any less committed to my goal.
When I’m at work, with my team, I’m locked in. Laser focused. And when I’m with Elliot. Well. It’s like I’m able to unplug for a little while. Rest the part of my brain that always needs to be on.
She hasn’t distracted me. In fact, she’s helped me be better. I’m no longer on the verge of burnout. I’m doing the physio exercises I should have been doing for years. I have more energy. Less pain. More joy.
Okay. Joy might be overshooting it. I’m still me, after all.
The point is, I am still very much in control. I’m winning the Cup. I’m beating my father. And I’m doing it on my terms.
And right now, that means dropping in on our new Otters Youth Volunteer initiative. When I suggested Elliot put Sam’s name in for the program she seemed excited but skeptical.
“A program for kids to work with the team? That sounds made up.”
Because I just made it up.
“Why haven’t I heard about it?”
Again. I just made it up.
When Elliot mentioned she wished Sam had more activities to get him out of the house, I listened. I mean, of course I did. If Elliot is talking, I’m paying attention. Still, I didn’t know how to help.
I read about another hockey team that runs a program for teens, and it got me thinking. Obviously, we don’t need kids running around on the ice during games, but what if there was a way to involve them behind the scenes?
The idea really clicked after a conversation with our equipment manager a few weeks ago. Teens could help with player equipment, learn how game days actually work, and get real behind-the-scenes access to the team.
Sam was the obvious first choice, but if the program works, there’s no reason it couldn’t grow into something bigger.
I find Sam with Rick, our equipment manager, in the locker room. It’s late Wednesday afternoon and we don’t play again until Friday night.
“You’re going to help me make sure everyone’s gear is where it needs to be,” Rick tells him, handing Sam a clipboard.
Sam nods, solemn as a contract signing. His face gives nothing away.
“How’s the new recruit?” I ask, letting them know I’m there.
Rick grins. “I think he’ll make a great addition to the team, Coach.”
Sam’s cheeks turn pink. “Thank you,” he mumbles.
Rick’s phone buzzes. He checks the screen and steps out to take the call, leaving us alone in the room.
“So,” I start, then hesitate. Small talk has never been my strength, especially with kids. “How does it feel to be the youngest member of the Otters organization in franchise history?”
“Good. Weird.” He shrugs, eyes still on the clipboard.
Fair enough.
“Foster’s been cleared to play on Friday?” he asks.
It takes me a second, but I’m grateful for the change in subject. “Yeah. He’s green-lit.”
Sam nods, quick and decisive. “Florida would be hard to beat without him.”
“They would.”
