Rushed(56)

Vince looks up from the tablet he's been reading from, he’s is a voracious reader, and I can usually find him in his down time reading something. Normally he prefers paperbacks, but I guess when you're soaking your hand, you go with the one-handed option. “I'll be fine. Hey, I heard the rumors. A League offer.”

I nod, and take a seat on the training table next to his chair. “Yeah. Big money, multi-million dollar training facilities, no more worrying about potentially playing special teams . . . it could be nice.”

“Could?” Vince asks, raising an eyebrow. “You're thinking of not taking the offer?”

I nod. “Yeah, I'm thinking of taking the Fighters' counteroffer instead.”

Vince nods, and stirs his hand in the warm water. “You know if you turn them down, you might not get another chance. There's always some hotshot coming out of uni who can generate buzz for a team.”

“I know,” I reply. “I mean, for every Moon or Flutie, there's ten guys like DeAndre or Hawk who never go back down.”

I sit for a little while longer, thinking. “You've played a long time here in Canada, Vince. Did you ever get a shot down in the States?”

Vince nods. “Had a few teams come sniffing around in my first three years, and one more time when I'd been playing ten years. Training camp invites, and that last one was like what you've got now, an emergency fill in, but they were willing to pay me the veteran minimum for the time I would play for them.”

“You never took the offer?”

Vince shakes his head. “Never. Not without a few regrets. The first few times, I was arrogant, thinking that I deserved a guaranteed contract at least, a no-cut clause or something, and turned them down that way. The last one though, I'd already set down roots here. My son was four, and I knew the contract wouldn't be renewed. It made financial sense to play out the rest of my contract up here.”

“Do you ever regret it?”

Vince goes quiet for a moment, then shrugs. “Yes and no. Sure, it'd have been nice to really measure myself against the best in the world. There's a part of me that would love to have played in the Super Bowl. But I have played in three North Cups, and won one as a backup. I have the ring back at home, it sits on my mantle. And I've had a good career up here, with a slot coaching next year. In fact, if you stick around, I'll be coaching you officially, Coach Blanchard already told me that I'm to be the next OC for the Fighters. He wants to focus on the overall team, and need to give some more time to the defense after the shit storm that they've been this season. But yes, Tyler, if you're asking . . . there are going to be nights like tonight at the hotel in Vancouver where I'm going to be playing the what-if game with myself. I know I can't any longer, but what if? Could I have hung in there with the guys? Even if just for half a season, could I have lit up the scoreboard the way you are up here? I don't know, but sometimes, on the cold nights or the away games, I wonder.”

I nod, stroking my chin. “All right. Thanks for the talk, Vince. Listen, I'm going to head back to my apartment, get my stuff together. I'll see you back here for the airport bus.”

“See you there, Tyler. Good luck with your decision.”





Chapter 20





April





My mind is still spinning when I get to the hospital, and hasn't stopped since Mr. Larroquette told me I could take the rest of the day off. It wasn't until I was already past Hamilton that I realized I'd taken his Mustang, and sent him a quick text. I guess it isn't a problem, I mean he's going to be on a plane in a few hours, but still, that's not the sort of mistakes I make often.

I'm thankful when Tyler replies to my text. No problem, probably better anyway. Drive safe, and I'll see you in Vancouver. I love you.

His last three words spin in my head as I park in the parking lot and check in with the hospital staff. The hospice is still part of the hospital property, and as I make my way through the normal area toward the long term hospice care, I can't help my fingers from trembling. I didn't call ahead, Mom and Dad don't know I'm coming, and with what Tyler has in front of him, I need them more than ever to be able to help me out. I only hope that Mom and Dad are feeling good today, I haven't heard from Dad since I visited with Tyler.

“You're sure of the way?” the nurse who checks me in asks. She's new, or at least I haven't seen her before, so I can understand.

“Yes, I've been here before. Thanks.”

The hospice area has plenty of staff around, but I have to admit it's somewhat idyllic of a setting for someone living out their final days. Each small unit is a one-bedroom place, with low door jambs, wide halls and doors for wheelchairs, and all sorts of other little adjustments to allow people to feel somewhat at peace in their difficult times. There's even a little tree outside the door to Mom and Dad's place, a block of connected houses that look kinda like a wing of a motel on the outside.

I knock on the door, but there's no answer, so I open it carefully and immediately pull back at the musty odor. It smells like piss, and I'm pretty sure that someone has wet sheets. “Shit,” I mutter to myself, hitting the nurse chime button inside the front door. They'll have someone down here soon enough. “Mom? Dad?”