Page 106 of Romancing the Grump
All thanks to Franklin.
Thanks toSummer.
“Blake,” a deep voice booms from behind us. We turn to see a large man walking toward us, a broad smile on his face.
“Hey, Coach,” Blake says, wiping his eyes.
The man pulls him into a hug, patting Blake on the back with a firm hand, before extending his hand to me. “Coach Rivers,” he says, introducing himself. “And you’re Nathan. I haven’t seen you since you were this high.” He holds up his hand level with his waist. “I follow your career. Love what you’re doing with the Appies.”
My eyes narrow, trying to place the man standing in front of me, but I have no memory that includes him. “Yeah, thanks. It’s a great organization.”
“Coach Rivers was a Bruin,” Blake says, admiration clear in his voice.
The older man chuckles. “I mostly rode the bench with the Bruins, but hey, they still give you a Stanley Cup ring even if your skates only touch the ice during warm-ups.”
“Wesley Rivers,” I say, suddenly placing the man’s name, though not because I remember ever having met him in person. “I remember you. Left defender. You had a great run in Providence before they called you up to Boston.”
It suddenly strikes me as odd that even after playing on his team for all this time, Blake has never mentioned that Coach Rivers played hockey withDad.Even just now, when he introduced him, all he said was that his coach was a Bruin. Technically correct, but he wasn’tjusta Bruin. He won a Stanley Cup with our father.
But then, Dad’s time in the NHL was a distant memory by the time Blake was born. Any pride he might have felt watching tapes of Dad’s games or seeing his Stanley Cup ring was easily eclipsed by the frustration and struggle of our day-to-day lives. Mom working long hours to support us, Dad never doing much besides drink.
Maybe it isn’t so odd after all. I’m not proud of my father. I don’t know why I should expect Blake to be.
Coach Rivers looks pleased and a little shocked by my mention of his career. “Yeah. I did. Wow. Not many people remember that I played at all.”
“Don’t feel too special,” Blake says. “Nathan is into stats. He remembers everything.”
“Hey, now,” Coach Rivers says, playfully punching Blake in the shoulder. “You trying to keep me humble?”
He reminds me of Coach Davis. Blake clearly respects his coach, but he isn’t afraid to joke around, to talk to him like he’s a person. I’ve played for coaches who are all business, who intimidate and scare players into working hard. But in my experience, teams work a lot better when relationships are built on mutual respect.
“Listen,” Coach Rivers says to Blake, his tone all serious now. “I know you heard this from the judge, but I’m going to say it again. You’re getting a second chance here, son. I don’t want you to waste it. I’ve seen a lot of players make a mess of their lives”—his expression sobers as his gaze moves from Blake to me, then back to Blake again—“who failed to realizehow much the company they kept impacted the men they were becoming. Do better. Surround yourself with men who do better, who inspire you to greatness. Good teammates and good friends will always want what is best foryouas an individual.”
Blake nods, his expression serious. “Thanks, Coach. I’ll remember. I promise.”
Coach Rivers says goodbye, shaking my hand one more time before turning and heading toward the exit, but I chase him down, catching him before he’s even reached the courthouse steps. “Coach Rivers,” I call, and he turns, eyebrows lifted.
“Sorry to stop you,” I say. “But…what you said back there.” The words feel clunky in my mouth, my discomfort ratcheting up and up and up. I don’t like talking about my father, but it’s not very frequent that I meet people who knew him personally, so I push through my hesitation and ask the question I came out here to ask. “Were you talking about my father?”
He’s quiet for a moment before he slowly nods, compassion filling his dark brown eyes. “A lot of us tried to help him after he got hurt, to keep his spirits up, but he pushed us away. Chose to spend time with men who were only good for a drink and a conversation about the glory days.”
I push my hands into my pockets. “That sounds about right.”
Coach Rivers nods. “He never was the same after his injury, but I hope you can remember the good times. I’ll never forget seeing how proud he was whenever your mom showed up at our games with you and your sister.”
I frown. “I’m sorry, what? I don’t know what…” My words trail off, and I shake my head. Mom took Cassie and me togames?
“I suppose you might have been too young to remember, but your dad—he was an example to the rest of us.” He chuckles, like he’s lost in his memories, before looking back at me. “The number of times that man was late for practice because he was dropping you off at school or taking you skating or getting ice cream with your sister. I learned a lot from him about how to prioritize my family first. He was a good man in that regard.”
My jaw tightens. “Respectfully, sir, he wasn’t. He was an emotionally abusive alcoholic who neglected my mother and barely acknowledged his children.”
He holds up his hands. “I know. I know that’s how it ended. And I can’t imagine the pain he put you through. But that wasn’t always who he was. He was an addict, Nathan, and it ruined him. But he was also my teammate.My brother.I think about him every day and wish I could have done more to help. That he would have let me do more. I know you have your memories, but I have mine too.” He reaches over and drops a hand on my shoulder, giving it a tight squeeze. “He was the same man—both versions. I hope one day you can remember that.”
I nod, emotions battling inside my chest. “I, uh…yeah.” It’s the most I can choke out, but it seems to be enough for Coach Rivers.
“Take care, son,” he says, dropping his hand and stepping away.
“Hey, Coach,” I say, calling after him one last time. “Thanks for being there for Blake.”
