“Language,” I say sternly, even though I was saying way worse shit at his age. “Another thing, when you’re at home, practicing with the net, make sure you’re bending your knees, just like you would on the ice. Don’t stand straight up, use the power from your legs and your body to get that shot in there.”
“This is awesome. Thanks, Coach.”
I nod, feeling pride swell in my chest. It feels good to teach these kids; it feels good to give back after all the fucking up I’ve done.
“Your ride coming?” I ask.
“Yeah, my foster dad has to work late sometimes.” He shrugs. “I’ll just practice some more while I wait.”
“Want me to give you a ride?”
He looks shocked that I would even offer. With eyes slightly wide, he asks, “Really?”
I shrug. “Got nothing else to do.”
“I can just walk. I do sometimes, from school and stuff. It’s not a big deal.”
“Where do you live?”
“Southside. 42nd Street.” His voice is low. He’s been walking to the Southside at night? That’s at least thirty minutes by car.
“It’s on the way. Here, call your dad and let them know I'll drop you off.”
Jake nods, then takes my phone that I’m extending toward him. While he’s talking to his parent, I get my skates off and put on my Nikes, then shove everything back into my hockey bag.
I’m finishing up when he skates over, off the ice.
“He says thank you. His meeting ran over at work. Thanks for bringing me home. I appreciate it.” He looks down at his skates.
“No big deal. Let’s go.”
I unlock my truck as we walk toward it, and he climbs in the passenger seat. Before I even have to tell him, I hear the seatbelt click. The drive to the Southside is quiet. Jake stares out the window, his hands folded in his lap.
“Keep practicing that shot, and you’ll have it down in no time. If you ever want a little extra time on the ice, or one-on-one practice, just let me know,” I tell him as I drive.
“You… you’d do that?”
I shrug. “I’m the coach. I gotta make sure you know what you’re doing; otherwise, I’ll look bad.”
He grins, nodding. “Okay. Cool.”
We ride the rest of the way in silence until I pull down his street. The houses are rundown and unkept, most of them look like they’d fail an inspection. Not like the city comes much to this part of town, unless something makes the news.
“Last house on the right,” he says, pointing at a pale blue Victorian-style home with rotting fascia and shutters hanging in the front. The grass is tall, but otherwise, the property is cleaned up, just in a rundown condition.
“Thanks again for the ride, Coach. I’ll keep practicing and watch, I'll be even better at practice next week!” he exclaims, giving me a wide, snaggled-tooth grin.
And this is why I do what I do, this is why I continue to coach these kids even though my own coach is no longer requiring it as some ‘clean-up my act’ good publicity shit. These kids want someone to look up to and that’s what I’m going to give them.
“Yeah, anytime. Bye Jake.”
He grabs the door handle, then flings the door open, grabbing his hockey bag from the back seat and runs inside.
All I can think about the entire ride home is that I probably made that kid’s day and how fucking good it felt. Then, I pull in the driveway to my house and see my mother’s Mercedes parked in the driveway, and I groan. Well, there goes that.
Damnit.
I should’ve known she’d turn up here after I’ve avoided her calls and texts for the past week. I’ve been in a funk these past couple of months, and honestly, dealing with my mother is the last thing I want to do.
I slam the truck in park, then hop out and get my hockey bag, slinging it over my shoulder before walking up my driveway.
When I open the door and walk through the foyer and into the kitchen, my mother is sitting at my kitchen table, folding a pair of my briefs. It seems like she’s been here a while since all of the rest of the clothes are folded into piles on the table in front of her.
“Hi Mom,” I say, tossing my keys into the bowl on the kitchen table.
“Hi, honey.”
I love her, I do. She’s my mom, but, she forgets that I’m a grown man, and every single time she comes over and makes herself at home when I’m not here, I regret the day I decided to give her a key.
“I just wanted to stop by and check on you. I haven’t heard from you all week and you didn’t answer when I called earlier, so here I am.” She laughs.
“Yes, here you are. Mom, you don’t have to do that. I’ve told you a thousand times.”
She shrugs, offering me a small smile, then blows a piece of blonde wispy bang that has fallen free from the loose bun at her neck. “I know Briggs, but it’s what Moms do. They take care of their babies… even if they are grown now.”
“Thank you. I appreciate it, nonetheless.”
Walking over, I give her a quick hug, drawing her into my arms. Sometimes, I wish things were different, and I wasn’t as fucked up as I am… at least for her sake. I hate that she has to be in the middle of all of this.
Mom pulls back and pats my cheek. “You need to shave this, it’s getting long.”
“I will.”
“I came over to see if you would come to dinner this weekend, as a favor. For me.”
She takes my hands in hers, gazing up at me with hope in her eyes.
Unease unfurls in the pit of my stomach, latching onto my insides and billowing outward. Family dinners used to be a weekly thing with our family. Before. Every Sunday, my brother and I would head to Mom and Dad’s for dinner and to catch whatever hockey game was on. It didn’t matter where we were, or what we had planned, we’d drop it to make sure we were there. Seeing the way her face lit up, and she’d give us a real smile every time we walked through the door made whatever sacrifice we made to be there, worth it.
I hate to be the one to crush her hopes every time she tries to put our family back together, but some things…just can’t be fixed.
“Mom…” My jaw steels as I clench my teeth together. It seems like the same old wound, still raw with pain, continually rips back open at every turn. The constant reminder that at the end of the day, I’m the one preventing our family from being whole again. Even if it was my brother who destroyed it in the first place.
Brushing past her, I walk to the fridge and pull out a Gatorade, desperate for a moment to regain my composure. I have to remind myself that I’m not that guy anymore. I’ve worked too hard to let the man I am now slip through my fingers.
“Briggs, honey, I know… I know you are still hurting, but we’re your family. Your father and I miss you, your brother…”
I cut my eyes at her at the mention of him. “I’m not ready. I won’t be ready, for a long time, Mom. Look, I miss the way things used to be too. I miss when things weren’t so badly messed up… I just can’t. I’m sorry if that hurts you.”
Mom’s face falls and I almost regret my words, but there’s too much history. Too much anger. Too much betrayal. Not only did my brother destroy the relationship between he and me, leaving it in irreparable pieces, he tore our entire family apart.