Page 11

Thierry

P ulling up to the practice rink, I stared at the complex.

The only thing running through my mind was my critics.

Thierry Thomas, coach? What comes next after a bitter medical retirement?

Star to dud, Thierry Thomas benched, relegated to the coaching staff.

Each question and mean-spirited statement was a chink in the chainmail I used to insulate myself from the chirping pundits.

Their rhetoric was the easiest way to either score with their audiences or cause havoc on the field or, in my case, on the ice.

Crazy how it was my turn in the spotlight now.

I guess after my illustrious career, it was only fair to face the speculation.

Thing was, they weren’t wrong. I had those questions too.

Was I too old? Had I fucked my knee up so badly, at my age—thirty-five—everything that came after the initial incident was my fault?

Mentally, my head was in the game. I wanted to be out there on the ice instead of behind the boards.

In all the years since I started playing, I never had a day where I wanted to give up.

However, sometimes, an old dog like me, needed rest.

Perhaps I should embrace the forced medical retirement. Face the new direction my life took and accept the coaching job as a gift. Hell, if I didn’t, amputating my legs was next.

Ain’t no one had time for that.

Again, I wondered if I was making the right decisions lately, considering I never planned for what came next after I retired.

If anything, I thought I’d be in the game until I hit forty or at least forty-two.

That hunger still burned within me. Or as my dad would say that dog could hunt.

Nevertheless, following that drive and those instincts led to a pretty solitary life.

Obviously, I thought I found the balance when I met Derrick.

For a short time, I felt an equal part member of the team and equal part family man.

Now... I wouldn’t call what I felt jealousy, per se.

However, watching my teammates get married and have kids ate a hole in my gut.

I still wanted a partner. Someone to come home to.

Someone to share my life with. What was the point of having fame and money if I couldn’t share the luxury with them?

I’d given the best years of my life to club and country, and what did I have to show for it?

An artificial knee, a coaching job, and an ungrateful ex-partner who called me up this morning to just dig their claws into me one more time.

Fuck, I hated Derrick. “ Coaching now, Thierry?” He laughed that condescending way of his.

“Boy, how the mighty have fallen. I’m so glad I got out when I did.

Who knows what you would’ve done to me next? ”

My hands tightened on the steering wheel of my truck, causing my knuckles to turn white and exposed the scars there from years of having my hands smacked with sticks or fighting on the ice.

I stared at my phone long after that call ended, wondering what the fuck had just happened and how I kept falling for the wrong people.

More importantly, how I tried using every guy, whether as a one-night stand or in a relationship, as a replacement for Pope.

Deep down, I wanted my friend back. In all the years since we parted ways, there’d been several times when I’d wanted to pick up the phone and call him, just to hear his voice or talk through an issue I was having.

At nineteen, I hit a wall. I wasn’t progressing, but I also wasn’t advancing in the sport.

I’d gotten my awards and medals, and I wondered if maybe I’d done it all.

Like I could settle for the Olympic stuff and never make hockey my career choice.

If only Pope knew how close I’d come to quitting in that six-month period where nothing mattered, he’d have kicked my ass.

If things hadn’t turned sour, he’d have been a phone call away or right by my side as my goalie. He’d have reminded me why we played this game and how much it meant to both of us. Life would’ve been perfect. Maybe I wouldn’t have fallen for Derrick either.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t in the cards for me.

I realized too late; I shouldn’t have kissed Pope.

I should’ve abandoned the notion of him being mine years ago when I saw him with his first girlfriend, Cherie.

Pope being my best friend meant more to me than not having him at all in my life.

But there was something about him, I just couldn’t let go of.

In the end, I’d been the only one to get hurt.

No one else. Get your shit together, Thomas.

Can’t be a mopey SOB on your first day of coaching.

No, I couldn’t.

Couldn’t even think about my personal problems while I was playing either. One thing about hockey, those who didn’t pay attention, always got hurt. A lapse in my mental acuity got me hurt through no fault of anyone else on the ice.I just took my eye off the game and got stuck in my head.

Poor Linky. There’d been nothing he could’ve done to prevent our collision. It was all on me.

That’s enough pity for today. Time to go inside and start over.

At thirty-five.

The Mountaineers players, like every other team I’d played for, would be sizing me up today.

They’d look for any weaknesses I might have, besides the bummed knee, and exploit them.

Even if I was their coach and not a threat.

AHL players all hungered for the same thing.

An NHL contract, or like some, counted down the days until their call up came.

They played to be seen, whereas I’d been a household name for years.

While my light slowly dimmed due to age and years on the ice, they were just starting out.

Perhaps my time here was all about showcasing them.

If that turned out to be the case, I’d be their biggest supporter and fan. I’d make sure each of them got that spotlight.

Pushing out of my truck, I took a second to gather myself before opening the back passenger door to grab my gear from the backseat then stopped myself.

After almost thirty years of reaching for my gear, I didn’t need it anymore.

A pang of sadness washed over me. I didn’t know how long I stood there reconciling the fact I didn’t have to dress out anymore.

Even as I watched the team file in, that excitement I always felt being on the ice, filled me.

Felt like the first day of training all over again.

Kind of enjoyed the anticipation, to be honest, at least it pulled me out of the morose miasma I’d trapped myself in.

The nervous little wiggle in my stomach reminded me even if I wasn’t on the ice, I still belonged on the team.

As I strode into the building, three men waited off to the side.

I knew one of them, Dr. Gerald Whitefield, team doctor.

The other two men I’d yet to meet. Gerald stepped forward, extending his hand as he welcomed me.

“Thierry, you made it. Welcome to the team.” Once I shook his hand, he motioned to the men next to him.

“This is our orthopedic surgeon Dr. Matthew Driver and our Head of Athletic training, Mr. Byron James.”

We each shook hands and exchanged pleasantries then started for the training room across from the locker room. “Feels good being back.” The smell of body odor, cleaning solvent, and leather along with tape and a sundry of other items permeated the area. Just like old times.

Excitement bubbled inside of me.

Getting back out there, even if I wasn’t on the ice lit a fire in me.

I hadn’t lost the spark like I feared. It was still there, just in a different form.

I hoped, once I’d been cleared by Doc Jay, I could strap on my skates and show the guys what I wanted, not just shout orders at them. Still, that was a long way out.

Meanwhile, I’d do whatever it took to get out on the ice just to feel the blades beneath my feet.

Maybe I’m not as ready as I thought I was to hang up my skates.

Byron pushed open the door to the training room and held it for us.

“We wanted to take a moment with you, to check in. We all know how difficult the decision to retire can be, especially after what appeared to be such an innocuous injury. How are your repairs healing? Is there anything you’re concerned about?

What about rehab?” He motioned for me to sit on the table.

“Did Dr. Jay set you up with a sports rehab clinic to relearn how to walk?”

I inclined my chin, never once feeling like their cautious approach was anything but that.

Though, there were some in the league who played injured until they couldn’t.

That led to far more damage and most times, caused career ending surgeries or assessments.

My knee was the first major injury I’d ever suffered on or off the ice besides the concussions.

I guess I should count myself lucky. “The knee is progressing.” That sounded stupid.

“What I mean is, I knew when I went to Dr. Jay, I’d have to start over from the very beginning.

The joint is stiff, but stable. Would I love to get back on the ice?

Definitely. Did I make the right choice to retire… ”

“If it makes you feel better,” Dr. Driver said.

“I haven’t met a player who was ever ready to retire.

Their bodies made that choice for them. Whether by not being able to keep up and their reflexes slowed, or in your case, injury.

Never play the “why me,” game. Those scenarios will send you down a dark rabbit hole you’ll never get out of. ”

“I thought about getting a therapist.” Okay, so I only gave it a half-hearted thought last night, before I fell asleep.

“Maybe try some holistic medicine, too. I want to be in the game, in whatever role, for as long as possible.” I shrugged.

“My father even got me an appointment with his acupuncturist.”