Page 88 of Sexting the Coach
The host goes on, his voice ringing out through the space, his head turned to address one of the cameras.
“To see such a spectacular group of athletes is a privilege indeed. This is our class of 2025, NHL Hall of Fame!”
Cheers ring out through the building, and the nervous guy in the suit comes walking through, handing each of us a jersey to hold up. I only realize my hands are shaking when my fingerswrap around the edges, and I hold it up for the camera that swings around.
I did it.
For the first time tonight, it hits me that this is something momentous. Obviously, being inducted to any hall of fame would be incredible, but here I am, being recognized as one of the most memorable hockey players in the game.
When I look out into the crowd, I think about myself as a little boy, learning about hockey and starting to love it. How my interest, and fanaticism around it, had pushed my family away from me. The total disinterest from my father, who would have rather I got into football instead. The dismay from my mother when she found out I’d be leaving town instead of working in the family business.
And now here I am, inducted into the hall of fame, and it hadn’t really crossed my mind to invite them. I wonder if they have any clue that I’m here right now. That one of their sons is a hall-of-famer.
Maybe now is a good time to revisit that. With Elsie pregnant, it might be a good idea for me to reach out to them.
After all, that’s what I told Elsie. To make first contact, to reach out. To give the other person the chance of rising to the occasion.
I can’t go back in time and ask them to be here for me, or even see if they’ll end up coming. But I can give my kid the opportunity to have another set of grandparents.
They may not be here, but I don’t feel alone. Because I have her, and even August Montgomery standing at my side, telling me he’s proud.
They hand each of us a small medal and go through the rounds of more picture taking. Then, just as quickly as it began, the ceremony is over, and we’re shuffling off the stage again.
“Wolfe!” a familiar voice calls, and I blink when I come off the stage and realize it’s Bernie standing there, looking every bit the proud father himself. “Congratulations, man.”
“Bernie? What are you doing here?”
“Are you kidding? Of course we came to see your induction.” Bernie steps forward and puts a hand on my shoulder. “You look great without the hat, by the way.”
I step forward and hug him, and the action must catch him by surprise, because he lets out a littleoomphbefore patting me on the back. “Thanks man,” I say, pulling back. “Means more than you know.”
“Congrats,” someone says, somewhat half-heartedly, and I realize with a start that Fincher has been standing here the whole time. I was so preoccupied with seeing Bernie that I didn’t register his presence.
“Oh, uh, thanks,” I manage, because he’s thelastperson I want to see right now. In fact, my hand twitches at my side, and even amongst all this joy and happiness, I’m still itching to knock the motherfucker out.
“Listen,” Fincher says, as Bernie drifts away, saying congrats to some of the other guys. The last thing I want to do is listen to this fucker, but I hold still, curiosity winning out. “I’m resigning.”
That’ssurprising.
“You are?”
Fincher nods, running a hand over the back of his neck and looking up at the ceiling, before returning his gaze to me. “I haven’t been myself. This wholehead coachsituation has turned me into someone I don’t recognize. I used to be here for the love of the game, and I’ve had some, uh, revelations recently. That fighting with you and sneaking around?—”
“—and taking videos of people without their consent?—”
“—isn’t good for me.” He pauses, not admitting to sharing that video, but having the good sense to look somewhat guilty. “Plus, my daughter just had her first kid. My wife wants to move out to be close to them. I think it will be good for me to take some time away.”
It’s a weird feeling to know that all this time, while I’ve been dealing with my demons, other people have also been dealing with theirs.
“Well, I’m not going to lie to you and say I forgive you,” I say, mostly because his shit affected Elsie, too, and I’ll never forgive him for that. “But I…wish you all the best.”
Fincher nods, like that response is about what he expected, and claps me on the shoulder. “Thanks man, you too.”
And with that, the biggest pain in my ass for the past year is gone, disappearing into the crowd. In the next moment, a body launches into mine, a set of arms circling around my neck.
“You looked so good up on stage,” Elsie whispers into my ear, and when I loop my arms around her body, it feels like coming home. “Love the hair.”
There are a lot of things we need to talk about. Discussions to be had about our future. In fact, there are celebrations going on all around us, people talking about an after party. If I cared more about networking, I’d make sure to go.
