Page 100 of Empty Net
After a long time, I say, "I have to tell the team."
His hand stills. Then resumes. "Yes."
"I want them to hear it from me."
"Then they will."
"Two things."
"Retirement," he says.
"And you."
His breath stops.
I lift my head enough to look at him.
"If that's okay," I say.
Caleb's face does the thing where too much feeling arrives and he has to sort it before speaking.
"It's okay," he says. His voice is not steady. "It's more than okay."
I put my head back down.
The career is ending.
The life is not.
I do not fully believe that yet.
But Caleb's hand is in my hair and the room is warm and my name is still mine, even if the jersey comes off.
For tonight, that is enough.
NOLAN
Itell the team before practice on a Wednesday.
This is a bad time to tell twenty-three professional hockey players anything meaningful. Mornings before practice are made of tape, coffee, equipment adjustments, medical complaints, Jonah talking too much, and the low-grade irritation of men who have not yet sweated enough to become reasonable. If I wait for the right time, I will wait until the season ends. If I wait until the season ends, the words will become another thing I almost did.
So Wednesday.
Before practice.
Locker room. Full room. No media. No staff except Callahan, who stands by the door with his arms crossed and his face arranged into coach-neutral, which is a lie because Callahan has known since the MRI and he has been looking at me like a man trying not to pre-grieve one of his defensemen in public.
I stand in the middle of the room.
This is not where I stand. I stand at my stall. I stand on the blue line. I stand in the back row of meetings where I can see exits and angles and the full ice of any room. The middle is where people put themselves when they want attention.
I do not want attention.
I want control.
Sometimes they look the same from outside.
The room quiets in pieces. Jonah first, which is how I know the room has understood this is not ordinary. Cole looks at me and then looks down at his tape. Mik's hand is on Cole's knee. Wes sits with both hands folded, still as a locked door. Luca is by the coffee, biscotti container open beside him. Isaac is standing because rookies stand when they do not know whether they are allowed to sit.
