Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 87364 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 437(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87364 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 437(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
The only question is… what does max potential look like for me?
“A long shot, for sure,” he says in a low voice. “There’s no way you’ll be ready for next season. You’ve got another good year of hard rehab to build yourself back up again. But I’m willing to keep you on this team and let you take that shot if you want it.”
That does not help me at all. If anything, he’s shining a spotlight on the tiniest glimmer of hope that I could return to competitive play. It’s going to take more hard work, much more than I’ve even put into myself up to this point. Grueling hours in therapy and the gym. Building up muscle and then reforming it to regain flexibility, which is crucial for a goalie. Doing drills over and over and over to regain muscle memory. And then I have to prove myself against other goalies who have perfect bodies, who are younger and hungry for the position.
“So to recap,” I drawl, “it’s going to be near to impossible that I would be able to return to competitive play as a goalie for this team. And if I do, it’s not going to happen anytime soon. I don’t know how to coach, but I do know quite a bit about being a goalie, and I’ve paid attention to the people who’ve coached me from the time I first put on skates until now. I might end up being the worst goalie coach in the league, but I could help rebuild a decimated team.”
“You didn’t even need to come in and talk to me.” Dominik laughs. “You seem to have it all figured out.”
But I don’t. Not really.
Because neither choice is easy. I could take the coaching position and turn my back on the potential for a return to competitive play. I would be putting to bed my career as a player.
I could become the goalie coach for the Pittsburgh Titans, and there’s a very good chance I might suck at it. My second career could be a miserable failure.
On the flip side, I could pour my heart and soul into getting my body back in good enough shape to attempt to get my job back on this team. I could work months and months and still not be strong or steady enough. And by then, the opportunity to enter the coaching world would be gone. I’ll be a dried-up, early retired-hockey player with only a few years of investments to carry me on through life. I’ll have to go through the league’s program to find a new career, and at this point, I have no clue what even appeals to me. All I know is that I want to be around hockey in some form or fashion.
Looking Dominik squarely in the eye, I demand to know. “What should I do?”
He shakes his head, his expression somber. “I can’t answer that for you. It’s too personal a decision.”
“Well,” I drawl, trying to hide my irritation that he won’t just tell me what to do. “If you were in my shoes, what would you do?”
“I’m not in your shoes, Baden.” His voice is low, sorrowful. “I can’t even begin to imagine the physical and emotional toll you’ve endured, and in a million years, I could never weed through the pros and cons of these choices. These options can only be examined through the lenses you wear, colored by your experiences. I can only tell you that you must go with your gut.”
♦
I’d like to say Dominik was no help, but he actually was. His last words resonated… that I’ve been through so much, only I can decide what’s best for me. While neither choice is easy, and both have their perils and potential victories, I am leaning one way.
It’s why I’m having lunch with Riggs at The Sneaky Saguaro for one more opinion to make sure my leaning is correct.
After initial pleasantries, which weren’t so pleasant as I updated him on the memorial service in Pittsburgh, I told him about the job offer. He absorbed the information, asked a few questions, and then changed the subject.
While this was slightly irritating because hello, my life is hanging in the balance… I went with it.
For the past half hour, through wings and beer-battered onion rings—crappy food I would not have eaten while training my body to get back into peak shape—we’ve been talking about Veronica. Riggs’s head is in the clouds, and I let him stay there. After everything he’s been through, the dude deserves his happily ever after.
It’s when we push our plates away that Riggs locks eyes with me over the table and asks, “When are you going to ask me what to do about the Titans’ offer?”
“When are you going to stop talking about Veronica with that goofy love-struck tone of voice?” I volley.