Page 4 of Forecasting the Forward

NerdGirl1025: I’m sorry. That sucks.

StickUM92: It is what it is. I’ve never had the best relationship with her.

NerdGirl1025: What about your dad? Can’t he help?

StickUM92: They divorced when I was five, and my dad died a few years later. He had initiated the divorce, and my mom was really salty about it. She’s been hunting for the elusive happily ever after ending since. She just married husband number five.

NerdGirl1025: Wow. Five?

StickUM92: Yup. That doesn’t even count the revolving door of men while I was living at home. We moved a lot as she chased one guy or another. I think I saw every small town in east Texas by the time I was a teenager.

Ah. He lives in Texas. Probably why he seems so nice. I have yet to meet a southerner who hasn’t been cheerful and fun to talk to.

NerdGirl1025: Well I say you slowly give the olives back to her, or donate them to a food kitchen. Might as well make some people happy with the disgusting little fake grapes.

StickUM92: Fake grapes. HA! I’ll think about what to do with them. Sorry for being a little down-in-the-dumps. Any interaction with my mom makes me grumpy.

NerdGirl1025: I understand. That’s how I am with my parents, so I get it.

When StickUM doesn’t respond, I turn off my phone screen. Honestly, I get grumpy thinking of any of my family members. My father and older brother were the worst to me growing up, but I’ve held a lot of animosity toward my mother for turning a blind eye and allowing it to happen.

I haven’t been home in quite some time, and I’m not sure how long it’s been since I’ve spoken to any of them. As far as I’m concerned, I’m the last remaining Stephens family member.

I’m an easy-going guy.I don’t need much. As long as I can be around my buddies on the ice, my guinea pigs are healthy and waiting for me at home, and I have access to a grocery store and the library, I won’t complain. I could do away with Internet and television. You won’t find me burning the midnight oil at a club or bar. Hell, I rarely leave my downtown apartment building. Why bother? We’ve got a gym, a small convenience store, and I’m one block from the arena where I play with my team, the Denver Wolves. Adding in my phenomenal balcony overlooking the Rocky Mountains to the northwest, and I’m one hell of a happy man.

So explain to me why I’m watching a beautiful woman, with tears in her eyes, run away from me, and I’m tempted to run after her.

I have no problem getting pussy. I’m a fucking NHL forward. Women flock to me. I’m not bragging, just stating a fact. On the rare occasion I’m out with more than one of my teammates, we’re surrounded within minutes. I’ve lost track of how many phone numbers, and hotel keys, have been snuck into mypockets. Yeah, I’ve taken advantage a time or two. But that shit gets old after a while. No one wants to get to knowme. The real me. The me without hockey.

Who am I? I’m Jacob Mitchell, first line forward on the Wolves. I’m thirty four, and I’m no longer the young and hungry guy I was when I started in the league over a decade ago. Don’t get me wrong, I’m still in excellent shape. But I’m slowing down. I can feel it, and my team sure as fuck sees it. I wasn’t surprised to get called in to speak with the coach and GM today, the only reason I’m out of my apartment. It’s the off-season. Training camp will start soon, but for now I’m enjoying sleeping in and doing nothing all day.

A lot of the guys move home during the summer, but not me. I happen to love Denver. Growing up in Texas, I dealt with heat and humidity. Then when I played college hockey at the University of Michigan, I dealt with cold and humidity. Here in Denver, humidity is a figment of my imagination. It’s cold as balls in the winter, and we routinely get around one hundred degrees in the summer. But the dry climate is amazing, and I love being able to open my windows and sliding door overnight. I’m on the twenty-fifth floor, so it’s not like anyone is going to break in.

As I head into the arena, I find it odd that we’re meeting here. Our practice facility, located just outside of downtown, is much nicer, and each coach has better offices there. Here, we share the arena with the basketball team, and other times there are concerts and functions. It’s still a nice setup, but I much prefer the practice facility.

Knocking on Coach’s door, I hear him yelling for me to come in. I’m surprised to find he’s not alone. Our general manager, one assistant coach, and the owner are also in attendance. As Coach’s office is fairly small, it’s cramped and awkward as I greet everyone individually.

“Alright, let’s get this over with,” Coach says. “I’ve got lunch plans with my wife, and I’m not making her wait again.”

Coach Davenport married his girl only a few months ago, with the entire team in attendance. It was quite the story when he finally got with her, as she was a physical therapist for the team, and he was an assistant coach. She’s also a decade younger than him. In any case, the grumpy coach calmed down quite a bit once she tamed him, and it’s nice to see him smile every once in a while.

“Jax, do you know why we called you in?” The GM asks.

“Uh, not really, but I assume it has to do with my play at the end of last year,” I answer sheepishly. We won the Cup a couple years ago, and then last year, it was like none of us knew how to skate. We barely made it into the playoffs, losing in the first round. My buddy Luca Santo retired when we won the Cup, and our other good friend Levi Quinn has nonchalantly said he’s thinking about retiring this year. While I have no plans in place, I wonder if I’ll be the resident old guy on the team, grasping at his youth and praying for survival, while the teenagers skate circles around me.

“Two things bring you here today,” Coach says, clearing his throat as he tosses something at me. I catch it easily, looking down to find the captain’s patch in my hand.

“What?” I breathe. Santzy was our captain two years ago, then Boone took it on last year before he asked for a trade to be closer to family, and it honestly never occurred to me that I’d be considered for captain in his absence.

“You’re surprised?” Coach asks, chuckling.

“Well, yeah. I thought you’d give it to Levi.” Levi is a powerful force on the ice, and I’d never want to be paired against him.

“We thought about it, but Levi would hate being captain. The team vote was tied between you, so it came to us as a tiebreaker. A captain is someone the young guys can go to for advice, orwhen they need help. No shot in hell our new draftees would feel comfortable going to him,” Coach explains.

“That is true. Sometimes he even scares me,” I admit. I love the guy, and I know he’d do anything for me, but he’s so stoic — to the point of looking pissed off and gruff a lot of the time — and introverted that I really don’t know that much about his youth. I only know about his hockey nickname because he got drunk one night and confessed the whole sordid debacle.

I’m not even sure I’ve ever seen Levi with a woman. He’s a handful of years younger than me, but we meshed as soon as he joined the team.

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