“Only a little, but mostly to sell you on an opportunity …”
The Kelowna Wildcats needed a coach. Pronto. The last poor bastard died of a heart attack, probably because coaching American league hockey is all work without enough pay. Since his parents are part owners of the team, they reached out to him, and he’d thought of me.
“I’m flattered, man. Really fucking flattered, but—”
“I know what you’re gonna say. They don’t get paid well enough and you’re right. We can talk numbers Friday, but you’ll be compensated more than the standard—generously above the standard, which is nepotism at its best. When my parents heard I was gonna ask you they said to give you whatever you wanted. Then, once you’re back in the game, there’s opportunity for you to move up.”
Up in this case is the NHL. Except it hadn’t worked the last time for many reasons but being away from my family was the main kingpin. The guilt led to all the drinking and debauchery and my eventual firing. He knows. I didn’t want to rehash that, nor did I believe there was any hope in hoping for more than the present opportunity. Even coaching for the AHL made me leery with all kinds of past regret sloshing around in my stomach. Plus, my obligations have grown since then. I have more people I’d be away from.
“I’m too fucking rusty to coach for the American Hockey league, Raz. Your parents deserve a coach who can spearhead victories.”
“It’s like riding a bike, Merc. I know you. As if you’ve ever really left hockey.”
Well, no. But I’m no pro anymore. I was given the offer to play professionally once, which I turned down and never regretted. I loved playing in my youth, but I’m a coach through and through. I’ve always loved strategy and managing players more than playing though I do love tying on my skates to show off occasionally.
I miss the money I would have made. But that’s it.
“I can’t Raz—”
“I don’t want to hear it. This is your chance, and I won’t let you pass it by for a little doubt. Do a good job coaching in Kelowna and you’ll get noticed. I’ll make sure you get noticed.”
His tone was laced with guilt. He always wanted me to live in the hockey world with him. He feels like he left me behind. We’ve grown apart due to circumstances, but I’ll always consider him a brother.
“You don’t have to do this, Eddie.”
“Think about it. I’ll call you Friday with an offer you can’t refuse.”
He hung up without waiting for an answer. I stood in the middle of my detached garage, the scent of grease and oil filling my nostrils, wondering if I was being pranked. I called my brother—the mostly adult one—and told him to meet me at Maloney’s Pub for a beer or seven.
I arrived early and it was a good thing. Maloney’s was closed for renovations, and I was forced to go next door to a place called The Wicklow. When I let Ari know, he said he was running behind anyway. It was Monday so the place was nearly empty, but I could smell the mix of residual alcoholic catastrophe left behind by the weekend bedlam. The heavy door to the kitchen swung open, releasing the sizzle of whatever they were deep frying in the kitchen. I walked across to the back of the place and sat down in a leather-padded bench seat.
From my vantage point, I could see the whole pub and spied a young blond hottie at the old copper bar top, sipping on something in a highball glass, and made a note to hit him up after my meeting with brother dearest.
Thirty minutes later, Ari landed in the booth seat across from me with a heavy thud, unloading the exhaustion of his workday and letting it dissipate into the stale pub air. His fingers were crusted with dried paint and his tired smile was like Dad’s, crinkling in his lip corners.
I pushed a pint of Canadian toward him. “This will make it better.” Then I dialed Bea so she could participate in the meeting of the Meyer elders via Facetime. She had a house full of little ones that night or she would have been there with us. Maloney’s has been our office since we were old enough to drink—that’s nineteen in BC, Canada—this would be our first ever elsewhere. I hoped that wouldn’t be the harbinger of bad luck in our situation.
She held up her glass of pinot grigio, her signal foreveryone’s asleep. Except for Trish of course, who waved from the background. Trish usually leaves us Meyers siblings to do our thing, but sometimes she’ll contribute her two cents if she catches bits of the conversation.
“Well? You called this meeting, I’m just here to drink beer and listen to you yammer,” Ari said.
I had called the meeting, but they were the ones saddling me with this nut to crack. I wanted to strangle Ari, but I let it go instead. I’m the eldest and no matter how old and capable they get, they always look to me.
“Something came up today.” I sighed. “I don’t know if it’s a miracle or the universe makin’ fun of me.”
I was hesitant when I delved into the conversation with Eddie. Not because I thought they’d hate it, but the opposite. I knew they’d talk me into it. Maybe I wanted to be talked into it. If I was totally against it, I would have kept it to myself.
As predicted, they both smiled.
“You’ve gotta do it,” Bea said.
“But what about everyone? I’ll be gone for most of the year. You won’t see me.”
“I’m gettin’ sick of lookin’ at you myself,” Ari said. “And if the others miss you, we’ve got Facetime.
That wouldn’t be good enough for Theo and they both knew it. Bea knew what I was thinking.
“If Eddie’s going to make it worth your while, I don’t think you can refuse.” She smiled. “It’s not just the money, Merc. I know how much this weighs on your soul. If you don’t try, you’re gonna end up with awhat if. What are you always telling the kids aboutwhat ifs?”
