One of my old Blue Collar teammates, Robert “Red” McAllister sidles up to the bar with a smile. He’s in his late-20s and has short red hair (hence the nickname). He’s a career AHL player, like I’ve been, and he’s a solid presence on the team.
“You looked good in the playoffs,” Red says after a quick fist bump. I pour a Guinness and slide it across the counter to him. “What’s the plan with the Arsenal?”
My smile falters. I’ve been expecting this, obviously, but I’m still not sure how I feel saying it out loud. Or thinking it. Or staying up all night stewing about it.
“No news. I was called up for the playoffs. Far as I know, I’ll be back in the minors next season.”
His girlfriend joins him. Delia’s a short, pretty, pistol of a woman with strong opinions about everything from potlucks to politics.
She sidles up to the bar, eyes sharp. “No trophy, eh, O’Shannan?” she says. “The Blue Collars didn’t win, either. All ’cause you left for greener pastures.”
“He got called up to the NHL, Delia,” Red argues. “What’d you expect the man to do, turn it down? Again?”
“He turned it down once because his family needed him. Why couldn’t he do it again? The Blue Collars haven’t been this close to winning the Calder Cup in years. He wanted something bigger and better and ran at the first chance. I just want him to be honest about it.”
The words hit like a jab. I’ve been a fixer in this town since I was born. Right before my dad’s accident, I was drafted into the NHL. But then my mom left and my brother was on tour—I couldn’t stand the idea of letting nurses and friends be the ones to take care of Dad. So I turned down my dream so I could help him recover, learn his new normal, and run the bar.
I’ve never regretted that decision for an instant.
But no one has thrown it in my face like this before. Like my finally chasing a dream was abandonment instead of opportunity. Like I’d betrayed everything I stand for—loyalty, community, sacrifice.
Is that how the town sees me now? As the guy who’s only in it for himself?
“Sorry to disappoint, Delia,” I say, my throat thick. “Now, what can I get you?”
“I’m still nursing the one I got,” she says, narrowing her eyes like what she’s really nursing is a grudge. “And what’s this about you not getting a contract? So you went all that way for nothing?”
“It’s not for nothing,” Red says. “He got the team to the second round of the playoffs.”
“His team needed him!”
“The Arsenal is his team, too. You know that’s how minor league affiliates work.”
The two are always fighting and making up, but this time, their bickering leaves me weighed down with a mixture of guilt and regret. Maybe I shouldn’t have left. The Arsenal were never expected to advance past the first round, but who’s to say that was actually me and not the rest of the team over-performing?
I’ve played on my minor league team for ten years. Been team captain for five. They were counting on me. Our backup goalie made some sloppy, costly mistakes that hurt the team.
And as good as my dad looks, as happy as he and my mom looked together, this is still my place. I’m the one who picks up the pieces. Who am I if I let them scatter and fall?
“Why don’t y’all catch me up on what I’ve missed?” I say, as they show no signs of moving from the bar. I pour a fresh Guinness for Red and top off Delia’s, while I’m at it.
“Apart from the Blue Collars losing?” Delia asks, taking a long drink and putting her glass back down on the counter.
“Delia,” Red says quietly.
If she wanted to find a way to make me feel out of place in the only home I’ve ever known, she’s doing a bang-up job.
“Darla Hampton brought spoiled deviled eggs to the covered dish last month. Half a dozen people got sick. Eunice and Loretta said she’s on ice duty for the rest of her life,” Delia says with a snort.
“Poor Darla,” I say. Gossip ain’t my style, though I hear a lot of it in my line of work.
“Oh, and the Mudflaps are winning, for a change. No thanks to that new owner.”
I’m wiping a bottle with a bar rag when I feel it slip through my fingers.
The pint glass tips and sends a wave of Pabst Blue Ribbon across the counter—and right into Red’s lap.
He gets up in time to avoid most of it, but not all.
