When the waitress leaves, I give him a pointed look. “I’d say you better quit eating that shit or you’re going to get fat, but you must be burning twenty thousand calories a day with the way you work out.”
Baden tips his head back and laughs, the corded muscles in his neck tightening. The work he’s been doing on his chest and arms has him packed full of solid muscle. I bet the dude could bench press a tank.
We make small talk about his current workout regimen. He’s hoping within the next few weeks to graduate to forearm crutches, and from there a cane. Then he’ll ditch the leg braces, and hopefully, it’s just a matter of time before he puts the skates back on.
I honestly hope to God the guy achieves it, and I hope I’m there when he steps onto the ice for the first time. I bet there won’t be a dry eye in the house.
The waitress returns with our beers, promises Baden his nachos will be up soon, and leaves. He lifts his pint glass, takes a long pull, and sets it down before him. “I can only drink one of these or my driving gets dangerous.”
I snort as I lift my glass. “You’re already a menace in that thing.”
He spares a laugh while setting his beer down on the table, but when his eyes lift to mine, he says, “You played like shit tonight.”
My chin jerks inward, surprised at how bluntly he’s called me out. I don’t disagree with him, but he’s never criticized my play before. It’s not how our relationship has worked up until now, away from the ice and the game politics.
“I have a lot going on personally,” I mutter, taking a sip.
“Want to talk about it?” Baden asks.
Grimacing, I give him my most honest answer. “No fucking way.”
Baden slams his palm on the table, causing me to jump, and yells, “Aha!” He points an accusing finger at me. “That’s your problem. You don’t talk. You don’t have relationships with people. You don’t go out with the guys for drinks. You don’t know how to be part of this team.”
Well, the dude certainly has strong opinions. My tone is dry when I ask, “So you deduce my shitty play is because I’m not part of this team?”
Baden leans forward in his wheelchair and crosses his forearms on the table. His eyes lock with mine. “I know your career. I studied you before you came to this team because there wasn’t a hell of a lot to do in the hospital. I have also seen the way you’ve played over the years. You are a high-caliber player, and that is why the Vengeance wanted you. But you’re not playing up to the level you could be with this caliber of team. Sure, your play is as good as I suppose you would’ve played with the Renegades. But this team is a higher level, and you should’ve stepped up to it. And you haven’t. I believe it’s because you aren’t really part of this team. You haven’t connected with these guys in a way that lets you be your absolute best, that lets you trust them implicitly on the ice, because to do that, you have to trust them implicitly off the ice.”
His theory is a gut punch. Because I know it’s true. I know that if I can find common ground with these guys, we will gel and become more cohesive.
We’ll be infinitely better.
I know this to be true because a line is only as good as each guy’s ability to know inherently what the other linemates are going to do without a single word spoken. It’s the ability to anticipate what’s going to happen because you know them so well. And that doesn’t mean you know only their technical skills, but you know everything about them.
Still, I play it off because no one likes their shortcomings being spotlighted. “Sounds like a bunch of hocus-pocus.”
“Bullshit.” Baden shakes his head as if disappointed in me. “You were truly part of the team when you were with the Renegades. The entire league is close-knit. I have friends on the Renegades, just as you have friends on every other team as well. We all get to know each other over the years, and you were a leader on that team. People respected you. You had other people’s backs. And it showed in the fluidity of your play. Trust me when I tell you, you’re not going to last on this team unless you make a decision to be part of it one hundred percent.”
That hits hard. Because he’s not wrong. I don’t believe I’ve impressed the management with what I’ve been doing. I know I can play better.
It galls me to do this, but I admit something to Baden. “My life got very complicated this summer when Janelle came to live with me. Some bad shit has happened recently and in the past, and it’s resurfaced a lot of convoluted feelings. Janelle is vulnerable right now, and I felt the best way to protect her was to isolate her. And to keep her isolated, I’ve isolated myself too.”
There… Baden has my reasons for withholding. They are sound and legitimate. He can’t argue with them.
And yet, he says, “Also bullshit.”
Seems to be his favorite word to use with me.
“You’re a dick,” I growl.
Baden holds out a palm, as if to indicate I took that wrong. “I don’t doubt that your life and Janelle’s is complicated and there are some bad things in your past. But I’m calling bullshit on you keeping yourself isolated. You don’t have to share details with anybody you don’t want to. You can keep your complications and your history private and still be part of this team. You could be out right now having drinks with your linemates and not say a damn word about your personal life. You could sit there, laugh when appropriate, be present, and that’s enough to make a connection. Trust me when I say the answer is not to isolate.”
My gaze slides and focuses on one of the TVs behind the bar. It’s showing a rodeo, and I watch a man get bucked off a bull in less than two seconds. I know Baden is calling it like he sees it. For the most part, he’s not wrong. I think he makes a fair point that I could be more sociable and still keep my life private.
But I guess the fear is that if I open myself up an inch, my teammates will want to go in for a mile. And I don’t know how to handle that.
Almost as if he’s reading my thoughts, Baden adds, “Or you could actually be open and honest about what your bad history and complications are. You’d be surprised what solid friendships can do to ease burdens, and I think you know I speak from personal experience. You know that since you are a member of this team, your sister is a member of this team, and there is not any one of the guys or their family members who wouldn’t protect her at all costs. Have you ever thought that maybe you’re depriving Janelle of an extended family that can help her? Have you ever thought you’re depriving yourself?”
I glare at Baden but without any real malice. “How did you get to be so fucking zen with everything that’s happened to you?”
Baden has been through hell since last summer when he valiantly tried to stop a mugging in progress and got seriously injured. Beaten with a crowbar and stabbed multiple times, he ended up with a spinal contusion that paralyzed him from the waist down. His battle back to where he is now has been nothing short of miraculous.
His smile is mischievous, eyes sparkling. “When you face death, and then face life with the possibility of never walking again, you reprioritize things. I remember you coming into my hospital room when you moved to Phoenix, and you didn’t know me from Adam. And yet you came and sat by me in silence because I didn’t want to talk. You came back again and again and again until I finally talked. You made yourself my friend. You took on my problems just by being there. Made all the difference. Every one of my teammates who did that changed my focus, my outlook, and knocked my pessimism on its ass, replacing it with optimism. I’m pointing out the value of friendship and that you should never discount it, no matter what’s in your past.”