When did Gale Knight turn into Frail Knight? Guess success made you soft
I hear the minors are nice this time of year
A knock at the hotel room door startled him. Gale’s brow furrowed as he checked the time—nearly midnight. Who was this?
He opened the door to find Coach standing there, in his game-day suit, looking as crisp as he had during the press conference.
“Got some time?” Coach asked.
Hell, time’s all he had if he wasn’t playing. But Gale didn’t have the heart to snap back.
Instead he nodded, warily stepping aside to let him pass. A tense silence filled the room as Coach stalked to the floor-to-ceiling windows, hands clasped behind his back. Gale perched on the edge of the bed, feeling like he was a kid waiting for a dressing down.
“You know why I’m here?” Coach finally asked, without turning to face him.
Gale’s jaw clenched. “To tell me I need to step it up? That I’m not living up to my potential?” He tried to keep the bitterness out of his voice, but it seeped through anyway. “That the ice under me is so thin I’m about to crash through, like what happened to Tuck last year?” Their goalie had been playing in England when he fell through thin ice during a pickup game on a lake—the accident left him in a coma for weeks, though thankfully he’d pulled through.
Coach turned, eyes narrowed, but his voice remained level. “I’m not here to apologize for benching you. It was the right call, anddeep down, you know it too. I keep saying that I see something in you—something that’s getting buried under all that garbage in your head.
Gale wanted to argue, but the fight drained out of him. Coach was right, and they both knew it.
“Your old man and I,” Coach said, a hint of a bitter smile playing at the corners of his mouth, “we had some battles back in the day. Fierce rivals.”
Gale nodded. He’d heard the war stories, and seen the footage of Jim Knight and Coach going at it back in their prime.
“So when you started coming up, people talked. They assumed I’d have it out for you because of old grudges.” Coach shook his head. “But that’s not how I operate. This isn’t about your dad, Knight, and it never was. This is about you. I don’t like speaking ill of people, especially to their kids. But you need to hear this. Your old man... he wasn’t just tough on the ice. He struggled with demons off it.
“There was one road trip, must’ve been about a year before his accident. We were in Chicago, and had just lost a crucial game. Most of the guys were licking their wounds, trying to regroup. But your dad? He went out and hit the bars. Hard.
“Next morning, he didn’t show up. We’re all worried sick, thinking maybe he got into an accident or something. Finally, around noon, he stumbles into the hotel lobby, still half drunk, lipstick on his collar.
“Your mom had been calling me, frantic. Said he hadn’t been answering his hotel phone, missed wishing you a happy birthday. She was trying to cover for him, but I could hear the worry in her voice. I pulled him aside, tried to talk some sense into him. You know what he said? ‘Mind your own business. What I do off the ice is mine.’
“It wasn’t just a onetime thing either. The drinking, the girls...it became a pattern. And every time, it was your mom and you kids who paid the price.
“I’m not telling you this to hurt you, Gale. But I see you struggling, and I wonder if you’re carrying some of his baggage. His mistakes, his regrets—they’re not yours to bear. What I see in you is a different man: a stronger man.”
Coach took a deep breath.
“And I genuinely think you’ve got what it takes to make a mark.”
Gale nodded, but inside, his thoughts churned. He’d turned twenty-five this year, the same age his dad had been when he’d held his newborn son. Back then, his dad must have looked down at baby Gale and sworn he’d be different, be better than his own father. Three months ago, when Brooke called from the hospital about Benji’s birth, all the memories had crashed in at once—not just of his dad’s failures, but images from those early photos where his father was still smiling, still good. Now here was Gale,UncleGale, standing at that same crossroads. What if this was how it started for his dad too—thinking you were in control until suddenly you weren’t, watching everything slip through your fingers no matter how hard you tried to hold on?
Coach moved to sit in the armchair across from Gale, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “Something is holding you back.”
Gale stared down at his skates, gut churning. God, he used to live for this sport. The ice, the roar, that feeling like he could fly. Now every game scared the shit out of him. How could he tell anyone he was terrified of becoming his father? Not the dad who’d taught him to skate. The other one. The one who’d gotten so caught up in being a legend that he’d lost himself in a blur of parties and pills, until hockey’s golden boy became a cautionary tale.
“I just... I don’t know,” Gale managed, the lie tasting bitter on his tongue.
Coach’s eyes narrowed, clearly not buying it, but he didn’t push. Instead, he said, “The ones who make a mark find a way to play their own game, not anyone else’s.”
“I’m trying.” He hated how weak he sounded. “But I keep failing. It’s like I’m stuck in this avalanche and there isn’t an end.”
Coach nodded, sympathy flashing in his eyes. “That’s why I’m up here. Not to tear you down, but to tell you to keep going, get at whatever’s blocking you. Because you have the ability to be a generational player. I know it. I still believe it.”
Gale felt a spark of hope kindle in his chest, quickly drowned by another wave of that familiar choking panic. What if those flashes of brilliance were just setting everyone up for disappointment? His heart was hammering so hard he could barely think straight—the same racing pulse he got now every time he stepped on the ice, every time someone said they were counting on him. The more people trusted him, built their plans around him, the tighter his chest got, the harder it was to breathe, that voice in his head getting louder and louder about how much farther there was to fall.
“Thanks,” Gale managed, forcing a small smile. “I appreciate the vote of confidence.”
