by Mary Smith
“Taden, you know you’re the best coach the Bears have ever had,” Connor begins.
Here it comes.
“I’m fired, right?” I might as well beat him to the punch.
“Absolutely not, Tad. I won’t allow it and that’s not why we’re here.” Oliver shakes his head.
“Why are you here then?” Now, I’m baffled. I’m certain they’re going to fire me.
“This season is already shot to fuck. There’s no way we’ll make the playoffs. Kevin, Mike and I all agree to this. We crunched the numbers. We’d have to win every game for the rest of the season, with five points or better, to even make a wildcard spot. We’re all realists in this situation and know it’s impossible,” Connor explains.
I had done the numbers as well. I know he’s right. The Bears are out.
“We want you to get better.” Oliver starts with his speech. “Our concern is getting you back to tip-top shape. All of us are worried about you, Tad. Not just as a coach but as a friend. You’re our family and we want you to get well.”
I sit patiently and listen.
“I don’t want you back until you’re cleared by a medical doctor and a therapist. Your body, mind and emotions have been through more than every player on the Bears entire roster. None of us know how to help you, but we all will support you.” Oliver sounds truly concerned for me.
“I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not. Tad, you and I go way back, and I feel like a damn fool for not seeing the signs before all this…” He trails off. “I love you as a brother and those girls as if they were my own. You know this.”
I hang my head and nod.
“You will never be fired from the Bears, but I won’t allow you on the bench again until I know you’re healthy. I can’t in good conscience be a factor to your issues.” Oliver’s voice cracks.
No one will ever know Oliver has a sensitive side, but he does. He carries his heart on his sleeve. He might be ruthless in a boardroom or negotiating a contract, but the man loves with every ounce of himself. It’s a wonder he never married or had children of his own.
“There’s nothing wrong with me.” I try to plead my case. “It’s simply a case of vertigo.”
“You’re a fucking liar.” Janan storms into the room.
“Jan—”
“Don’t.” She points right at me. “I will not allow you to sit here and lie. I won’t do it. You need help. The type of help from people who are trained in this sort of area. Hockey, working late nights and hiding your true feelings will not help.” She has her finger right in my face. “You will do as Uncle Oliver and Mr. Philips say. If you won’t do it for them, then do it for Nova and me.” A single tear slides down her soft cheek.
“Janan.” My throat closes and I can’t say anything.
“Do it or we’re leaving and you’ll never see us again.” There’s her ultimatum again and another tear slips down her other cheek.
Sitting in my living room, with my boss, my oldest friend and my daughter, I realize I can try. Maybe if I try they’ll see I’m fine and let the issue go.
“Okay.”
Chapter Three
FOR THE PAST three days, I’ve done nothing but clean. Yes, clean. Every room in the house is spotless, just like she liked it. I dust, mop, wax, scrub and even snow blow the driveway. All the while, my head is pounding, my chest is hurting, and I still can’t sleep. Janan and Nova keep telling me to slow down, but I don’t listen to them. I’m bored to tears.
When I took the month of January off, I had been busy arranging for Sharon’s funeral, entertaining some of her family, those that were left, and taking care of the girls. Well, a little bit anyway since they pretty much don’t need me anymore.
Now, I’m sitting on the window bench watching the snow fall. I have nothing more to do. So, I stare out the window, but I’m holding our album. It’s something I gave Sharon on our fifteenth wedding anniversary. She kept it all these years in her nightstand. There are pictures of us when we were dating, graduating college, several from our wedding, our vow renewal, Janan as a baby, the day Nova came to us, and…
“I can’t sleep.” Sharon tosses and turns.
“Roll over and I’ll rub your back. It helped you last time.” I kiss her cheek. “Or we could…” I dip my hand low to the top of her shorts.
She shoves my hand away. “Does any part of me read sexually aroused right now?” She throws off the blankets and gets out of bed.
“Sweetheart.”
“Shut up!” she yells and quickly leaves our bedroom.
I know she’s tired and with me on the road, it’s not helping her out at all. I follow her down to the kitchen. “You’re doing a great job, Sharon.” I try to encourage her. I know it’s hard with two little girls.
She’s sitting at the kitchen table with a bottle of gin in front of her.
“Look, let’s not drink tonight.” I go to grab the bottle, but she pulls it from my hand.
“Don’t tell me what the fuck to do!” she yells. “You’re not in charge of me.”
“Sweetheart.” I try to reason with her. “I know but alcohol isn’t the answer when you have to be up early in the morning.” I go to kiss her cheek, and she shoves me.
This is the second time she’s shoved me.
“I don’t appreciate you pushing on me, Sharon.” My tone isn’t forceful but firm to get my point across.
“You’re my husband. Do you understand what I’m saying? I’ll do whatever the hell I want to do.”
And then it happens…
SLAP!
She slaps me right across my cheek. I’ve taken punches from other men on the ice, but no woman has ever struck me. Not even my mother as a child.
SLAP!
She hits my other cheek.
“Enough!” I grab her wrists. I’d never strike a woman. Never! But I won’t let her continue to hit me for no apparent reason.
“Sharon, what’s gotten into you?”
Her eyes…
Her golden brown eyes had changed that day. It’s as if she decided to no longer care about anything, especially her family. She became more controlling, more forceful, more dangerous.
I rub my finger over the photo of Sharon and me on our wedding day. Her bright smile and big eyes are glowing up at me. This amazing, beautiful woman filled my life and heart more than any words I can say or express.
I love her more and more every day.
Love or loved?
I can’t even tell the difference. She’s owned my body, mind and soul for the majority of my life. I’m forty-seven now. I met her when I was nineteen, and my world revolved around her. She’s the air I breathe.
Right?
Isn’t that how you’re supposed to be with the love of your life?
I was hers too.
Right?
I study the last photo in the photo album. I had just been named head coach of the Bears and Oliver threw a huge party for us. Janan and Nova were about fourteen, and I can clearly tell their smiles are fake. Janan has a small fading red bruise on her cheek. Nova is sporting black eyes and I remember having broken ribs. The pain I felt as everyone hugged me that night caused even more pain, but I powered through the whole evening.
CRASH!
I jump from the bench and race to the room where the sound was coming from. It’s Sharon’s room. No one is allowed in there. She kept herself locked up in there for hours drinking or whatever else she did. None of us know because we couldn’t even knock on the door.
“What are you doing?” I exclaim seeing Janan throwing away bottles from the bar. It’s not a huge bar, but the bottles are lined up on a long shelf.
“It’s time to get rid of her shit,” Janan states as she drops more bottles into a massively large trashcan.
Where did she find such a huge trashcan?
“Janan, we can’t.” I reach for her but she moves.
“Yes, we can. Now, are you going to help or not?”
“She’ll be mad.” I know saying the words out loud is strange since my rational side reminds me Sharon is gone but…
“Again, she’s dead. Do you want me to show you her obituary again? The one full of lies about what a loving wife, mother and aunt she was? Do you remember writing all those lies down, Daddy? Because the woman I remember had been a raging bitch twenty-four hours a day.”
“Stop!” I yell as loud as I can, making her jump and freeze in her place. “Stop touching her things. We can’t do this.”
It takes several seconds before Janan makes a move toward me. “She’s dead. The fucking cunt killed herself and I thank God every fucking day she did. It’s the greatest gift she ever gave me.”
My brain can’t process what I did next. I never had an out of body experience, but I did. I grip Janan’s shoulders and push her against the wall. Words were leaving my mouth and I vaguely remember saying something to the effect of how much Sharon loves us as long as we were good and obey her rules.
“We have to obey her rules. We have to obey her rules. We have to obey her rules,” I say it over and over until I fall to the floor hugging my daughter and taking her with me. “I won’t let her hurt you. I won’t let her hurt you. I won’t let her hurt you. I won’t let her hurt you.”
“Let me go, Daddy.” Janan is crying, and I come back to reality.
I scared my daughter. Did I hurt her? No, I would never hurt her. Never. I’d rather die than harm my girls.
“You need to get help. You’ve fucking lost your mind.” Janan shoves me out of the way and runs as fast as she can away from me.
FOR HOURS, I call her and Nova’s phone. No one is answering me. I drive to the campus and walk its entirety and see no sign of them. I drive to The Latte Bean, where everyone in Manchester hangs out, but again they’re not there. I rack my brain, until it hits me.
Hamilton.
They feel safe with him.
It had been around a year or so ago when Hamilton found out about our home life. It had been by accident. He came over on the day when Sharon had been angry. He walked in when Janan and Nova had been screaming for Sharon to stop hitting me with a broom. She had knocked me off my feet and continued to strike me over and over. Somehow, I don’t remember much, Hamilton had been able to get her to stop. Since then Hamilton had opened his doors to the girls and me. He even tried to help me with an escape plan, but I can’t... couldn’t... leave my wife.
I ring his doorbell and wait for a few seconds before ringing it several more times. Hamilton is a huge man but one with the kindest heart and when he opens the door, I can see the pain on his face.
“They’re here,” he answers my internal question. “I don’t know what you did, but I suggest you fix it fast or you’ll lose the only two people you care about the most.” He steps out of the way, and I walk in. Hamilton points to the left. I’ve been here enough to know it’s where they all watch movies.
Just as I thought, Janan and Nova are curled up next to each other, watching... well... I don’t know what because my eyes are on my girls. Memories flood me. Them playing with their Barbie’s, playing dress up, painting my nails because they were trying to make me pretty, the first time I put them on the ice, them playing hockey with me, school dances, graduations, it all came to me in one big wave.
These are my girls. My life. My soul.
“We’re the three frogs.” I feel the tears burning my cheeks. “I don’t know what’s happening.” For some reason, my knees give way, and I fall to the floor.
Janan and Nova come to me, wrapping their arms around me. I feel their love around me. I sob harder than I can ever remember. I will not lose them. I’ll do anything to keep them safe.
“Please, Daddy, talk to someone.” Janan cries into my neck. “You can’t be like her. I can’t bare it if you turn into her.”
My heart breaks. I let the rational side be in control, for a mere moment. “I promise I will talk to someone.” I hold them both tighter. I won’t lose my girls.
I LOST MY way from God a long time ago. My parents had raised me in the Catholic church but in high school and college, hockey had been my life. After I had been drafted, I traveled too much. Plus, Sharon hadn’t been real religious either and I fell away from the church.
After the funeral and we buried Sharon, I had come back to the church and sat in one of the pews. I didn’t think about anything. I had just wanted the quiet for a little bit. Since then, I come every Sunday.
I’ll be the first to admit I don’t know if I’m coming here just because I have nothing better to do, or if I’m searching for something. Sad to say, both seem like a logical answer to my craziness called my life. I sit in the very last pew, closest to the corner as the church begins to fill for Sunday service.
It’s been two days since Janan and I had our... incident... or my breakdown, and I have kept myself locked in the bedroom. When I’ve gone downstairs, after the girls are asleep, I made sure the house was in order to Sharon’s standards. I am still taking ten minute showers. I shut my rational side down again. I don’t want to hear it. I know what I’m doing.
Right?
I heard the priest up there talking, but no words are registering with me. He could be saying, “Blah, blah, blah,” and I wouldn’t even know. My attention is on the stained glass window adjacent to me. It’s an angel with her, or maybe his, wings spread wide overlooking a crowd of people. It looks, to me, as if the angel is protecting the ones below her or him. The angel is strong.
I am not…
“Sharon.” Gently I touch her shoulder. According to the girls, she’s been in bed for two days straight. “Sweetheart.”
“Stop calling me that, you motherfucker.” Her eyes open and there’s only evil in them. All is gone––the loving and carefree wife I once had.
“I want to make sure you’re okay,” I speak softly as she taught me to do.
“I’m breathing, you dumb fuck. It’s obvious I’m fucking fine, you ignorant moron.” She jumps from the bed, and quickly I move back to give her room.
“Well the season is over. Why don’t we get away?” I suggest, hoping a trip away will help her remain calm.
“Oh, sure.” She gasps. “I’d loved to get away from those brats, but who’s going to take care of them? Your mother who’s in a nursing home? Oh, how about Oliver? You know because the billionaire has nothing better to do. God, you’re dumber than I fucking thought.”
From out of nowhere, the lamp hits me…
“Coach?”
I jump from my seat, only to see Vance Pemberton and his wife, Dacey, standing in the pew in front of me.
“Are you okay?” Vance’s Irish accent isn’t as thick as Dacey’s but the worried tone comes across clear. This is Vance’s second year with the Bears. Last year, he had been the rookie of the year. I know he’s a good kid with strong family ties.
“I’m fine.” My automatic response comes through. I realize the church is empty. The service is over.
“Do you want me to drive you home?” he asks. “I don’t mind at all.”
“Um... no... I’m…” I clear my throat. “How’s everything going with you?” Maybe if I change the subject then I won’t have their attention on my problems... issues... situation.
“Good. As well as it can be.” He shrugs. He knows this is a bad season as does everyone else. “Paxton is really tearing it up though.”
I nod. “I watched the game last night. He is.”
“Mr. Mathews and Mr. Philips say you’ll be back by next season.”
I’m sure Oliver and Connor said more than those few words, but I don’t go into it. “I just need a small vacation.” I try to joke, but I’ve never been a jokester. “I hope you both enjoy your Sunday.” I stand and rush away as Vance opens his mouth but says nothing.
I drive around Manchester, going nowhere in particular, but not wanting to go home. There should be things I can do, but nothing is coming to mind. Maybe a cup of coffee is the jolt I need to g
et my brain going. I turn toward The Latte Bean and park in the parking lot.
They’re not overly crowded and I easily make my way through the line and find a table near the large picture window. People watching isn’t the greatest hobby in the world, but sometimes it’s just something I do. Manchester winters don’t stop people from getting out and about as they travel up and down the sidewalks of the shopping center across the way.
I sip the hot dark roast and stare down at the wooden table. I can’t seem to focus on anything. I don’t know whether I’m going or coming. My life without hockey is much worse than I could have ever imagined.
“Mr. Long?”
I lift up my eyes to see Maxima Rosin smiling at me. Maxima is Remington Rosin’s wife. His very pregnant wife.
“Maxima, you shouldn’t be on your feet.” I stand and guide her to the seat across from me.
“You’re as bad as Remington.”
I chuckle. The first time in... forever. “I know you’re not too far away.”
“Less than a month.” She beams.
Sharon was happy when she was pregnant.
“I can’t believe how fast time flies. What are you having again?”
“A little girl. Poor Remington doesn’t have chance in our house.” She giggles.
“He doesn’t. Remember I live in a house full of females.” I stop. Minus one, I guess.
Maxima still smiles. She’s always such a kind person, a bit more shy than normal. “Mr. Long—”
“Taden, please.” Mostly everyone calls me Coach. Nova calls me Tad, and Sharon was always Taddy.
Until…
“We’ve not had sex in a long time.” I kiss her cheek. It had been almost a year, and I’m tired of fisting myself.
“Why do you think I want to have sex with you?” She pushes me away again. She has hit me a few times.
I know she’s stressed.
“Taden?” Maxima’s soft voice brings me out of the reverie I’m in.
“I’m sorry. What did you say?”
“Um... I was saying I don’t normally pry myself into someone else’s business.”