Addie’s haunted eyes drift through my dreams night after night.

I try calling, I try texting. I even show up once. Julissa came out, the nanny. “You should leave,” she says. “They’re calling the police.” I got into my truck and left without a fight.

I swear it was breaking Addie with every word she said to me, but she meant it all. I didn’t know how badly I had hurt her back then, but now I see it so plainly. I broke her all over. I abandoned her after getting her pregnant, assuming that I really am the father, and now she can’t forgive me. After what she went through, I think I understand. It takes a lot to make Addie trust you, but once you lose that trust, it’s gone forever.

I hate myself for not realizing sooner. I hate that I stayed in Russia for so long, following my childish and selfish dream. I was a professional hockey player, but so what? I was playing for a team I didn’t care about in a country that wasn’t my own. I was just marking time, getting paid, having some fun on the side, but drifting. I just drifted for two years while my best friend was raising my baby.

I wish I could go back and make a better decision, but I can’t. That’s not how things work.

I’m pretty fucked up for a few days after that. I spend most of my time on the couch, calling Addie sometimes, at least until she blocks my number. Mostly though I just stare at the TV, watch hockey when it’s on, and hate myself.

That last part’s pretty easy. I’ve failed at everything I’ve loved. I failed at hockey and now I failed with Addie. I have a daughter out there, Addie pretty much admitted it, but I’m not allowed to see her. All because I screwed up and went behind her back.

At my lowest, about a week after Addie left my apartment, I consider going back to work for my dad. My bank account is still comfortable, but it won’t last forever. I have maybe enough saved for a few more months, but after that, I’ll be dead broke. I need to work, can’t afford to just sit around on my pathetic, sorry ass. I have a fantasy where I apologize to my dad and we apologizes in return, and we hug, and everything’s okay.

I don’t call him. I don’t bother. I just start drinking instead. Every time I feel myself getting pathetic enough to go crawling back to that monster, I drink a beer.

I’m pretty wasted for a few days there.

Eventually, I wake up one morning, hungover and alone in my barely furnished apartment, and I know I need a change. I get up, force myself to go for a run, do a quick ab workout, and shower. I spend the day looking online at job listings, and I even suck up my pride enough to apply for a few of them. They’re not great jobs and they’re definitely not careers, but they’ll make me money.

That night, I feel a little bit better. At least better enough to put on some decent clothes, freshen up my deodorant, and head out to a local bar that I haven’t been to in forever.

I’m actually a little surprised that the Tuned Piano is still in business. It used t be a dueling piano bar, hence the name, but they cut that shit out when they couldn’t find a second player worth a damn. When I was in high school, that was the bar all the seniors went to, because they didn’t bother to I.D. and nobody cared if a bunch of kids got drunk on cheap beer and watered down drinks. At least they had some decent food. I brought Addie there a few times, despite her protests, and we had some fun.

The place isn’t in great shape, but it’s not in shambles, either. Clearly someone’s been keeping the place up. The sign is freshly painted, and the door looks like it was replaced, although the tiled floor is exactly like I remembered and the bar’s seen better days. I amble over and sit down, not letting myself look around just yet. I’m willing to bet I know half the people in this joint, and I’m not totally ready to handle that.

I order a beer and sip it while I watch hockey on the TV behind the bar. That’s a new addition, too. I sit hunched forward over my drink, letting the night stream around me. The place actually fills up, although the high school students are notably absent. I’m guessing the current owners cleaned that aspect up.

About an hour and two beers later, a shadow appears over my right shoulder. I glance back and there’s a face I think I recognize eyeing me back, a little frown on his face. The guy’s got a big, bushy beard like a lot of dudes like to wear these days, and he’s wearing a hockey jersey over some jeans.

“Will?” he asks.

I turn around more to look at him. “Yeah?” I grunt.

“Holy shit, Will Eaten. It’s me, Mitch Grain.”

My eyes go a little wide. “Mitch? Damn, I didn’t recognize you under all that hair.”

He grins. “You like it?”

“Very manly,” I say, and he laughs.

Mitch and I played on our high school team together when I was a senior and he was a junior. He was pretty good, not one of the better guys but a solid all-around performer. I heard he made captain the next year, which didn’t surprise anyone. The guy’s always been something of a motivational speaker and a leader of sorts. Besides, his uncle is on the school board.

“When did you get back in town?” he asks.

“Few months ago,” I say. “I’ve just been laying low, you know?”

“Sure man, sure. Last I heard you were playing hockey over in the KHL.”

I wince a little bit, and my knee throbs. “Yeah, I was. Got injured.”

He nods, frowning a bit. “Shit. Sorry to hear.”

“It’s cool. Can’t do anything about it.”

He hesitates a second, looking over his shoulder. “I’m here with some guys but… ah, fuck them. Let me buy you a beer.”

“You don’t have to ditch your friends on my account.”

“And pass up the chance to talk to an actual pro player?” He sits on the stool next to me.

“It was just the KHL,” I say.

He grins at me. “Still pretty impressive. Which team were you on again?”

I’m not sure I want to get into all this. The whole hockey thing’s still a fresh wound, and Mitch is clearly a hockey fanboy. Still though, he’s ordering me another beer, and I’ve been pretty down. Might as well kill some time and talk to the guy.

I tell him all about living in Russia and about playing for Vityaz. I tell him about my friends, about the games, about being the best scorer on the ice.

“But they always look down on Americans for some reason,” I say. “I guess since I wasn’t good enough for the NHL, people think I don’t belong anywhere.’

Mitch grunts. “Assholes.’

“Yeah, well, whatever. And then I hurt my knee pretty badly, so they cut me.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that,” I agree. “Cleared some cap space for them and got rid of a potential liability. They didn’t know if I’d ever play again, and I think they were right.”

He frowns at me. “Is that for real, you’ll never play again?”

“Yeah,” I say, and it hurts to admit, but I’m finally admitting it. “It’s true. I’ll never play again, not like I was anyway.”

“Damn.” He sips his beer, frowning even deeper. “What are you doing right now?”

I cock my head. “Sitting here drowning my sorrows.’

He grins. “No, I mean, for work.”

“Nothing,” I admit. “Just living off my earnings. I didn’t have a lot of expenses in Moscow.”

He nods a little, watching me closely. “You ever think about coaching?”

I blink, surprised. “Coaching? I mean… a little bit. But I don’t know.”

“You should coach,” he says.

“Okay,” I answer, laughing. “Where?”

“Weston High,” he says, not breaking eye contact. “I’m the assistant coach for the varsity team, but the junior varsity team needs a new head coach.”

I hesitate a second. “Are you serious? Don’t you want that job?”

“Nah,” he says, grinning. “I get paid more where I am, and plus, I’m next in line for the varsity spot. If things keep going the way they’re going, I’ll have that job in a couple years.”

I stare at him. “Seriously man, I don’t know.”

“You should do it,” he says. “Listen, my uncle’s on the board. I can get you an interview, but with your background… they’ll hire you for sure.” He shrugs and sips his beer. “Think about it.”

“Yeah, okay,” I say softly, surprised by the strange excitement in my stomach. “I will.”

“Here, take my number.” I pull out my phone and type in the number he gives me. I text him a second later. “Call me tomorrow if you’re interested.”

“Thanks man,” I say, totally mystified. “I mean, I’ll think about it.”

“Do it,” he says seriously. “You may not be able to play now, but you were up at the highest levels. You’d make a good coach. You were a good captain back in the day.”

I grin at him. “Thanks. I hear you weren’t so bad yourself.’

He shrugs. “Maybe. Never went pro, though.” He pushes back his stool and finishes his beer. “Should get back now.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“Call me, Will.”

“Okay,” I say, laughing.

He nods, shakes my hand with a grin, and heads over to a table of guys that I don’t recognize.

I sit there for a while longer, sipping my beer, brain buzzing with excitement. I dosn’t know how this happened, but this feels right. A high school JV team isn’t exactly the big time, but it’s a step in the right direction, and it sure as hell beats sitting around on the couch.

More than that, it’ll show Addie that I’m serious. I’m not running away from her. I’m settling down and staying in Weston for the long run, or at least however long she decides to stay here.

Because I have a daughter and a best friend that I’m stupidly in love with.

I finish my beer, get up, and leave the bar.

The next day, I make that phone call.