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“Not yet, and certainly not if I have anything to say about it.”
He looks skeptical about this, but doesn’t argue. Thank god, because I have neither the will nor the inclination to have a battle of wits with an eighteen-year-old today.
“Is Tony coming to practice?” He asks, effectively reminding me of the mess I’ve made of my life.
“Yes. He said he’d be here all summer, so he will be.”
The look Morgan gives me drips with disdain. “Coach Avery left, didn’t he? And then people are saying all that shit about Tony’s friend.”
Waving him toward the building, I open the door and gesture him inside. “Let’s go to my office. And yes, you’re right about both things. ButCoach Lawsonwill be here because he said he would, and he’s a better man than both Avery and I.”
We get to my office and I point Morgan to the chair in front of my desk. He flops into it in the boneless way teenagers do, crosses his arms, and scowls at me. He’s wearing a short-sleeved shirt which shows off both tattooed arms. He’s got that damned ring in his nose, despite being here for practice and me constantly telling him to take it out. Carter Morgan is like a walking form of birth control; if ever I wanted kids, I would have rethought that stance after meeting him.
I try to get a peek at the cover of the book he remembered to snatch up off the grass, but can’t. I start up my computer and motion toward it. “What are you reading? I thought classes were over.”
“They are. This is from my reading list for next semester.” He holds up the book; I squint, eyeing it hard.The Bell Jarby Sylvia Plath. “I’m shit at reading, and this is a shit book.”
“So, not a fan of English classes. What other courses are you taking? Anything you’re excited about?” I glance at my computer, pulling up a short list of prospective coaches for meto interview. I’d rather do anything else, and have half a mind to simply close my eyes and pick one. At this point, I just need a warm body with two good eyes and hockey knowledge.
“Why do you care?”
Sighing, I place my hands flat on the desk and shoot Morgan a look that has him recoiling, slightly. “Because I care about you, and not just what you can do to help my team win games. And because, if I’m honest, you remind me a little bit of myself and I don’t think that’s a good thing. I don’t want you to end up like me. So, tell me about your classes, and your friends. Tell me about what you like to do outside of hockey.”
I sit back in my chair, hands folded over my abdomen, and watch as Morgan chews through what I said. He’s visibly sorting through ways to respond, and finally settles on: “Can you call me Carter, please? Or, like, anything but Morgan.”
“Sure,” I say, softly, “of course. I didn’t know you had a preference. I’m sorry.”
“Everyone goes by their last name in sports, which is whatever, but I’d rather not be reminded of my family while I’m here. So, yeah…” He trails off, uncertainly, clearly embarrassed by what he considers an overshare. Clearing his throat, he bounces his eyes around the room and looks anywhere but at me. “And for the record, I like you and I wouldn’t mind being more like you. I don’t know what you mean, by that being a bad thing.”
He flushes scarlet, and I take pity on him. “Thank you, Carter. I didn’t bring you in here to make you uncomfortable, though, so how about we change the subject?”
He slumps, visibly relieved, and even offers me a small smile. It’s the first time one has graced his face since I’ve met him, and it’s startling how much younger it makes him look. I have the strangest desire to hug him; much the way one might want to hug a polar bear, forgetting they have claws and teeth.
“Vas and I hang out, sometimes. Outside of practice. I’m teaching him to play NHL 24.”
“Sounds like an excellent use of your spare time.” I nod, and watch as Carter bites back another smile.
“Uhm…and I don’t like any of my classes, so far. So, I guess I’ll have to get back to you on that one.”
“Please do. Glad to hear you and Vasel are friends.”
“Tony told him to do it,” Carter says, and smirks at my raised eyebrow. He shrugs in a way that clearly says ‘adults are stupid’. “He thought he was being sneaky about it, but Vas is a terrible liar. It’s cool, though.”
Voices echo in the hallway, reminding me to check the time. So much for getting here early to get some work done. Carter stands, shovingThe Bell Jarroughly into his bag in a way that guarantees damage. He nods at me, biting his lip and hovering around the door.
“Thanks, Coach.”
I don’t know what he’s thanking me for, or whether I earned it, but I’ll take it. “Anytime you want to talk.” He turns to leave. “Oh, and Carter?”
“Yeah?”
“Take that damn thing out of your nose.”
He tips me a wink and a salute, sauntering out to join his teammates.
The last two days of practice are awful. Anthony, likely in an effort to honor my wishes, is polite but distant. He doesn’t look at me longer than necessary, and talks to me even less. It’s equal parts maddening and a relief. I wish him gone and in the same thought wish he would stay. The reasons why we ended things are running on a constant loop in my mind—a steady stream of shit, reminding me exactly why I can’t have all the things I want.
The last minutes of practice on the final day find me standing against the boards, far removed from the crowd as everyone says their goodbyes to Anthony. It’s a joyful bunch, everyone talking over one another and slapping each other’s backs. They’re all suddenly eager to make sure they have a selfie with him before he goes, as though only just realizing an NHL star has been in their midst the entire time. Anthony bears it all with a smile on his face, only slipping when his eyes meet mine and the smile fades.
