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THIRTY-EIGHT

Clay

We play Minnesota on March thirteenth, with Hale in the net. He gets his first shutout for Colorado, and the scoreboard reads 4-0 after the third period. The whole bench erupts with joy, because this win clinches our playoffs spot.

March thirteenth . It’s the earliest clinch date of my coaching career. That has to mean something.

Right?

Immediately after the game, the crotchety old team owner calls me to congratulate me, and I try to sound humble. “It was a group effort. We’re working hard, here.”

He clears his throat in my ear. “Great to see that our backup goaltender isn’t stinking it up anymore. At least against a crap team like Minnesota.”

“He’s doing well, Mr. Silbert,” I say mildly. “At this point I’m more worried about Volkov’s back and Wheeler’s knee.” And Pierre’s potential drug problem . “We’ll try to stay on top of it all.”

“See that you do,” he says.

We all celebrate in our own ways, I guess. Jethro shows up to drink NA beers at the hotel bar. Kapski passes out woven bracelets to the whole organization that say, THIS IS A COUGARS YEAR.

At the bar, Stoney makes a big show of ordering a frame for his vision board, which is looking more tattered every game. “Double-thick Plexiglass,” he says. “We can take it everywhere we go.”

Jethro nudges him. “But won’t that mess with the magnetism?”

“It doesn’t work that way!” Stoney says. “Nice try, though. Just for that, you owe me another photo.”

After dropping about a thousand dollars on drinks for the team, I retreat to my hotel room at one in the morning. I’m still buzzing inside, my head full of strategies and petty anxieties.

We could win the Cup. But in order to do that, everything has to go exactly right.

Even though it’s late, my phone lights up with an incoming call. Naturally my brain leaps to Jethro. I can’t think of anyone else who’d call me at this hour.

Oops. Or maybe I can. It’s Kaitlyn’s face who appears on the screen. And it’s her voice yelling in my ear after I answer the phone. “OMIGOD CLAZY! THIS IS AMAZING! WHEE!”

“Kaitlyn, ouch. I wouldn’t think a doctor would be so callous with my hearing.”

“Where is the love?” she demands. “I stayed up late to congratulate you.”

There’s a two-hour time difference in her favor, but I don’t point that out. “Thank you. Now I just need another dozen miracles before I can wrap my entire body around the Cup.”

“We’re going to have the best party when you guys win. Even Dad will have to say proud things about you because some of his doctor friends are hockey fans.”

I snort. “I don’t want to win this thing for Dad, Kaity. I want it for me.” It’s been years since I worried about what he thinks.

“I know,” she agrees. “But I’ll enjoy it anyway. I’m petty like that. What else is going on with you? I haven’t heard from you in ages.”

“That’s because nothing else is going on with me. Hockey is all I think about.”

Well, hockey and Jethro. But it’s almost the same thing.

“How are things with Jethro Hale?” she asks, exhibiting the same freaky intuition she’s had her entire life.

“Pretty good. We’ve reached an understanding.”

“Whoa. What kind of understanding?”

“The kind where we’re friendly with each other and things aren’t as tense anymore.”

“Wow,” she muses. “And how did that come to pass? Was there yelling involved?”

“There was some yelling,” I say carefully. “But then I explained to him that our breakup had affected me more than it ever did him, and I apologized for acting badly when he turned up in Colorado.”

She whistles. “That’s…wow. Very mature of you.”

“I’m actually good at this coach thing, Kait. Give me a little credit.”

“What did he say , though? What does he think happened all those years ago?”

I laugh. “You’re just loving this, aren’t you? My drama is so entertaining. Better than TV.”

“Don’t judge. And don’t cliffhanger me. What did Jethro say when you admitted your feelings for him?”

I sigh. “At first, not a lot. But later he was really nice about it. He said he regrets the way it ended. And that if he’d been older and wiser, we might still be together.”

There’s a silence at the end of the phone.

“Kait? Did I lose you?”

“I’m here,” she says. “Just trying to process this. He…he told you he might be in love with you, too?”

“Not like that,” I say quickly. “Can’t imagine those words ever coming out of his mouth.”

“But still ,” she gasps. “He’s all, like, ‘Hey we were amazing together. I get that now. Okay, bye’?”

“Well…” I screw my eyes shut. “He was open to more, but it’s a nonstarter. I had to shut that down.”

Another gasp.

“Kait, seriously. A player can’t date a coach.”

“I know that,” she insists. “But what I don’t get is how you’re so calm about it. The love of your life said he wants you back. And you’re, like, ‘No can do! See you at practice.’”

“Kait! I’m not dead inside. But there are literally no other options here, unless I quit my job . Which, as you pointed out five minutes ago, is going better than ever before.”

“But that’s just so depressing!”

“I KNOW!” I shout. “It sucks! I spend half my time trying not to think about it! And in case you wondered, this conversation isn’t helping!”

She sighs. Tragically. “I think I hate him even more now, and I didn’t think that was possible.”

“Don’t hate him. Jeez.” I sigh, too. “He’s a good guy.”

“He stomped on your heart,” she grumbles.

“The thing is…he wasn’t wrong fifteen years ago. I wish he’d been able to talk to me like a grownup and tell me I wasn’t the only one who cared. But there was almost no practical way we could have stayed together and still had our careers.”

“You thought there was,” she points out. “And he didn’t try.”

“He didn’t,” I agree. “But what if it’s nobody’s fault? Maybe it was just easier to blame him. Easier, but wrong.”

“Maybe,” she mumbles, because Kait is as fair as she is loyal. “But what about the future? How many years does he have left in hockey?”

“Another season probably.”

“That’s not so long,” she says.

I laugh. “Feels long, though.”

“There’s a dirty joke in there somewhere.”

“ Kait .”

She snickers. “Okay, hear me out. The Cougars win the Cup three months from today. And then Hale retires in a blaze of glory. You two could be a couple then, couldn’t you?”

“I guess. Maybe.” It’s not like I haven’t had this thought before. “It’s not like I can ask him to do that.”

“Can’t you?” she presses. “Both your lives have been built around hockey—with no compromises. Maybe he’s a little sick of it, just like you are.”

“I didn’t say I was sick of it.”

She sniffs. “You didn’t say it out loud. But I know you. You’ll win the Cup. And then go home to your empty apartment and wonder what you’re supposed to do now.”

That sounds depressingly plausible. “I thought you called to congratulate me, not psychoanalyze me.”

“Can’t help it. Occupational hazard. Oh—one more thing. I’m pregnant. With twins.”

I sit up fast. “Wait, what?”

“Two babies, due in September. A boy and a girl.”

“Wow, Kait! Congratulations.” My throat tries to close up around my words. This is big. Kait is in her late thirties, and it wasn’t all that long ago when she was convinced she’d never have a family.

“Isn’t it amazing? You’re the first in the family to know. You want to know why?”

“Why?” I ask, still trying to imagine my baby sister pregnant with twins. My mind is blown.

“Because I knew you’d get it. And I knew you wouldn’t ask me when Raul and I are getting married. Which I appreciate.”

“Are you? Not that I care.” My sister’s boyfriend is a sharply dressed Puerto Rican doctor a few years older than her. I’ve always thought he was great.

“We’ll probably get married eventually. But it’s not top of mind. We’re both excited about the pregnancy.”

“Of course you are,” I say sleepily. “Twins. I’ll teach them to skate.”

“I love you, Clazy,” she says, her tone a little weepy.

“Back at you, too, Kaity. Thank you for telling me.”

We ring off, and I turn off the lights and make myself comfortable on the bed. The Twin Cities’ lights twinkle in the river outside my window.

Rolling onto my side on the king-sized bed, I think of my sister and her boyfriend, happy at home in Seattle, starting their family together.

I’ve always known that my life wouldn’t look like that. It’s a choice I made. But I’m old enough to wonder how things might have been different if I’d chosen another path. If I’d prioritized a relationship and a family over the glory of professional sports.

Somewhere in this same building—probably on a lower floor in another king-sized bed—Jethro is sleeping alone, too. We have our reasons.

It’s just that sometimes—like right this second—it feels like a waste.