32. JT

CHAPTER 32

JT

Since I got to Bainbridge over a year ago, I’ve been to Coach’s house dozens of times, but I never imagined ringing his doorbell with empty boxes in hand or ascending the staircase and filling those boxes with all the things Maggie left behind.

But that’s exactly what I’m doing.

Jules let me in half an hour ago, and I can hear Coach stomping around, but it’s probably best if we don’t see each other.

Maggie’s a bit of a neat freak, which is good because it’s not taking me long to pack. It’s also bad because she may not last twenty-fours in the hockey house if she’s used to things being this neat and orderly.

I’m minding my business, packing up her toiletries when I hear voices through the vent that I just can’t ignore.

“You’re going to lose her. You get that, right, Hudson? She’s all you have left of Kirstin, or your parents, and you are pushing her away.”

Coach isn’t having any of his wife’s logic. “Actions have consequences, Jules. ”

There’s a beat of silence before Jules’s voice drifts up through the vent again. “And what about our actions?”

“What the—that was different. That was not this in any way, shape, or form.”

“Wasn’t it?” Jules asks, her voice rising.

“No,” he insists. “They are young. Too damn young.”

“How old were you?” Jules volleys back, and I can’t lie, I’m curious about their argument. I make it a point never to get too involved in people’s relationships. It’s not my place, and what the hell would I have to offer. But until the past twenty-four hours, I looked up to Coach as a mentor, a friend, almost like a brother. He seemed to have the perfect life: a pro career that was great, even if it was short, a coaching gig that he loves, and a wife who adores him.

But it sounds like that life isn’t quite as perfect as it seemed.

“Answer me, Hudson. How old were you when I got pregnant?”

Swear to god, I nearly drop the shampoo and conditioner I’m holding.

“Twenty-three,” he answers. “But?—”

“Right. Twenty-three. Not much older than Maggie.”

I can almost see Coach shaking his head. “We were both done with school. We had jobs. It wasn’t ideal, but, if the pregnancy had gone to term, we’d have dealt with it.”

Jules’s laugh is bitter. “’Dealt with it’” Wow, Hudson, I’m feeling the love.”

“You know what I mean. It worked out for the best, and we both know it. I’m not cut out for kids. Hell, I have kids. Twenty-five of them.”

There’s a prolonged silence and I’m guessing Jules has left the room. Hell, maybe she’s left the house. I wouldn’t blame her, but then I hear her voice again. “Tell me this. What’s so terrible about having a baby?”

“You’re twisting my words, Julia. There’s nothing wrong with having a family if that’s what you want. But I’ve seen what having a baby way too young can do to someone. I’ve seen the strain it can cause, the havoc it can wreak.”

Jules’s voice is sad when she answers back. “You realize that in one sentence you’ve not only called your niece “havoc”, but you’ve also said she’s doomed to repeat her mother’s mistakes.” Silently, I raise a bottle of moisturizer and toast Jules. I always liked her.

“That’s not what I’m saying. Margo—Maggie,” he corrects, “grew up to be a great kid, thanks to my parents. And she’s got a bright future, but that future looks very different with a baby.”

Jules huffs out a bitter laugh. “She also has a partner to support her. God, Hudson, have you even seen the way he looks at her?”

There’s another steely silence and I can picture the look on Coach’s face right now. I’ve seen that look dozens of times, but I never thought it would be directed at me.

“Yeah, Jules, I’ve seen the way the kid looks at her,” he says dryly.

“ The kid ? That’s what you’re calling him? Not Norris? Not JT? Hudson, what the hell has happened? A few months ago, “the kid” was at our house at all hours, he was the little brother you never had. He was your protege, your ticket to a championship. And now he’s the kid ?”

Hudson’s voice is cold and firm. “He betrayed my trust. I asked one thing of my guys and he crossed that line.”

“Do you hear yourself right now? Your issue isn’t with JT. Or your niece, or the life they are fighting to make for themselves despite the roadblocks you keep putting up. Your issue is that you have no control. You don’t get to decide what’s best—you don’t get to manage their lives. Because that’s what you do, Hudson, you manage the outcome of every kid on your team, and I get it-- that’s your job and you're damn good at it. But this is not a game, and these calls are not yours to make.”

“What the hell would you even know about any of that, Jules? Christ, you’re gone more than you’re here these days. We fucking text more than we talk and I can’t goddamn remember the last time you were at a game.”

I tune them out as I finish the last of the boxes. Their issues aren’t mine or Maggie’s, and they’re none of my damn business.

Stacking up the boxes along her wall, I take a few and run them out to my truck. On my final trip, I see Coach storming out of the kitchen. The sight of me here in his house draws him up short. He looks at me, dumbfounded, and I think about how much has changed in the last few months. I’ve spent a lot of time here over the last year and a half, and I’ve never heard Coach and Jules fight like this. I looked up to Coach more than any other person on this planet, and now I’m schlepping boxes out of his house because my girlfriend and I are no longer welcome here. Being unwanted is not a foreign feeling to me. It’s how I grew up. Trust isn’t something I give lightly, and this time, it bit me in the ass. I don’t hesitate to look Coach in the eye; I haven’t done anything I’m ashamed of, or anything I regret. I’m not sure he can say the same, considering he dodges my gaze. I could stay here, pick a fight. I could drop these boxes to the floor and ask him what the fuck his problem is, but I don’t do any of that.

I shoulder through the doorway and pile the boxes in the back of the truck because I’m not sticking around to shout and rehash the past. I’m going home to a crappy house I share with a bunch of slobs who happen to be my friends and teammates. I’m going home to unload a dozen boxes into a very small space. I’m going home to grab a bite before heading out again for practice. None of that is ideal.

But I’m also going home to Maggie, and I can’t think of anything better, anything sweeter, or anything I want more.