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“I think…I’m pretty sure he’s running d-drills out there with JT and a few of the other 16u boys.”
Ryler Arena, since its grand opening two years ago, had become the place to go for youth hockey development in the Tampa area. Toward the end of their NHL careers, Hayes and Ryan had talked extensively about their desire to make Hayes’s dream a reality: to open a hockey training facility with the goal of being able to help as many underprivileged kids as possible.
And they’d gone on to do just that.
In addition to providing an elite level of training both on and off the ice, the facility also offered scholarships, grants, employment opportunities, and financial assistance to families who needed it. They’d been featured in news broadcasts and articles all over the country and had won several awards for their amazing work in doing their part to make sure hockey truly was for everyone and that prospects weren’t limited by their socioeconomic status.
As for their NHL careers, Ryan had been traded several times, having never really become a huge name, but having held his own as a steady 5-6 d-man. He retired from the Chicago Blackhawks four years ago, at age 36 after finding himself unable to keep up with these young thundercats anymore.
Hayes had become somewhat of a star and had remained with the Isles for his entire career, having hung his skates up the same year as Ryan at age 33, his shoulder unable to withstand any more injuries. They’d saved their money wisely, having invested enough to place a massive down payment on the facility, and the business had completely taken off.
Ryler Arena wasn’t originally supposed to be in Tampa; they’d planned to break ground in Minnesota, but after Jake’s unexpected death three years ago, they immediately relocated to Tampa to be a support system for Amara and JT, deciding to open the business there.
And JT DiMara, as it turned out, was one hell of a hockey defenseman.
This upcoming 16u tournament was critical, as JT was being scouted by several USHL teams, so Ryan had been working overtime making sure he was ready.
“What rink are they on?” Hayes asked.
“Kadin Memorial, I think.”
“Thanks.”
Both rinks at the facility had been named in memory of those Ryan and Hayes had lost too soon. Rink A was Baylor Memorial, in memory of Ryan’s dad, and Rink B was Kadin Memorial, in memory of Travis Kadin.
Four years ago, Hayes received some of the worst news of his life.
He’d just gotten back from JT’s practice, where he’d been helping to coach the team, and he found Ryan on the couch crying with his head in his hands.
“Rook? What’s wrong?” He dropped his bag and rushed to his side.
“It’s…Teek, man.”
“Is he OK?”
Ryan shook his head, and Hayes had immediately fallen to the floor.
After putting up a valiant fight for so long, having ended up married with a gorgeous wife and two beautiful babies, Travis Kadin had ultimately lost his battle with addiction at the age of 32.
They were never able to determine if it was an intentional or accidental overdose, but Hayes had always felt in his soul that Teek just wasn’t mentally able to fight his demons anymore. Hayes and Ryan had kept in touch with him, meeting up when their teams played each other and checking in every couple months or so, and the last time they’d talked, he’d sounded happy.
“My life is so amazing, baby. So much better than I could’ve ever pictured it. In case I never said it, Ty: thanks for saving me.”
Most people would’ve taken that as a sign that TK was doing alright.
But Hayes, understanding the crippling depression went hand in hand with being an addict and the lengths to which addicts would go to lie about it, knew better.
Soon after TK’s funeral, which had really fucked Hayes up, he’d relapsed, having gone on a brief alcohol binge to numb the intense emotional pain his friend’s death had caused him to feel. Ryan had, of course, stuck by his side while he rode it out, and he was ultimately able to get himself sober again after just a few weeks off the wagon.
Though he’d recovered, he’d never really been quite the same since.
Hayes entered Kadin Memorial, smiling and nodding at the picture of TK that hung at the entrance next to the plaque, which listed his birthdate, death date, the words “Loving husband, father, friend, and teammate,” and the SAMHSA number with the message “You don’t have to do this alone.” The picture was of him hoisting the Cup that he’d won with the Senators, the team’s first ever Stanley Cup win. The absolute exuberance on Travis Kadin’s face in that picture always helped bolster Hayes’s will to keep fighting, knowing how proud TK would be of him if he could see him now and see all he and Ryan had been able to accomplish.
“Miss you, kid,” he whispered, before climbing up to the very top of the stands, taking a seat so he could watch his husband work with JT, and pulling his latest project out of his backpack to crochet while he did just that.
Though both of them took on the role of coach from time to time, it was mostly Ryan who worked on the ice with the players, Hayes having taken charge of the business end of Ryler Arena. It turned out he was pretty good with numbers; combine that with a few online business courses and his “take no shit” attitude, it turned out he was a pretty damn good businessman, too.
He watched as Ryan ran a defensive icing PK drill with the boys, snickering to himself as Ryan had been infamous for, especially in his later years, icing the puck way too much. Hayes looked on in awe as JT stole the puck back from one of the forwards, deked around another, and took it right to the house, leaving everyone else in the dust. The wheels on that kid were something else, and Hayes knew that if he played his cards right, he was destined for greatness.
