Page 29 of My Wife
His forehead furrows for a moment and then he says, “Good goon work.”
The guys chuckle. It’s well known that although my hockey skills have improved over the years, I’m most known for my ability to—how do I put this nicely, in a way that the witch bride wouldn’t find rude?—intimidate the other team.
Realizing that was my cue from Badaszek to give my first “Recaptain” what we call the post-game recap talk by the team captain. Sometimes it’s meant to review aspects the coach didn’t discuss, offer a pep talk, show tough love, or hand out kudos like candy.
Seated on the bench, elbows on my knees, and shoulders bunched up toward my ears, I clap my hands together as if that’ll snap me to attention. It’s time for me to say a few words—not my strong suit.
I clear my throat. “Ambition isn’t how a team wins. It isn’t an action or path to a trophy. It’s not enough towantto win. Everyone wants to score. Get to the Finals. To win the cup. Differentiating ourselves isn’t about reinventing the wheel. It isn’t even about working harder.”
“What’s the secret sauce?” Pierre asks.
Grimaldi says, “As if Ellis would tell.”
Grady says, “His last name is on the Stanley three times. He knows something about winning.”
“My father and brother both have their names on it and I do once, but it’s not because of any one thing I did or because I have a secret. There is no secret.” The words are harsh but true and I aim them directly at Grimaldi.
A round of groans issues from the group and ripples through me. If I were in their seats, I’d groan too. Although I’m known for being grumpy, they deserve better.
“Of course he’d say that,” Grimaldi pipes in.
Resolve building, I channel my father and his many pep talks and say, “How we rise to the top is by giving our all at each practice, each game. When you want to stay out, go home and sleep. When you’re tempted to have another hot dog, have a steak instead.”
“That’s what I’m talking about,” Redd says with a nod of approval.
“So it’s about discipline?” someone says from the back of the locker room.
“And grit, fortitude … and playing like a team and not a one-man clown show.” Once again, I direct this at Grimaldi.
I leave off the part about offensive and defensive IQ because this doesn’t need to turn into a TED Talk. There will be time for that later. We’re all beat and I’ve nearly reached the end of my word count limit for tonight.
“Let’s go,” I say, concluding.
“Let’s golike you’re hyping us up orlet’s golike we’re done here and it’s time to leave?” asks Pierre, the smart aleck.
I level him with a death stare. The guys don’t respect me as captain yet. Not that I blame them. I don’t suppose Badaszek is going to reveal this is a joke or change his mind.
I have to prove myself and I will. I always do.
As I exit, Vohn, the assistant coach pulls me aside. “Well done, but next time try not to look like you’re going to murder the rest of the team if they don’t listen to you.”
“Says the guy who never smiles,” Pierre says, having overheard.
Beau, loading up his bag, grunts.
The three of us aren’t much for sparkle hands and team spirit cheering circles. However, the witch bride with her wide smile could be part of a cheerleading squad with her unwavering grin and enthusiasm. Just thinking about it makes me tired … and it’s very unlikely that I’ll even be able to sleep in my own bed.
Also, why does the woman from the bakery keep popping into my head?
When I get outside, I try to take a deep breath of fresh air, but the winter chill is like icicles in my lungs.
I toss my gear into the back of my truck when another image from this morning surfaces in my mind. I have what feels like mental vertigo. Like I didn’t realize I was standing on the edge of a cliff and tip over the side. My thoughts are in freefall.
The woman at the bakery was doingsign languageto the kid. He was signing back.
Could he not be able to speak or hear?
My thoughts bob and weave. The possibility that my son can’t hear makes me feel like I have a bison sitting on my windpipe. If I overlooked this very important fact, I’m not fit to be a father. Then again, his mother could’ve had the decency to mention it in her scrawled note before she left him in the lobby of the Old Mill, where I now live.
