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Lynn knew she was a control freak. It was a part of her personality she’d long accepted, might have been smugly proud of.
Wanting things to get done the right way—which was her way, of course—wasn’t a bad thing, was it?
She gritted her teeth as she handed over her Canyon Cats files to the scrawny, barely-old-enough-to-shave young man Brewster had hired. She’d spent the week with Chue Kyong and while she accepted he was bright and intelligent and willing to work hard, she wasn’t ready to let go.
Literally. He had to tug the folder out of her grip.
“Thank you so much.” He clamped it to his narrow chest with both arms as if afraid she might snatch it back. “I appreciate your time. Is it okay if I call with any questions?”
“You’re welcome, and certainly. Pop in whenever you like.”
He waved goodbye to Sarah on his way to the interior exit and Lynn plopped into her desk chair, setting it rocking.
Sarah dug in her desk drawer, retrieved a nail file, and scraped it against her index finger. “I don’t know why you’re so glum. You’ve got your weekends and evenings back.” It was after four on the first Friday in January and productivity had slowed to a crawl, if not a full stop. These were the darkest days of the year and even Lynn was having trouble finding her usual verve for work.
“I’m not glum. I’m just worried Kyong will mess things up.” Other than the denial regarding her attitude, she wasn’t lying. She was worried Kyong couldn’t keep the momentum she’d built up during the last months. Despite the Canyon Cats’ poor performance on the ice, several of her ideas, including the Adopt-a-Pet and an ugly Christmas sweater themed game, had created a lot of buzz. Attendance was hovering just below the danger line, though, and now she no longer had control of promotions and contests her gut churned.
The Canyon Cats were hosting the opponent nearest in the standings this weekend in a vital doubleheader. These would be the first home games she wouldn’t be required to attend, and she was considering buying tickets for herself and Oscar. Maybe Stephanie and Peter, too, so she wouldn’t look quite so pathetic. Not that she was going to gawk at Benjamin the whole game. She wanted to be there to show her support—for the team, not just him.
Yeah. For the team.
Cynthie poked her head out of her inner office. “Lynn? Have a minute?”
“Of course.” Glad for the chance to think of something other than losing her influence over attendance, she strode past Sarah and into Cynthie’s room. “What’s up?”
Cynthie gestured her closer and spoke in a low voice. “I don’t want to shut the door as it might look suspicious.”
Lynn raised her eyebrows but circled around Cynthie’s desk and hitched a hip on the surface.
Cynthie rested her elbows on the arms of her chair and steepled her fingers. “I heard you with Chue Kyong. You’ve turned everything over, then?”
It appeared she wasn’t getting away from her current least favourite topic quite yet. “Yes. I told him to stay in touch if he has any questions.”
“You know as well as I do that we’re not out of the woods on the attendance guarantee. I want you to stay involved.”
“How? Brewster will wonder what’s going on if I hover over Kyong’s shoulder on game nights.”
Cynthie shook her head. “Not with the on-ice stuff. We have to let go of that. But there are things we can do to promote the team in the community, things Kyong won’t think of and that Brewster can’t kibosh.”
“Like the senior citizen visits, you mean?” Lynn had set up a rotating schedule where players spent an hour or two each week in long-term care homes. The activity had garnered media attention, and she’d actually been able to track a bump in attendance on the game days following the visits.
“Along those lines, yes. A friend of mine is the executive director of White Spruce Mental Wellness Centre. He’s always looking for ways to connect his clients with community role models. Do you think Benjamin Whitestone might be up to do a talk there? Something about teamwork and perseverance, maybe from the angle of his playing career as well as coaching?”
The idea caught Lynn’s imagination and set it soaring. “Why stop at one talk? What about an entire mentoring program? Brewster might complain, but he doesn’t control what Benjamin does in his free time. And I think he’d be excellent at it.”
Cynthie nodded in satisfaction. “I’ll leave it with you, then.”
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BENJAMIN STOPPED IN his tracks. Lynn, bundled in a parka, winter boots, and fuzzy hat, continued on the snowy trail. Her hands met at her lower back, gripping the handle of the sled where Oscar sat enthroned, his arms sticking out stiff as a gingerbread cookie in his enveloping snowsuit.
“No.” He shook his head. “I can’t.”
Lynn came to a halt and turned to face him, her brow wrinkled. “What? What do you mean?”
It was a gorgeous winter’s day. The sky was a searing blue and fresh snow gleamed blindingly bright. The beauty of the scene mocked his inner darkness.
He was the last person who should be mentoring youth with mental health issues. He was stressed enough guiding his players, fostering their self-esteem while critiquing their game in a positive way. He knew the value of therapy and counselling, had participated in sessions during his listless career and even after his father’s death. He hated to think how messed up he’d be if he hadn’t taken those steps. But he hadn’t exactly turned his life around, had he?
How to explain all that to Lynn without sounding like a fool? And a cowardly one at that.
The Canyon Cats had won both games of the home stand, the first such accomplishment all season. It was even sweeter since it was against the team they had to catch for any chance at making the playoffs. Nechayev, Chisholm, Piiroinen, and Dudas were serving five game suspensions for breaking the team’s drug and alcohol prohibition and would miss the next two games as well, but would be available for the short weekend road trip after that. He was crossing his fingers that their return wouldn’t throw off the groove the players seemed to have found.
The results had given him hope and he’d carried the warmth of that feeling to Lynn and Oscar’s, where he intended to spend a pleasant, relaxing Sunday afternoon. Until she’d blindsided him with her mental wellness program idea.
“Benjamin?” Dropping the handle of the sled, she lifted one mittened hand to his shoulder. “Are you okay? You’ve gone pale.”
The tip of her nose was pink with cold, her cheeks a matching rose. Her eyes, the same icy blue as the shadows on the snow, were filled with concern, searching his. He had to say something. “I’m not qualified to do that sort of thing. I’m not the right person.” Please don’t ask me why.
“What do you mean? You’re perfect.” Oscar fussed and she linked her arm through Benjamin’s. Bending to retrieve the handle of the sled without releasing her firm grip, she began to walk, forcing him to follow. “You played in the NHL. Those kids will be excited to meet you. All you have to do is share your experiences about how you found success in life, despite disappointments.”
It was easier to talk when she wasn’t looking at him. “I haven’t found success.” He wouldn’t claim that until he’d coached his team to the championships. Or at least the playoffs. Watching the chances grow slimmer had given him many sleepless nights, and the recent three game win streak hadn’t solved his insomnia. “I was a washout as a professional hockey player and I spent the last decade and more coasting from job to job. What kind of example is that for young people, especially those struggling with their own, much bigger problems?” Though his mother had absolved him of responsibility regarding his father, he hadn’t forgiven himself yet. His palms sweat at the idea of recounting that story to Lynn. He tugged off his fur-lined leather gloves and the chill bit at his damp, exposed skin. He welcomed the discomfort.
“You don’t consider yourself a success?” Her tone was curious, not condemning.
If he could have avoided answering he would have, but racing back to the parking lot and leaving Lynn and Oscar stranded wasn’t an option. The wide, well-used trail wound up a slight incline between towering, leafless cottonwoods with gnarled bark. He drew in a deep breath so spicy with freshness it made him dizzy. Or maybe that was the conversation.
“Of course not.” Why couldn’t she see that? “As it stands now, my team is out of the playoffs. I have an owner actively hoping I’ll fail, and the very real possibility that I’ll be fired as soon as he achieves his goal to move the team. I live in a mostly empty, rented apartment and lease my car. What about that screams success?”
“I don’t define it so narrowly. There are so many ways to gauge success.” For several minutes there was only the sound of their boots crunching on snow, the shush of the sled’s runners, the distant croaking of ravens, and Oscar’s mostly unintelligible babbles. He began to hope she’d dropped the matter.
“You know what I see when I look at you?”
He was wrong. Apparently, she’d only been mustering her attack.
“I see a man who did his best, who never gave up, even when the odds seemed stacked against him.” She kept her gaze forward but he still felt pinned, like a forward crushed against the boards by the weight of a hulking defenceman.
“You don’t know me then.” The words tasted bitter. “I gave up. I gave up for years, running from job to job when things got tough. And I struggle everyday not to run again.”
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LYNN HAD KNOWN BENJAMIN’S career as both player and assistant coach had involved several moves. She hadn’t thought that deeply about it, other than to silently commiserate with him on the trauma of packing up and leaving and starting over again so many times. Given her own fractured childhood, that was what had stuck out the most.
But she had never pondered the causes of the moves.
“What do you mean, you ran away?” Her lips were dry, and not just from the cold. She’d gone into this relationship knowing he would leave someday to further his career. She hadn’t considered that he might leave to avoid difficulties. If flight was his usual defence mechanism...
“Exactly what it sounds like.”
“When you were a player and got traded, you didn’t have any control over that.” A thought that made her shudder. She would hate for anyone to have that kind of power over her.
“That’s a handy excuse, but that’s all it is. An excuse. If I’d been brave enough I would have retired years before I did. I knew within a season that I’d never be the star everyone expected me to be, but I refused to admit it.” He spoke with a clipped asperity she’d never heard in his voice before.
“There are what, a thousand players in the league?” She chose her words carefully, not sure what might ignite the explosion she felt simmering in the tense muscles under her hand. “Each team has maybe one or two true stars. Why put so much pressure on yourself?”
“It’s what I’d worked for all my life. What my parents had sacrificed for. Do you have any idea how much it costs to give a child the opportunities they gave me?”
“No, I don’t.” She’d never been part of a team or a club, and even if she had, Rupert’s constant uprooting would surely have disrupted any chance she might have had to excel.
“It’s a lot. They never took a holiday. I don’t count when they came with me to tournaments or training camps, because those trips weren’t for them, they were for me. I cost them in time as well as money.”
From what she’d seen of Thea, she couldn’t believe his mother regretted a moment or a penny. Maybe his father had laid on the guilt. “The minute Oscar was born, I would have given him the world if I could and not counted it a sacrifice. Don’t you think your parents thought the same?”
He was quick to defend them. “Don’t get the idea they made me feel like I owed them. They didn’t. That makes it worse.”
She would need to unpack that later. For now, she risked a quick glance. The brisk pace she’d set had brought faint colour back in his cheeks. He’d been rather alarmingly pale before. But his eyebrows were lowered in a scowl and his shoulders were hunched. “You may not want to hear this, but I think you’re giving me reasons why you should do the mental health workshop, not why you shouldn’t.”