Page 112 of Edging Coach
I swore into the stillness and rubbed my eyes with my thumb and forefinger. I could absolutely be the Abbotsford Grizzlies’ coach. But I couldn’t be Devon Jarvis’s coach. Not when I cared for him this much.
I chewed my lip and stared at my darkened computer screen. This wasn’t the time to do something impulsive. Especially when there was a non-zero chance that Devon wasn’t interested anyway. I could make this enormous move, and nothing could come of it.
Nothing, except that I’d no longer be in any position to damage or hinder Devon’s career.
Whether he reciprocated my feelings or not, that was non-negotiable. For all I knew, he’d already mentally moved on, and he was killing time on a hookup app right now while he waited for his meeting with Emil. I could already be tucked away with everyone he’d ever fucked and forgotten about.
That didn’t matter. Devon was on his way to being a star. Whether he felt the same or not, I loved him too much to get in his way.
I swallowed hard as I sat up in my chair. I wouldn’t do it yet. Not until Devon was in Vancouver where he could focus on making what could potentially be his big break.
Then, and only then, I would be stepping down as Abbotsford’s head coach.
CHAPTER 32
DEVON
I’ve been called up.
I never used the dragon’s tongue on Jack.
I’m going to the big leagues.
I’m miserable.
As I drove up Highway One from Abbotsford to Vancouver, with my equipment in my trunk, my thoughts swirled. The IceHawks were putting me up in a hotel near their training facility. I wouldn’t even have a roommate.
I’d survived my time with Hairs.
I deserved a goddamn medal. The best thing about being called up? I didn’t have to go on the western trip. Edmonton, Calgary, and Winnipeg. With a swing through Seattle for good measure.
Nope. Not going to miss Hairs at all.
But damnit, I’d miss Jack.
I banged the steering wheel with the back of my hand as I drove through increasingly heavy traffic. Langley through to Surrey and over the Port Mann Bridge had been fine. This stretch around Kensington in Burnaby wasslower. My GPS informed me of an accident ahead but that I was still on the fastest route.
Arvy, who’d been called up before, said to be certain I stayed away from Hastings Street. Something about speed-control measures and, frankly, it being depressing. Homeless people and drug addicts. And yeah, I saw his point. My head needed to be on the game—not on how we kept letting down our most desperate citizens. Canada did lots right, but still wasn’t perfect. I was one of those weird people who didn’t mind paying taxes—as long as it went to all the right things.
Universal healthcare.
Building housing.
Social assistance for those down on their luck.
And like the other stuff—roads, sewers, and a strong electrical grid.
Many twenty-five-year-olds didn’t think about that shit.
As I eased my way past the accident, I thanked the first responders in my mind. Also paid for by taxpayers.
Traffic picked up, and soon I was back up to speed. I was only going to travel at the speed of the other traffic. Not ever having gotten any speeding tickets in my life was something I was damn proud of. Yet another thing I credited to my mother.Never risk your place on any team.Said in her strong Quebecois accent.Avoid interacting with the police unless necessary.Well, except charity events where getting along with law enforcement was a good thing.
Jesus fucking Christ. You’ve got practice in an hour. You’ve got a game tonight. Your first fucking big-league game. And you’re thinking about social safety nets, housing starts, and speeding tickets.
Jesus fucking Christ indeed.
Yet all that was true.
