Page 14 of Wake Me Up
Forcing out something—anything I can—I nod quickly before heading toward my kids, needing to get away from this man. “All right, if you insist. Have a great rest of your day.”
I take Aviana’s hand and start toward my car as fast as I can without making it too obvious that I want to get the hell away from him.
I haven’t felt my heart race like this in five years. I’m not going to allow it to start happening now. Especially not for a professional athlete who plays girls like a fiddle, I’m sure.
I’m not naive, and his charming smile and brooding good looks won’t work on me. I won’t let them.
I have too many responsibilities for that.
Isit across from Coach as he looks down at the results from my physical the other day. He asked me to stay after practice, so here I am. I don’t have a clue why I’m here or what the results say, but I’m expecting the worst.
Setting the iPad down, he pinches the bridge of his nose. “Tell me, Tripp. What do you think about the kid?” He sits back in his chair, folding his hands behind his head lazily. “Corey. How’s he doing?”
He didn’t need to say his name. I knew he meant Corey when he said “the kid.” I knew because, well, Coreyisa child.
“He’s settling in,” I mumble honestly. “I’m not going to say he’s ready to start in a game right now, but he’s getting there.” I jerk my chin toward the iPad on his desk. “What’d the doc tell you? That I’m old as fuck and to give it up? That why you’re asking me about the kid?”
His expression becomes pained, and he closes his eyes. When he opens them back up, he appears more relaxed—or he’s trying to act like he is.
“Talmage, you’ve been with us for over a decade.” He says the statement like I’m not aware of it. “And while your physical came back fine, your range of motion isn’t what it was two years ago, and you’re taking more anti-inflammatory meds than you were six months ago. But I don’t think I even need to tell you that, do I?”
I shrug, tilting my head to the side. “And what are you saying, Coach? You think it’s time I retire?”
I’ve thought the same thing, Coach. But I’m fucking scared. This team, the ice … it’s all I’ve ever known.
“I think your body hurts, but you’re too much of a stubborn ass to tell anyone that.” The words come out boldly. “I think you’ve given this team every ounce of yourself for eleven years now, and the last thing I want is for you to think we brought the kid in to take your place.” He shakes his head. “Those shoes of yours are way too fuckingbig to fill.”
“But that’s exactly what you did, right?” I murmur, looking away from him. “And I don’t blame you. I know my body is getting worn out, but just be honest with me. Don’t blow smoke up my ass, just shoot it to me straight.”
I don’t look back at my coach because I’m afraid I won’t like what I’ll find. I’m young, sure. I’m thirty-three years old, and that’s certainly not old. But in NHL years, it might as well be. I’ve been playing competitive hockey since I was a kid, and all the injuries and wear and tear are slowly ripping pieces from me, making me so that I’m no longer the player I once was.
I know this, but admitting it out loud is another thing. I’m not ready for that.
“I just want you to be up front with me when the time comes for you to step back, Talmage.” He pauses for a moment, and I almost wonder if he’s done talking. “Some guys can’t wait to retire, and they do it young because they’ve got the fame and the fortune, and that’s all they ever cared about.” When I dare to look at him, his eyes cut into mine. “It’s never been about any of that for you, Tripp. I know you don’t give a fuck how many jerseys you sell or how much money you make. And you probably don’t even know how many followers you have on that Instagram bullshit that so many of your teammates are horned up over.”
My lips curve up, but I fight a full grin. “Nah, I don’t run my social media, Coach. We’ve got people for that. and I couldn’t tell you if I had one hundred, a thousand, or a million followers on there either.”
His head bobs up and down as understanding fills his face. “I know. I know you don’t.” His expression grows somber, and he sighs. “Tripp, I guess what I’m asking is … is this your last season, or are you going to renew your contract? I just don’t want to be blindsided—that’s all.”
I look down, picking at my nails mindlessly. I’ve been dreading this conversation because I don’t know the answer right now. My gaze moves upward, and I know I have to say something, anything, to just hold him over for now.
“If I tell you midway through the season … would that be okay?” I grind my back teeth together. “That’ll give me time to work with the kid too. That way, if it is my time, he’s ready.”
Unmistakable disappointment covers his face, but he tries to hide it from me because he knows the last thing I’d ever want to do is fail him or my team.
“I think that’s fair.” He’s clearly saddened, but he stands, holding his hand out to me. “I’ve coached so many players, Talmage. But there’s never been another player who has put their team above everything else quite like you. It’s been my honor, and I hope it’s not the end. But if it is, just know you came here to do a job and you did it well.”
“Thank you, Coach,” I utter, shaking his hand. “Can you keep this between us, just until I figure out my shit?”
“You think I’m stupid, son?” he scoffs. “If the boys think for a second you’re even considering this being your last season, their heads won’t be right all fucking year.” He shakes his head, dropping my hand. “Can’t have that, Talmage.”
“No, sir,” I say and head toward the door. “Thanks, Coach.”
As I head out the door, the weight of disappointment from all my teammates if I were to leave settles on my shoulders. I’m the most levelheaded dude on the team. Grumpy? I guess. Sometimes too serious? Fucking right. But every decision I make and have ever made, I look at it from every angle possible.
Unfortunately, deciding whether I’m going to retire or keep going will be the hardest decision of my life.
Before the game starts, I take my phone out and snap a picture of Cash standing in front of the goal. I know he’s nervous, but he’s going to do great—I’m sure of it. He’s naturally athletic, and he works so hard to be the best he can be, always. A combination that will help him succeed in whatever he does.
