♦
I’d like to say Dominik was no help, but he actually was. His last words resonated… that I’ve been through so much, only I can decide what’s best for me. While neither choice is easy, and both have their perils and potential victories, I am leaning one way.
It’s why I’m having lunch with Riggs at The Sneaky Saguaro for one more opinion to make sure my leaning is correct.
After initial pleasantries, which weren’t so pleasant as I updated him on the memorial service in Pittsburgh, I told him about the job offer. He absorbed the information, asked a few questions, and then changed the subject.
While this was slightly irritating because hello, my life is hanging in the balance… I went with it.
For the past half hour, through wings and beer-battered onion rings—crappy food I would not have eaten while training my body to get back into peak shape—we’ve been talking about Veronica. Riggs’s head is in the clouds, and I let him stay there. After everything he’s been through, the dude deserves his happily ever after.
It’s when we push our plates away that Riggs locks eyes with me over the table and asks, “When are you going to ask me what to do about the Titans’ offer?”
“When are you going to stop talking about Veronica with that goofy love-struck tone of voice?” I volley.
Riggs barks out a laugh but says no more. He’s ready to hear my thoughts on the decision facing me.
One shoulder lifts in a half-hearted shrug. “I asked Dominik. He told me only I could answer that question. No one can answer it for me.”
“Bullshit,” Riggs says, and I blink in surprise. “If you ask me, I’ll tell you what I think you should do.”
“Really?” I was not expecting this. No one wants to steer me toward a decision that could end badly. Admittedly, both could end badly. But I’m curious enough to want to know what Riggs thinks. “Okay… tell me what to do.”
“Take the coaching job.” There’s no hesitation, as if he’d been mulling over this conundrum for months and had considered every angle. Which is impossible, because Veronica is the only thing he’s talked about since I told him of Brienne’s offer.
I cock a slightly jaundiced eyebrow. “And you’re basing that on what?”
Riggs’s expression is pained, but he gives me the hard truth. “Your chances of being a good goalie coach are far better than you returning to professional play in a way that would be meaningful to you. You need to take the path that gives you the best odds of success, and that’s by leaving your playing days behind.”
Christ… I was leaning that way, but it still hurts to hear him say it out loud. It makes it real that someone else—someone I trust very much—knows deep down that my return to the ice is more than a long shot.
But it also validates what my gut has been telling me since talking to Dominik.
“Let me ask you one question,” Riggs says, crossing his arms on the table and leaning forward. “What would Wes tell you to do?”
Pain lances through my chest. It’s been just over a week since he died, and I’m still trying to process my grief over losing my best friend.
“He texted me after the game in Columbus.” It was mere hours before the plane crash. “We were planning to do something here in Phoenix when the Titans were slated to play us in two weeks.”
“Did you decide on anything?” he asks.
Another shrug. “We weren’t picky about where to go to have a few beers together. But he said he had something important to tell me and wanted my advice.”
“Christ,” Riggs grumbles as he realizes the implication that I never learned what Wes wanted help with. It could’ve been a trade to another team, or that he had fallen in love, or maybe even that something horrible was going on in his life. I have no clue, only that we were going to discuss it in person when he came to Phoenix.
I smile from the rush of fondness for my best friend. “I’d like to think he’d do as you just did and tell it to me straight.”
“You’ve made up your mind,” Riggs guesses.
I nod, determined to pull the trigger. I take my phone from my pocket. “I need to make a call.”
In the email sent by Brienne Norcross’s assistant containing the offer of employment, he’d included Brienne’s cell phone number and asked me to call as soon as I’d made my decision.
Keying in the number, I lock eyes with Riggs as the phone rings. Brienne answers almost immediately. “Brienne Norcross.”
“Brienne… hi… it’s Baden Oulett.”
“Please tell me you’re accepting the offer,” she asks. Her voice sounds very tired and in need of positive news.
“I’m accepting.” Her sigh of relief is audible. “When do you need me?”
“Yesterday,” she replies, the same words she used at our first meeting. “But tomorrow would be helpful. We’re having a coaches’ meeting, and you were the last contract I’ve been waiting on. I’ve been working with Callum Derringer, our new general manager, and we’ve made most of our choices about who we’ll call up from the minors. We’ve also made offers to bring some guys out of retirement. But there are a few more decisions for which we’d like to have a collective brainstorming session.”
“Callum Derringer, huh?” I muse. He’d been fired as GM from the Ottawa Cougars a few years ago because the team “failed to thrive.” Meaning, they sucked and were one of the worst teams in the league. While he wasn’t coaching or playing, he was responsible for supplying the team with coaching and player talent.
Now he’ll basically be managing a team that’s the equivalent of the Bad News Bears, so he’s got nowhere to go but up.
“I think Callum will be a good fit here,” Brienne says diplomatically.
“I look forward to working with him,” I reply with an equal measure of politeness.
“I know you have a lot to do to relocate here, so my assistant, Michael Taft—you met him at the memorial service—can hook you up with temporary accommodations as well as a real estate agent to help you find something permanent. Whatever you need to make the transition easier, just let him know.”
“Okay… thank you.”
There’s a short silence and then Brienne says, “I’m really glad to you have you as part of the organization.”
We make our goodbyes, and I set my phone on the table. Eyes on Riggs, I say, “Looks like I’m moving to Pittsburgh tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” he says, surprised.
“They want to rebuild the team and get them on the ice as soon as possible.”
“Wow,” he murmurs, understanding what a massive and almost insurmountable task this might be. His gaze slides to the side for a moment before snapping back to me. “You know what this calls for?”
“What?”
His lips curve upward, eyes flashing mischievously. “A going-away party. Tonight. I’ll arrange everything.”
“Just the gang, okay?” It’s going to be heartbreaking to leave the team, and I don’t have it in me to manage a lot of emotional goodbyes. I want to keep it small.
Riggs nods. He understands what I mean by just the gang. Not the whole team, and certainly not the rookies. Just those guys who I have the tightest bonds with. I know he has my back on this.