Chapter 66 The Call
CALEB
Coach called me into his office after practice on Thursday afternoon. Not immediately after practice either. He waited until most of the team had already cleared out of the locker room first, which usually meant the conversation was important enough that he did not want half the team pretending not to listen through the walls.
I sat down across from his desk while he closed the door halfway behind me.
The office looked the same as always. Old Wolves photos on the walls. Whiteboard covered in marker from drills earlier. Coffee cup near his laptop that had probably been there since morning.
Coach leaned back slightly in his chair.
“You hear from Halifax again?”
Not really a question.
“Yeah.”
“They still pushing?”
“A little.”
Coach nodded once like he already expected that answer.
“They like you.”
I rubbed absently at the tape around my fingers from practice.
“I figured.”
Silence settled for a second.
Not awkward. Just normal.
Coach studied me longer than usual.
“You nervous?”
“About hockey? No.”
That got his attention slightly.
“What then?”
I looked down at my hands for a moment before answering.
“Everything attached to hockey.”
Coach stayed quiet.
I appreciated that about him. He did not rush to fill silence just because it existed.
“I thought getting drafted or getting opportunities would make everything simpler,” I admitted. “But it kind of just made everything heavier.”
Coach nodded slowly.
“Yeah,” he said. “That part surprises everybody.”
I leaned back slightly in the chair.
Outside the office I could hear somebody dropping equipment into one of the storage bins.
“I do not know what I am supposed to do,” I said honestly.
Coach folded his arms.
“You already know your options.”
“That is not the same thing.”
“No,” he agreed. “It is not.”
Another short silence.
Then:
“You talk to Mia about it?”
“Yeah.”
“And?”
I let out a slow breath.
“She keeps making it sound manageable.”
Coach smiled faintly at that.
“Good.”
I shook my head slightly.
“It is annoying.”
“That too.”
Despite myself, I almost laughed.
Almost.
Coach leaned forward slightly.
“Listen,” he said. “There is no version of this where nothing changes. So stop waiting for one.”
That stayed with me immediately because it sounded too close to something Mia would say.
“I know,” I admitted quietly.
Coach nodded once toward the door.
“Then stop trying to solve your whole life in one week.”
I stood up after that conversation ended, but the feeling followed me anyway.
Outside, the air felt colder than earlier practice.
Or maybe I was just more tired now.
I sat in my car for a while without starting it.
My phone buzzed against the console.
Mia: survive practice
Barely
Mia: dramatic
True though
A few seconds passed before I typed again.
Coach talked to me about Halifax
The typing bubble appeared immediately.
Then disappeared.
Then came back.
Finally:
Mia: you okay
I looked out through the windshield toward the snow piled along the parking lot.
Not really
I sent it before overthinking it.
Her reply came fast.
Mia: come over later
I stared at the message for a second longer than necessary.
Okay
I drove home first.
Showered.
Changed clothes.
Walked around my apartment for ten straight minutes doing absolutely nothing useful.
Then finally left again.
By the time I reached Mia’s apartment it was already dark outside.
She opened the door wearing sweatpants and an oversized hoodie with her hair tied back badly like she had done it without checking a mirror.
“You look tired,” she said immediately.
“You keep saying that.”
“Because you keep looking tired.”
Fair enough.
I stepped inside.
The apartment smelled like rice and garlic.
Jamie was stretched across the couch with a controller in his hands.
He glanced up briefly when he saw me.
“Oh good,” he said. “Another emotionally complicated evening.”
“You are free to leave,” Mia told him.
“I live here.”
“Unfortunately.”
Jamie pointed the controller toward me.
“If anybody cries, I am putting headphones on.”
“I am not crying.”
“Confident statement.”
Mia rolled her eyes and pulled me toward the kitchen before I could answer him.
Mom was already asleep down the hall.
The apartment felt quieter because of it.
Mia handed me a plate before sitting across from me at the table.
“You actually ate today,” she said.
“I had practice.”
“That was not my question.”
I looked down at the food briefly.
“Somewhat.”
She nodded like that was probably the answer she expected anyway.
For a minute neither of us said much.
Just the sound of forks against plates and Jamie yelling at somebody through his headset from the living room.
Eventually I looked up.
“Coach said there is no version of this where nothing changes.”
Mia leaned back slightly in her chair.
“He is right.”
“I know.”
That was the frustrating part.
Everybody kept being right lately.
I rubbed my hand slowly over the back of my neck.
“I thought winning the championship would feel different,” I admitted quietly.
“How.”
“Like everything after would make more sense.”
Mia watched me carefully for a second.
“But it does not.”
“No.”
The honesty of that sat heavily between us.
Because I had spent years treating hockey like the answer to everything. Work harder. Play better. Win more. Keep moving.
Simple.
Except suddenly it was not simple anymore because now there were things attached to it that mattered just as much.
Maybe more.
Mia rested her arms lightly on the table.
“You are trying to make the decision feel clean,” she said.
I looked at her.
“What does that mean.”
“It means you keep looking for the version where nobody gets hurt and nothing changes.”
I already knew what she was going to say next before she said it.
“There is not one.”
Silence again.
Not dramatic silence.
Just truth sitting in the room.
Jamie shouted suddenly from the couch.
“Who finished the juice?”
Neither of us answered.
“Cowards,” he muttered to himself.
Mia ignored him completely.
I looked back at her.
“I do not want to leave.”
The words came out quieter than I intended.
Something in her expression softened immediately.
“But you still might,” she said gently.
“Yeah.”
Because that was the truth too.
The hard part was both feelings existed at the same time.
I could want to stay and still know leaving might be the right decision.
Mia stayed quiet for a second before speaking again.
“You know what I think.”
“What.”
“I think you are scared that choosing hockey means you are becoming your father.”
That hit harder than anything else had all night because I had not actually said it out loud yet.
I looked away briefly toward the sink.
“Maybe.”
Mia shook her head immediately.
“Caleb, your father chose status over people. You are sitting in my kitchen looking miserable because you are worried about hurting people you love. Those are not the same thing.”
The apartment felt very still for a moment after that.
Not because she fixed everything.
Just because hearing somebody separate those two things out loud mattered more than I expected.
I let out a slow breath.
“I do not know what happens after this,” I admitted.
Mia nodded once.
“Neither do I.”
Then after a second:
“But we are still here now.”
Simple sentence.
No dramatic promise attached to it.
Still enough to loosen something tight in my chest.
We finished dinner slowly after that.
Talking about smaller things eventually.
Jamie failing a math test.
Mom refusing to stop folding laundry when she was tired.
My coach yelling during practice.
Normal conversation.