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CHAPTER 17

DECK

HOCKEY IS LIFE?

I avoided calling my brother.

I wasn’t proud of it, especially because I’d been thinking about him a lot lately. But if Lambert was calling—or rather, texting me to call him—I just had a feeling it couldn’t be good news. And my selfish heart, the one that had led me to leave in the first place, abandoning my brother to his duties and to his solitude... that same heart made me afraid to pick up the phone and see what he needed. Because honestly? My life was pretty good.

Samuels and I went over the tape from the last game, and while there were a lot of contributing factors to my flawed play at the end, I did identify some areas for improvement. And that gave me some ammunition to keep in my back pocket for the discussion I knew was coming with the coach when I got to practice the next morning.

He’d scheduled a couple of one-on-ones with various players, and he’d already had the whole team rewatch certain parts of the tape, highlighting areas for improvement. My screwup was a big one.

I arrived at the rink Tuesday morning, feeling ready for my one-on-one.

“Coach?” I stood outside his office door.

Coach Merritt was bent over his desk, jabbing a pencil into a piece of paper in front of him repeatedly, as if he were giving it a good talking-to. It really seemed like the paper had probably gotten the point by now, but he gave it one more solid jab before he looked up at me and barked, “Come in.”

I did, doing my best not to look scared. I was probably twice as big as Coach Merritt, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t afraid of what his opinion meant for my life—and my career.

“Sit down, Deck.”

“Coach, hi, I?—”

“How about I go first?” The coach leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest, dropping his chin a little and giving himself a couple of extra chins, which did nothing to make him look less formidable. At least, not if you were me.

“Sure, okay.”

“Deck, you’re part of this team’s foundation.”

Well, that had to be good.

“But I gotta say, son, that foundation is looking pretty fucking shaky.”

Well, that was less good.

“I don’t know what was going on with you in North Carolina, but you need to know that your foundation is a little shaky too.”

What did that mean? I was afraid to ask.

“I need to see nothing but commitment from you, Deck. I need to see you early to practice—no more fifteen minutes late. I need to see you be the last one here, and I don’t mean because you’re taking a forty-five-minute shower. I need to see you mentoring the younger guys—if you can find anyone greener than you. I need to see you listening to the vets.

“You came in here with a lot of natural talent, and that’s taken you far. But to cement your spot, I need to see real commitment and dedication from you. I need to see that this isn’t just a fun hobby for a guy who’s got something else to do later on.”

The coach finished his speech and then looked at me expectantly. I sat with his words for a minute, afraid of what might come out of my mouth if I responded too quickly. My brain ticked, working through all the possible things I could say to convince Coach Merritt how completely serious I was about the Wombats.

He didn’t know my past—he only knew where I’d come from as a hockey player. He didn’t know that if I didn’t have this, I didn’t have anything. At least, not here in the United States.

“Coach Merritt, I understand everything you’re saying. And I want to assure you that my commitment is more solid than ever.”

I watched the coach’s gruff face as I spoke. Maybe it was just the way I felt the words pouring out of my heart, or maybe he could feel that too, because I swear the lines around his mouth and eyes softened a little.

I kept going. “There is nothing I want more than to dedicate myself entirely to the Wombats. I don’t have anything else going on, Coach. This isn’t a hobby for me. It’s my entire life—my entire identity. And I don’t want to lose it.

“I reviewed the game over and over with Samuels, and yeah, I saw it clear as day. I got too low on the forecheck and lost my guy—should’ve cut back sooner instead of chasing the puck behind the net. By the time I turned, their right D had all the space in the world. I hesitated, took one wrong angle, and left him wide open.”

I paused for a breath, but the coach was focused entirely on me, like he was hanging on every word I was saying. I went on. “I should’ve pressured him, taken away the shooting lane, or at the very least, forced a pass. Instead, I gave him a clean look, and he made us pay for it. That’s on me. It won’t happen again."

The coach’s face relaxed even more, and I thought there was a chance that the tiny quiver on the right side of his mouth might be his version of a smile. I’d seen him smile a couple of times—not very often at me. And that looked like a baby Coach smile. I was gonna tell myself that was a smile, because otherwise, I wasn’t sure how to react to his lack of reaction.

“The words are right, Deck,” Coach said. “Now we’ll see if the action follows.”

“It will, Coach. It will. All action all the time. Nothing but action. Action is my?—”

“Got it.”

“Yeah.”

I rose and almost backed out of the room, forgetting for a moment that this was my hockey coach and not my father, the king. It was okay to turn my back on Coach, though I wanted him to know that I respected him, and if it took treating him like royalty? Then that’s what I would do.

I worked hard that day—harder than I had worked in the last three years. Because I had meant what I said to the coach. This was it for me.

As I finished my long shower that afternoon, I thought about everything. I thought about hockey. I thought about home. And I thought a little too much about Lizzy.

Part of my commitment to the Wombats reinforced my commitment to Lizzy’s efforts. I needed to help her. I needed to make her effort as successful as my own on the ice. Because if I could help make the Wombats a household name, then maybe Declan Gillespie would also be a household name.

And if kids had posters of me on their walls, the way we had posters of Stephano Mizzoni? The coach couldn’t let me go.

I grabbed my gear, stuffed my phone in my pocket, and turned to leave the locker room.

Then my phone buzzed. I pulled it back out.

Lambert: Declan. Call me. I mean it.

A sigh escaped me, and I heard it more than felt it leave my lungs. It sounded like the sigh of a guy who was running out of ways to avoid things. I was going to have to call my brother whether I liked it or not.

I made my way across the parking lot to my truck and climbed inside.

And then I saw Lizzy.

She was sitting in her car, watching me get in. I gave her a little wave, and she gave me a nod back. Sometimes I had the feeling she was following me, or at least paying some extra special attention to me.

But maybe that was just wishful thinking.

I stared at my phone for a long moment, but staring at my phone didn’t change anything. Finally, I dialed. It rang a few times before I heard scrambling on the other end of the line. A couple of seconds later, my brother’s voice came through, as if from years before.

“Hello?”

“Lambert, it’s Deck.”

“Declan,” he said, his voice clear and calm—for some reason I’d expected him to sound groggy or confused.

“How are you?” I asked, hearing myself echo the stupidest question people always asked when they knew the answer was probably not great.

“Yeah, I’m good. How are you?” How was I? Why had he pinged me twice if he was good?

“Really, Lamb? You called me because you’re good?”

“I called you because you’re my brother, and I miss you. Is that weird? And also—technically, I texted you. You called me.”

It wasn’t weird, but it was unexpected.

“Not weird, I guess. It’s just that you’ve never, in a decade, called me just because I’m your brother and you wanted to see how I was.”

“Fair. Maybe I’ve matured. It’s occurred to me that we are family, and we should keep in better touch.”

I waited for my brother to move on to whatever the real reason he’d pinged me was, but he seemed content to have simply re-opened communications between us.

“Hey, Lamb? It’s great to hear your voice and everything, but you’ve got me worried. It’s not like you contact me all the time. And the few times you have, it’s been because something was going on. I mean, I like the idea of being in touch more, but I just have this feeling there’s something more to it. Is there something going on?”

“I mean... There is, but I just don’t really know how much you need to get pulled into it all.” Lambert wasn’t doing much to put my nerves to rest.

“Lamb, I kinda feel like I’m in it now, and if you don’t give me details, I’m going to think the worst. Right now, I’m imagining everything from Mom and Dad turning Murdan into a nudist colony to an army of rebel rats staging a coup.”

“Rats?” He let out a small laugh. “You’ve always had a good imagination, Deckkie.”

“Tell me,” I ground out. I was losing patience.

“Yeah, okay... so, first, things are good? I mean, with hockey? With you?”

“Yeah, they’re good. The season is shaping up. I had a rocky start, but I just talked to the coach and I’m recommitting. Totally, 100 percent in.”

“Well, that’s good. I mean—yeah, never mind. Pretend I didn’t text.”

My brother didn’t beg me to call just so he could ask how hockey was going and then tell me to ‘never mind.’ And as much as I wanted to let him off the hook, I knew I wouldn’t stop worrying until I understood what was really happening.

“Lambert. Now I’m worried. What’s going on?”

“I don’t wanna bother you... You made a choice. We’ve all respected your choice. But Dad is...”

Lambert trailed off, leaving me hanging on those two words: Dad is. Dad is what?

Finally, I asked him that very question.

“Look, it’s nothing he’s said. And Mom’s not talking. But there’s something going on. And I think—I mean, I don’t wanna be the kid that cried coyote.”

“The kid that cried coyote? Do you mean the boy who cried wolf?”

“Whatever. Yeah. I mean... Okay, I’ll just say it, but you don’t have to do it. I think you should come home. But I also don’t wanna tell you to come home and then have you get mad because there was no reason for you to.”

“Is there a reason for me to come home?” Worry—maybe even the beginning of fear—began to bubble in my gut, making me wish I hadn’t eaten that meatball sub earlier.

“I don’t know, Deck. Something’s weird.”

I wasn’t sure that something being weird justified me sacrificing my hockey season and jumping on a plane back to Murdan. Especially after I’d just told my coach that this was all I cared about. The truth was, I had a couple of other things to care about, and my family was one of them.

It was just that, in the past, my family didn’t need me. It had been easy enough to leave when I knew I was the spare, and my parents were healthy and vibrant.

Had something changed?

We both went silent, as if we were sitting together in the palace drawing room, sipping tea and looking out at the sprawling lawn beyond. But we weren’t. And the distance between us became more solid—more real—with every second that passed in silence.

“Lamb, I’ve got a lot on the line here. Like, my whole career. This is a kinda make-or-break season for me. But if you say I need to come home, I’ll give it all up. Family comes first.”

Lambert didn’t speak right away, and when he did, his voice was shaky.

“No. Don’t—don’t do that. I don’t know why I called. Sometimes I just get in my own head.”

“Lamb?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re clean, right?”

He laughed. “Yeah, I’m clean.”

“When’s the last time you were in rehab?” I was pretty sure the one rehab facility on Murdan had a suite with my brother’s name over the door, he’d been there so many times now.

“You won’t like the answer.”

“Just tell me.”

“Couple months back.”

“Lamb...”

“Look, the two things are unrelated.”

I rolled my eyes. “Being clean and rehab are not related?”

“Listen, this is not why I called. And now I’m actually sorry I did. I shouldn’t have bothered you. You left, and that is what matters. We should all just respect the distance and leave you to hockey.”

The words were right, but the delivery left a stone sinking in my guts.

“You called to tell me something about Dad.”

“Yeah, but just pretend I didn’t. Good luck this season.” Lambert hung up.

I stared at my phone, and a text came through from Lambert.

Lambert: I’m sorry. Forget I called. Everything is fine.

It was pretty clear that everything was not fine.

I put my phone down and stared out the window for a long moment, feeling like reality had shifted somehow. Moments ago, my life had been 100 percent about hockey and the Wombats. Now, an unwanted second priority was edging in—one I’d put away a long time ago.

Did my family need me?