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“I’m in. You need a ride?” I say, cutting him off. Obviously, he’s calling because he needs me. It’s not like this is a regular occurrence, and I can hear the quiver in his voice.
For a second, he pauses, then says, “I could probably take the bus? It’ll take me a bit because I need to check the schedule.”
As fucking if I’m letting this kid take a public bus alone.
“Nah, get your stuff ready and give me a few to take care of something, and I’ll be on my way. Sound good?”
“For sure. Thanks… Thanks for this, Coach.”
My heart does something funny when he says those words of gratitude, and I clear my throat. “Yeah, kid, it’s nothing. I’m always here.”
* * *
“Your head isn’tin it today. Doesn’t matter how many times I shoot this puck, you’re not there, Wren,” I say. “What’s going on? Let’s go sit, get some water, chill for a minute.”
He doesn’t respond to my question but nods and flings off his gloves, leaving them on the ice in front of the net. When we get to the bench, he pulls his helmet off, then squirts his water into his mouth, his gaze somewhere far off in the distance.
Obviously, something is up. He’s not his usual animated self.
“You wanna talk about it?” I ask, taking a seat next to him, leaning my stick against the boards as I wait for him to respond.
I want him to feel like he can talk to me, but I don’t want to push too far and make him run. I knew when I heard his voice on the phone that something was off, and the way he’s acting and playing today on the ice solidifies that.
“Just an off day,” he mumbles, eyes cast downward.
I nod. “We all have them. Been playing hockey since I was younger than you, and I still have off days. Especially when shit is fucking with my head. I always play my worst when my mental game isn’t on par with my hands. It’s like the two can’t keep up when they aren’t in sync.”
His throat bobs as he swallows, still avoiding my gaze. “I just hate when my bad days affect how I play. I mean… I just have a lot going on, and if there is one steady thing in my life, it’s hockey. At the end of the day, it doesn’t matter what happens at school or at home. If I have a fight with my stepdad or flunk a test. Hockey is always there. Sometimes it feels like hockey is all I really have.”
“I get it. That’s part of honing your craft, Wren. Learning to leave it at the door the second that you step on the ice. It also helps not to keep all of that shit in your head bottled up. Get it out. Find an outlet to express the way you’re feeling,” I say, nudging his shoulder with mine, his eyes finally meeting mine.
“My stepdad… he’s been drinking more. And sometimes he forgets things.”
My stomach dips at his confession. Fuck, he’s just a kid. He shouldn’t have to carry this on his shoulders.
“What kind of things?” I ask.
He swallows, averting his gaze like he’s worried about telling the truth, “Just things. Sometimes he forgets to pay the electric bill, and they turn off the electricity for a few days. Sometimes he forgets to buy groceries.” He pauses, shuffling on each foot, still not meeting my eyes, and I can feel my rage increasing by the second. “It’s just hard sometimes, Coach. I miss my mom so much, and it feels like sometimes I don’t have anyone.”
Sighing, I drag my hand down my face. Goddamnit, part of me wants to beat the shit out of that asshole for being a piece of shit to Wren, and the other part wants to take him away from this situation, but I’m not really sure what my place is here. This is entirely new territory for me. Right now, he looks like he could flee at the drop of the hat, and that’s the last thing I want.
“Wren, listen to me. I don’t give a fuck what time of night it is, what day it is… I don’t give a shit if I’m in the middle of the Stanley Cup game. If you need me, I’m here. Night or day. You hear me? The second you feel like it’s not safe for you, if you don’t want to call the police, you callme, Wren.”
He nods. “Thank you… I just needed to get it off my chest. That’s why I’m here late sometimes ‘cause he forgets to pick me up, and I have to take the bus.” Silence envelops us both as we stare out at the rink. I’m struggling with the right decision. There’s a fierce part of me that needs to protect this kid. But something tells me the more I push, the more he’ll back away. I can see it in his eyes. A human’s natural response—fight or flight. “I wish that I could turn the clock back, even for just a few minutes, to when my mom was here, and she could just hug me and tell me everything is okay.”
“Wren… I—”
He turns to face me, and I throw my arm around him, tugging him to my chest. I hold on fucking tight, and I don’t move when I feel him tense. All he needs is a damn hug, and my heart is breaking listening to him tell me this stuff, knowing I can’t take him away. If I tell Laura, what could she do?
Clearing his throat, he steps back, the emotion still hanging on his words. “I don’t want you to treat me any differently. I’m still going to bust my ass out there and earn my spot. Look, can you just pretend that I never said anything? Coach, promise me… promise me you won’t say anything. I’d rather my stepdad forget a few times than end up in a group home in the foster care system.”
“I’m only making that promise if you make one of your own, Wren. You have to fucking promise me that if you ever feel unsafe, you will call me. Immediately. No hesitation.”
He nods. “I don’t want to end up in foster care. Do you know how many teenagers get thrown into foster care and sit there? No one wants a teenager. No one will want me, and sometimes we have to choose the lesser evil.”
Reaching out, I put my arm on his shoulder. “I’m never letting that happen, Wren. I promise you that. Okay? That’s my promise. You call me no matter what. With the season starting, I’m going to be traveling a lot, but even if I’m on the road, I don’t care. You call me.”
“I will. Saved your number underOld Man.” A small smirk tugs at the corner of his lips when he teases me, earning him a shove to his shoulder. “I probably need to get home,” he says quietly, looking down at the beat-up watch on his wrist and eying the time. It’s late now, the sun beginning to set outside the rink.
