Page 80 of Wilder Puck
“Have a seat, son,” he says, gesturing to the chair across from him.
I sink down, trying to read his expression. He looks a little uncertain. It's not a look I'm used to seeing on Coach Wilder's face and it throws me.
“What's up, Coach? If this is about practice today, I know I let myself get lost in helping the guys, but I swear I'm locked in for the next game. No distractions.”
He waves a hand dismissively. “This isn't about hockey, Ryan. Or, well, not directly anyway.”
“Okay. So, what's on your mind?”
“I wanted to apologize. For the way I acted, and for what I said about Addison. At your spring party.”
Of all the things I was expecting him to say, that wasn't even in the top hundred. I stare at him, momentarily speechless.
“I was out of line,” he continues, holding my gaze. “I let my own baggage color the way I treated your relationship and that wasn't fair to you. Or to her.”
“Dad,” I start, but he holds up a hand.
“Let me finish. I need to say this.” He clears his throat. “When I was your age, I had a situation. With a woman I cared about. She was a good friend. It ended badly and it messed with me for a long time. It turns out she was a narcissist, charming her way to get me. Then when she had me, everything went to shit, son. I don’t want that to happen to you. I talked to your mom, and she pointed out that I’m projecting a lot of my problems on you boys. Sometimes even on Madison. I don’t mean to, but I want you to know that it’s because I care. I do.”
I nod slowly, processing. My dad has always been a closed book when it comes to his personal life BC (Before Coach), so this glimpse into his past is both illuminating and a little unsettling.
He scrubs a hand over his face, suddenly looking every one of his fifty-odd years. “So, I'm sorry. And I'm happy for you, son. Truly.”
I swallow around the sudden lump in my throat. “Thanks, Dad. That means a lot.”
And it does. More than I can possibly express. I value his opinion because he’s not a bad man. If I could be like him as a father, a hockey player, and a coach, I would be lucky.
He nods. “I heard through the grapevine that you two have taken the next step. Living together. That's big.”
“Grapevine?” I chuckle. “You mean the locker room, Coach?”
He chuckles. “Yes, son. Everything echoes in this place.”
“But yeah,” I confirm, unable to keep the grin off my face. “Rumors are true. It's been really good.”
My dad’s smile widens. “I can see that. You light up when you talk about her.”
“She's it for me, Dad. The real deal.”
“Then I'm glad you have her,” he says simply, standing up and coming around the desk.
I stand too and before I can overthink it, he’s pulling me into a hug. I stiffen for a second, surprised, but then I hug him back.
“I'm proud of you,” he murmurs gruffly. “You’re a good kid. She’s lucky to have you, and so is the Seven Devils. It’s an honor to be your Coach.”
I pull back, happy to hear it from the horse’s mouth. For most of my life, it’s been my mom convincing me that my father is proud of me and loves me. He shows Madison the most love out of all of us.
Coach Wilder is back in place as he claps me on the shoulder, all business once again.
“Alright, enough of this sappy shit, son,” he says with a laugh. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Yes, sir,” I say with a crisp nod, already mentally shifting gears. “Coach,” I correct myself.
He winks with a glint of pride in his eye. “That’s my boy. Now go, before Chase starts planning your funeral.”
I snort, heading for the door.
“And Colton steals my girl,” I joke.
