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Chapter Text

Prologue – It’s Not Worth Winning If You Can’t Win Big

Clang!

The puck impelled off the metal of the goalpost, and everyone in the stadium groaned.

They all watched as the score changed in favor of the other team.

An overtime loss was worse than a regular loss. Anyone who played hockey knew this. But Coach Jack Reilly especially hated it. He didn’t like losers. And he didn’t want any crybabies, either. He was going to be out for blood next season. He’d never let another state championship go.

“Little Gordon Bombay had the chance . . .!”

Coach shook his head vehemently, his eyes reflecting a sort of heat that every boy on the bench could feel burning into them. But little Teddy Orion winced internally as Coach Reilly swore colorfully before he turned to face him, spitting out, “I should’ve sent you out there, Teddy! You wouldn’t have let it slip! That was a wide-open shot!” He said it loud enough for Teddy’s best friend, Gordy, to overhear.

“It’s not his fault!” Teddy said insistently. “You can’t blame him! There are others on the team, Coach. That’s not fair!”

“I don’t really care what you think, Orion!” Coach snarled, getting low into his face. “Now, you may have been hopeless a few months ago, but even you could’ve made that shot!”

Teddy caught Gordy’s expression as he despondently skated over to the bench; Teddy could see the tears reflecting in Gordy’s eyes. “Don’t talk about him like that!”

“Teddy, it is my fault. I missed the shot,” Gordy said to him before turning to Coach Reilly. “I’m sorry, Coach.”

“‘You’re sorry!’” mocked Coach Reilly. “You know what I call that? Pathetic! Your old man would’ve wanted you to win, and you let him down! You let your whole team down! We were counting on you!”

“Stop!” Teddy yelled back.

“You shut your mouth, Orion! Or I’ll put you on third-line again!”

“I don’t care! I said that’s enough!” Teddy yelled, feeling indignant as he stepped protectively in front of his best friend. “Just give him a break! His dad just died a few weeks ago, and –!”

“That’s no excuse!” snarled Coach Reilly, his face going from a deep red to a horrible shade of purple; Teddy could almost see the gears turning in his head as he struggled to contain how mad he was, but when Coach got mad, he raged like a storm; the practices where he yelled and screamed at them were the worst, because he would always blame them for every mistake, but he wouldn’t give them any tips on how to make it better.

Still, Teddy braved the Goliath standing in front of him, staring Coach Reilly in the eye before yelling, “Fine! I quit!” He turned to Gordy. “Come on, Gordy! Let’s go home!” He grabbed his best friend’s arm and hauled him away to where their mothers, Rachel and Janet, sat in the stands. Janet was standing up, yelling, “It’s all right, Gordy! Good try, sweetheart!”

But Teddy could see his friend felt that that good try wasn’t good enough. He watched as Gordy cried. Little did he know that would be the last time he’d ever see his best friend cry ever again. Still, he wrapped an arm around Gordy.

“Don’t listen to Coach, Gordy. He’s an idiot. That wasn’t your fault.”

Gordy shook his head. “I failed my dad.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“Yes, Teddy, I did,” Gordy snapped, staring back at him with red-rimmed, tear-stained eyes. “I don’t even wanna play anymore.”

“I’m with you,” Teddy said.

“Don’t be an idiot, Teddy. You’re the best player on the team.”

“So what? Reilly's got plenty of other players. I won’t make a difference alone. Besides, he can suck it if you ask me. You’re my best friend. You quit. I quit, too.”

And that was exactly what Teddy did. When Mom and Dad asked him if he wanted to sign up again for hockey, he said, “No. Gordy’s not playing. I won’t either.”

Dad said, “If you kept going, you could’ve won a scholarship to Eden Hall Academy to play.”

“Dad, we have money,” Teddy argued back.

“Doesn’t matter. Scholarships help in the long run and look good for the future. But if you want to quit, if you don’t want to keep playing on the Hawks, then that’s your choice, buddy. I can’t make it for you.”

And Teddy didn’t regret it, not once. But that didn’t mean he stopped loving the game. He continued to practice outside in his driveway, and it paid off; by the time he was fourteen, his grades were good enough to get him accepted into the Eden Hall Academy on a full scholarship, and he would have Gordy – now going by Gordon – as his roommate.

The only thing was that Gordon hated hockey – at least, that was what he told everyone. He would watch resentfully as Ted – dubbed “Teddy Bear” by his Eden Hall Varsity Warriors (his nickname was a sarcastic oxymoron; on the ice, Ted was a monster whom all opponents feared) – would pack his athletic bag and go off to hockey practice, never once going to any game even though Basil and Ted always invited him to attend the home games.

If only Ted knew that this was just the beginning of Gordon going down a much darker path, one that would consume him for years and years.

Chapter Text

Chapter 1 – When One Loses Control

“‘Teddy Bear’ Orion is in control of the puck; he’s deep into the Canucks’ zone now. Orion passes to Modano, Modano triple dekes . . . wait, he fakes it over to Orion! Orion slips right in, he shoots; he scores! GOAL! ‘Teddy Bear’ Orion scores the sixth goal for the North Stars! What a way to end it!”

He was met with a massive group hug from Basil and Mike, who patted him on the shoulders in congratulations. The rush of it all was overwhelming. Any win they could take home was a win worth celebrating. Even though this wasn’t their best season overall, they were favored to win the conference championship even if they didn’t make it to the Stanley Cup.

As Ted skated around the ice in celebration, he caught sight of Bella sitting in the view of the glass with his seven-month-old daughter, whom they named Lucy Rose Orion. Little Lucy giggled happily as Bella bounced her up and down; Ted could only make out the outline of Bella’s lips, saying to Lucy, “Go, Daddy, go!”

Ted grinned broadly, skating over to the glass and pressing his hands against it, and little Lucy giggled, pounding her chubby little hands against the glass wall, her big blue eyes beaming at him brightly. Ted was proud to see that his little girl didn’t cry or scream throughout the game. She had woken from her little nap to see him score the winning goal. Although Ted couldn’t hear her over the crowd’s roar, he could make out her little babbles as she tried to talk to him through the glass. He was proud that not even screams and cheers from the North Stars’ fans could frighten her; she truly was the bravest little thing he’d ever met.

He skated off to celebrate with the rest of his team, but not before politely shaking hands with the Canucks. He stood with the reporter and answered the questions, most of which were about how it felt to score the winning goal against Vancouver.

“Amazing,” he said. “I just feel that if we have another game like this, we could go all the way. I really think we’ve got an amazing team, the best team in the world.” He didn’t know what else he said afterward. He was just determined to finish up the press conference after the game, hit the showers, and get home with Bella and Lucy; it was past Lucy’s bedtime, and he would prefer her sleeping in her crib rather than in the stadium waiting for him.

He finished the post-game press conference, was interviewed along with Mike and Basil, and went off to the showers. He quickly showered off before changing into the suit he’d worn to the arena that night – they were all expected to adhere to the dress code.

After straightening his tie and sports coat, he grabbed his bag and left the locker room, saying a final goodbye to Basil and Mike before marching proudly up to his wife, who smiled at him brightly.

“Hi!” Bella kissed him gently before turning to their daughter. “You wanna see Daddy? How’d you like your first game?”

“She was so good!” Ted said, beaming at his little girl before leaning down and kissing her. “She didn’t cry. She didn’t scream.” He took her into his arms, bouncing her up slightly; his little girl squealed as his beard tickled her. “Let’s get outta here. You’ve got work in the morning, and I’ve got practice.”

Bella nodded. “Yeah. Your mother and father will be babysitting tomorrow, right?”

Ted nodded back. “Yeah. And I’ll be home for dinner tomorrow night. I’ll even cook.”

“Wow, so you’re not just a jock. Fatherhood has made you into a cook, too.”

“Hey, I’ve got more to offer than just knocking bigger guys around.” Ted bumped his shoulder with Bella’s before heading to the parking lot, where his 1989 Ford Explorer was parked. He’d only been able to afford that brand-new car a few years prior because he’d been playing with the North Stars for years and had saved all of his paychecks; he’d gotten signed to them in ’83, a year before he was supposed to graduate from University of Minnesota, where he’d played for the Golden Gophers, and in ’87, he pushed for the managers and coaches to rope in Basil McRae, his old partner from his Eden Hall Academy days.

Ted unlocked the car and put his baby girl into her car seat before going behind the wheel, Bella climbing in to sit in the passenger’s seat beside him. He held her hand gently as he pulled out of the lot and drove out to Bloomington's snowy, icy roads, back toward his and Bella’s house, his haven away from the craziness of the Met Center and the fans of the North Stars. When the fans weren’t bombarding him, the privacy of his house was a luxury because no matter how much money he made from playing, his family made him richer. He was convinced that no money in the world could buy him the happiness that his wife and little girl gave him.

He carefully drove through the dark iciness of the night, his eyes peeled on the road. Lucy was fast asleep in the backseat, swaddled in her North Stars blanket Mike Modano had gifted her when she was born almost a year ago. If Ted was grateful for one thing, it was that Lucy had a whole lot of uncles determined to spoil her rotten; he’d even named Mike Modano the godfather, an honor he thought would’ve gone to his Eden Hall roommate and best friend, Gordon Bombay.

But Bombay hated hockey. He also had little patience when dealing with kids; the guy was barely an uncle to his own nieces and hadn’t been in contact with his own sister. And that was what Ted considered when thinking about godparents; he wouldn’t want someone who wasn’t present. Plus, Gordon’s law career was taking off – he’d be too busy to be a godparent, at least, that was what Gordon said to him, though Ted sensed that was just an excuse.

As he drove along, he felt tiredness behind his eyes. He was looking forward to the strong cup of chamomile his wife would brew for him when they got home; it was probably the one thing that helped him sleep through the night – that was if he wasn’t woken in the middle of the night by Lucy needing a diaper change.

Suddenly, Bella’s voice broke through. “Ted? Would you want to have another baby?”

Ted turned to her in surprise. “We just had one seven months ago!”

“I know, but I know you’ve wanted a little boy,” Bella said to him.

Ted considered it. A little boy sounded amazing to him. He always knew that if he were to have a boy, he’d want to name the boy Teddy Jr. and have the boy on ice skates before he could walk or talk. He’d always dreamt of playing games of hockey with a mini version of him, especially after he had Lucy; he didn’t think Lucy would want to play such an aggressive sport, that Bella would instead put their little girl in a dance class, so he yearned for his mini-me, a boy who would love sports and be as hockey-obsessed as his daddy.

Though many said Lucy was his mini-me, she looked just like him with her curly, dirty blonde hair and bright blue eyes, and she was said to have his personality, a fierce spirit that made her braver than any seven-month-old anyone had ever met. Mike Modano called her a bear cub – nothing ever seemed to scare her, and Basil McRae said she reminded him of Ted, how she’d look at you with this laser focus, like nothing could break her concentration, and she had a toughness that outmatched anyone.

He smiled, picturing having a little boy to complete their family. Finally, he said, “Let’s enjoy Lucy for a bit, and then we’ll talk about another baby.”

Bella smiled at the thought of that compromise. “Okay.” But as she leaned in to kiss him, Ted barely saw the car that was trying to shift into their lane, and he felt the impact before he saw that the driver looked not at all there, like maybe he’d had too many. His whole body slammed into the driver’s side door, and he heard Bella scream loudly as the car crushed and crumbled, a horrific crunching sound filling Ted’s ears as he felt blood run down the side of his face, flashing lights dancing before his eyes like stars as the airbags popped up, smacking him in the face, and everything went dark.

“Ted? Ted! Come on, baby, wake up!”

Bella. She sounded so hysterical, so desperate, that her voice alone gave him the strength to open his eyes. He felt numb everywhere, and the heaviness of a bandage wrapped around his head as he forced his eyes wide open. Bright white light stung, and he quickly closed his eyes again before blinking them open, and that was when he registered a breathing tube down his throat as he turned his gaze to Bella, who stared at him with tear-stained green eyes. He was also shocked to see Gordon Bombay, along with Basil, Mike, and Coach Page. Hell, even Curt Giles was there. Suddenly, the doctor came into view, giving him a look of concern.

“Ted? I’m Dr. Rosemont. Listen, we’re gonna get the ventilator out. I just need you to give me a few good coughs until it’s out.”

Ted nodded, closing his eyes as he gagged and retched, feeling the long breathing tube leave his lungs, through his mouth, the burning pain in his throat trailing upward into his head, his whole face turning red from the sheer effort. Panting and choking, he wiped his mouth as someone offered him water, which he took and slowly sipped.

“What happened?” he rasped.

“You got side-swept, Ted,” Coach said, looking pale and shaken. “We all thought you’d die. They said your condition was critical when you got brought in.”

“Belles, what about you?”

“I’m fine!” Bella insisted, tears streaming down her face; Ted winced when he saw her wrist was in a sling. “It was you I was most worried for. You scared me to death! They said you had a severe skull fracture and some broken ribs. You were coughing up blood.”

“You’ll need some time off the ice,” Coach said. “There’s a chance you might be unable to play if we go to the playoffs.”

Ted sighed. This was just great. Not to mention, the cost of needing to pay for repairs on his car would for sure bleed him dry, even though he did make a considerable salary as a defenseman for the North Stars. However, another sudden thought occurred to him, a horrific thought that suddenly caused a powerful surge of strength to overwhelm him as he sat up a little straighter in the bed, ignoring the dull ache in his ribs and his wife’s protests to lie back down.

“What about Lucy? Where’s my daughter?” he demanded.

Everyone winced at that, and he pictured the worst: his little girl dead in the morgue, her tiny body cold and lifeless, hadn’t even seen her first birthday yet . . .

“Ted . . .” Bella whispered.

“What?”

“About Lucy,” Gordon whispered, stepping forward and looking genuinely troubled, and Ted knew this was bad – Gordon hated kids; he often complained about how they were loud, whiny, needy, expensive, they smelled, they were bratty. It had to be really bad for him to be genuinely concerned for Ted’s daughter. “She’ll be all right, at least physically. Her condition wasn’t good when she got brought in, but . . . when the other car hit you, it impacted her portion of the car more, and . . . and the doctors found some signs of spinal cord damage.”

“Spinal cord damage?” Ted repeatedly dumbly, blinking at his Eden Hall roommate in confusion.

“They did some X-rays; there’s a huge chance she won't be able to start crawling or walking, ever,” Gordon said, his voice filled with sympathy and pity, two things Ted did not want right now – he didn’t need pity as he forced himself out of the hospital bed, suddenly filled with a determination he didn’t know he possessed, his legs beginning to carry him toward the door.

“Ted, no, you can’t get out of bed yet. You’ve got to rest!” Bella insisted.

“No. I have to go see my daughter!” Ted snapped, glaring at everybody in the room as if daring any of them to disagree with him. None of them bothered to try stopping him; Mike and Basil looked scared out of their minds. He must’ve been glaring at them pretty hard.

He exited the hospital room and made his way to the pediatric ICU, where he flagged down a nurse and asked where Lucy Orion’s room was. The nurse led him through the hallway toward Lucy’s hospital room, where he stood outside, seeing his daughter lying in the plastic bassinet, tucked in with blankets, her beautiful little face bruised colorfully, oxygen tubing down her nose. Just the knowledge that she’d never take her first steps caused his throat to close up as he pictured her needing to spend the rest of her life in a wheelchair, and she hadn’t even seen her first birthday yet; she was only a few months old, so tiny, so innocent . . .

His hands clenched into fists as a sheer hatred he’d never felt in his life flooded him, along with the grief of knowing what a burden this would be on his family for the rest of their life. Why the hell did that driver-side sweep them? Why did he try to pass them when there wasn’t enough room? Some people just didn’t deserve to have a license! Did that guy not have any common sense? He probably didn’t even realize he destroyed a family’s whole world. Sure, Lucy was alive and would be all right. But that was beside the point. His little girl wouldn’t get to have a life like other children; she’d need to spend the rest of it in a wheelchair and physical therapy out of hopes that one day, she’d be able to walk. The irresponsibility that people in this world had, getting behind the wheel of a vehicle when they had no business doing it . . .

He didn’t realize he was sobbing until his eyes were so blinded by tears that he couldn’t see out of them. Choking, he felt a hand lean onto his shoulder, and he was soon pulled into a firm embrace as he bawled, low, pained whines escaping his throat like a wounded animal as someone patted him on the back gently.

“I’m sorry,” he heard Gordon whispering. “Ted, I’m so sorry.”

However, no number of sympathetic apologies could keep Ted from feeling helpless at that moment. He hated the feeling of everything being out of his control, like the world was slipping out of his fingertips and he couldn’t pull himself out of the pit he was now falling into, sinking inside like quicksand as he stood there in the iron grip of Gordon’s arms, sobbing into the crook of his friend’s neck as he gripped the back of Gordon’s shirt.

“I’ll do the best I can for you,” Gordon promised. “I never lost a case. Not once. If I get assigned this case, I’ll make the guy take a plea instead, so you don’t have to go through trial. I’ll do whatever I can to help fix this for you and Bella. I promise. I will make this right.”

It was probably the first unselfish act Gordon had ever offered to do for someone else in a long time. In recent years, Gordon was blinded by winning, winning, winning, determined to go for the “W” every time, even if it meant playing dirty and screwing others over in court. But Ted sensed this circumstance was different, that it was because this case happened to somebody Gordon actually cared about very much.

Ted was floored – he’d thought Gordon had stopped caring years ago after Andrew Bombay died, that the guy was incapable of caring about anyone other than himself. Many wondered why Ted continued to be friends with someone so selfish, but he gave the same answer every time: he’d continue to love Gordon like a brother until Gordon learned to love and care again, and standing there in the hallway of the PICU, he felt that these were the beginning stages of the iciness around Gordon’s heart thawing. At that thought, he hugged Gordon back even tighter, sobbing, “Thank you, thank you,” again and again.

Chapter Text

Chapter 2 – The Fear of Failure

“Mr. Harold Leavenworth, on the charge of driving under the influence, how do you plead?” Judge Weathers asked.

Ted thought Harold Leavenworth didn’t look the least bit remorseful as he stood before the court, Gordon standing next to him and shooting him a look that screamed, “Just admit it.” The guy was a slob, his tie quite sloppy, and he stood there overweight, clearly not having any care about his appearance. He just stood there with his hands in his pockets but said, “Guilty, Your Honor,” in a bored tone, like he thought it was a waste of time being there.

“On the additional charge of driving with an open container?”

“Guilty.”

“On the additional charge of assault by auto, how do you plead?”

“Guilty.”

“On the additional charge of leaving the scene of the accident, how do you plead?”

“Guilty.”

“On the additional charge of reckless endangerment, how do you plead?”

“Guilty, Your Honor.”

Judge Weathers turned to Gordon. “Mr. Bombay, does your client understand that he is to remain on house arrest until sentencing?”

“Yes, Your Honor,” Gordon replied smoothly.

“And that he isn’t to touch a drop of alcohol while on remand?”

“Absolutely, Your Honor.”

“Then, it is settled. Sentencing will be held on February 11^th at nine o’clock in the morning. The court is dismissed,” Judge Weathers said coolly, slamming his gavel down as Harold left the room under police escort.

It had been like pulling teeth, Gordon had told Ted; Harold Leavenworth had a history of driving under the influence and littering while driving. He’d been given multiple police warnings about reckless driving. It had only been after he’d side-swept Ted and injured Lucy that, finally, he’d been charged with something.

Ted felt his disgust settle in as he glowered at Harold, who didn’t even offer him a sympathetic word. And frankly, Ted wanted no apologies from that man, not after what he’d done, destroying Ted’s whole world. But Gordon walked over to him and hugged him tightly; Ted didn’t hesitate to return the embrace.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

“I knew he had no chance,” Gordon whispered as he pulled away, taking Ted’s hand into his. “Hopefully, he will go to prison for this and get fined. I foresee him needing to pay for the repairs on your car and Lucy’s medical bills for any physical therapy she’ll need in the future.”

“Bella and I are already getting started on that,” Ted said seriously. “I don’t care how many physical therapists I need to visit. I’ll do whatever I have to do to make sure my little girl walks at some point in her life.”

Gordon offered him a gentle smile in return. “If there’s anything I can do to help things along, let me know.”

Ted nodded back at him. “Again, thank you for everything.”

“You want to get a drink? You look like you could use one.”

Ted nodded. A beer sounded good right about now. He’d prefer a Guinness, something dark and strong. He knew the alcohol couldn’t erase the current circumstances, but he needed to relax. And a drink with Gordon would help with that.

He kissed Bella goodbye, and she squeezed his hand, leaving the courthouse with Basil, who’d offered to drive her home after the plea deal. Ted sighed and followed Gordon out to his car; Ted saw Gordon had put on his license plate JUSTWIN.

“You know this counts as a loss, right?”

“It’s a win, as far as I’m concerned,” Gordon said sternly. “Because this was me helping you.”

“And you almost never help unless there’s something in it for you,” Ted said shrewdly.

“You’re the exception, Ted. You’re my friend,” Gordon replied, getting into the driver’s seat and driving them to the local bar.

Stub and Herbs was a staple for college students attending the University of Minnesota, at least in the Twin Cities. Ted and Gordon had spent many nights getting drunk together here, even when they were underage. They definitely got into trouble and were the life of the party when they were in school, the most popular guys in their fraternity, at least until Ted got selected to play for the North Stars. But there were times when he and Gordon would meet for drinks with Mike and Basil; it was funny how Gordon said he hated hockey, yet he was friends with Mike and Basil and just as close with them as Ted was.

Ted wasn’t sure how many beers they had. But he made sure to order them food, knowing alcohol combined with no food was not good. They went through several orders of fries, buffalo wings, and nachos, but even Ted didn’t think that would be enough for Gordon to soak up all that alcohol. The guy had way more than Ted had; Ted only had a dark stout or two. Gordon had four beers, a shot of vodka, and a tequila shot, and he looked very woozy. His eyes were red and glazed.

Granted, Ted had been determined to drink away his fears about everything: the fear of failing Lucy, the fear of Harold Leavenworth walking away with probation, the fear of Lucy never recovering, the fear of what his future held, the GM of the North Stars was talking about potentially relocating to Anaheim, something that would force Ted to move away, but it would compromise Lucy’s recovery. He’d even gone out and got really drunk after the hospital discharged him, only to be met by a shrieking Bella, who lectured him about being so irresponsible. He would never again ever drink so much to try and run away.

With each sip of Guinness, he felt his fears and anxieties slowly melt. Still, they were replaced by more anxieties and fears that were underlying within him, reaping his very soul and making him feel even worse, knowing Bella was back home with the baby while here he was, drinking away in his old college bar like life was a frat party all over again.

Finally, he was done after his second Guinness and polishing off the final buffalo wing. But Gordon looked drunker than he’d ever seen. Never once had he seen Gordon so intoxicated, not even back when they were in high school getting drunk with members of the Varsity team.

“Gordon,” he said, “you’ve had too much to drink. Give me your keys.”

“Yeah,” Gordon slurred. “I supposed I had a wittle too much.”

“A ‘wittle,’” Ted said sternly. “More like a lot. I’m closing the tab.” He flagged the bartender down and threw his credit card at the young lady who’d been serving them, and he also gave her a generous tip before grabbing Gordon’s keys from him and hauling him out of the bar, watching as his friend stumbled alongside him. Ted knew he wasn’t going to bring Gordon back to his house – Gordon could not be alone after having that many drinks, and Bella wouldn’t want someone so drunk stumbling about their home. Ever since the accident, Bella was keen to avoid liquor altogether.

Ted started up the car and drove them to the one place he could think of: Hans’s Sport Shop. He knew Jan was there. Hans was off in Norway visiting their mother for a few weeks, and Jan could take care of Gordon until the guy was sobered up.

The drive to the skate shop was silent, and Ted led Gordon out of the car once they were parked. He knocked on the door and entered the store, seeing Jan helping some kids at the cash register, some Hawks, from the looks of it.

“Have a great day, lads,” Jan said warmly, waving the boys off; their Hawks jerseys read BANKS, LARSON, and MCGILL. Ted grew up knowing their fathers; Phillip Banks and those like Tom Riley were the Varsity players everyone looked up to and had quite the pedigree. But now wasn’t the time to reminisce about old teammates, not with Gordon in a drunken stupor beside him.

“Ah, Teddy! Nice to see you!” Jan said, giving him a toothy smile. “I see you found dear old Gordon.”

“Yeah, Jan, he’s had one too many. And I don’t wanna bring him back to my house,” said Ted. “Can we crash here until he’s sobered up?”

“Sure, sure. Come on back.” Jan led them back to the shop's living room. “I will make you some tea, Ted. You look like you could use it.”

“That would be great. Thank you,” Ted said, guiding Gordon to the sofa before depositing him there, and he watched as Gordon fell asleep drunkenly.

“Would you like some hassenhepher? I just made some this morning,” Jan called from the kitchen.

“I thought I smelled something burning,” Ted remarked as he sat in the recliner; he remembered all the times Jan and Hans would make him and Gordon rabbit stew whenever they’d crash at the skate shop as boys, mostly to escape the bitter cold. Moments later, Jan returned with a strong cup of ginger tea and a small plate of rabbit stew, which Ted gratefully took from him. The taste of the Eastern Euro rabbit stew warmed him over, and he sipped the tea, sighing.

“Thank you,” he said to Jan sincerely.

“How are you doing, Teddy?” Jan looked at him quizzically, his gaze holding a gentle sort of sympathy that made his eyes seem older and wiser.

Ted sighed. “Gordon got the guy to plead guilty.” He looked away from Jan; he couldn’t look at him as he felt the tears in his eyes. “But even when he gets fined, even though he’s gonna have to help pay off all our hospital bills, the cost is going to be astronomical. And Lucy . . . she was just starting to crawl at the beginning of last month, and now she’ll never walk.” His voice broke. “I don’t know what to do.”

Jan pulled a checkbook from his pocket and handed him a blank one. “Here, Teddy, take this, as much as you think you’d need.”

“No, Jan, I could never,” Ted said weakly, tears streaming down his face at this point. He shook his head, feeling guilt settle in. Jan had given him and his family many blank checks over the years; sometime before Ted started at Eden Hall Academy, his father lost his job, and they were relying on things like government assistance and food stamps for a time, as his mother often spent many days crying, wondering what the hell she was supposed to do because she didn’t have a college degree and couldn’t get a steady, full-time job that could pay her. Ted knew Gordon had gone through a similar thing after Andrew Bombay passed away; it was a miracle that Gordon’s mom was able to keep the house, as she’d adjusted the mortgage on it, and she, Gordon, and Renee all went out to find work by means to pay the bills, at least until she got hired as a secretary at Ducksworth, Savor, and Gross.

Until Ted’s father got a job when Ted was in his junior year at Eden Hall, the family had almost nothing, but Hans and Jan constantly gave them blank check after blank check. Ted didn’t want to take any more money from Jan or Hans, not after his family had already taken so much from them, even though their business was so successful. But he also knew that Jan wouldn’t feel right letting him and his family struggle; the old man was just far too kind for his own good.

“I’m insisting,” Jan said gently. “Anything to ease your family’s financial burden right now. I know that hockey is temporary; you’re nearing your thirties and will be retired in another five years. Just take it. Accept some help once in a while, Theodore.”

Ted sighed. Whenever Jan or Hans called him “Theodore,” he melted. They’d been like grandparents to him and Gordon growing up, close friends of Ted and Gordon’s dads despite a ten-year age difference. He took the blank check from Jan, feeling guilty about taking money from him, but he had no intent to use it.  

“You’ve already done so much for us,” Ted whispered roughly.

“And I will continue to do more, Teddy. There’s no shame in asking for help.” Jan patted his hand gently. “I know it’s unfair that this happened to you, especially right now. But things can turn around if you just have a little faith, my boy.”

Ted shook his head. “I don’t see how. I’m just so scared of failing my family.”

“But if you fear it, it will happen,” said Jan sternly. “You mustn’t be afraid of failure and challenges, sen. Have you ever allowed a hurdle to stop you before?”

“I’ve never faced a hurdle like this. This isn’t like hockey.”

“Is it not?” Jan quirked an eyebrow. “It’s easy when you think you have control of the puck. But what happens when you do not, Teddy? Hmm? You attack it and take a risk. You play defense. You know the game, my boy. You know defense is the hardest thing you could ever do because you must fight to control yourself even when you have no control over your situation. You can either make it worse or better. The choice is yours, young lad.”

Ted was rendered speechless. Jan was making a lot of sense. He always did. He and Hans always gave the most excellent advice, even though sometimes Ted thought they were both a little nutty. But he couldn’t deny that Jan had a point.

He’d never thought of it like that. But he supposed hockey could be applied to real life, too. It was about how you controlled your attitude toward your circumstances. The puck being at the edge of your stick was just like real life; it was easy to feel confident when you were in control of it. But what happened when you weren’t? You needed to run after it, attack it, and go for it again. If only it were so easy not to overthink it or doubt yourself. But Ted also knew Jan would say something about how it would get easier with time.

Sighing, he said, “I guess you’re right.”

“I always am.” Jan’s eyes twinkled as he winked at him. “Now, eat up before the hassenhepher and the tea get cold, sen.” He turned to Gordon, who drunkenly slept on the sofa. “Perhaps you can pass that along to Gordon.”

“If he’ll listen,” Ted whispered. “He’s been this way ever since Andrew died. And we lost that game.”

“Reilly’s an idiot,” Jan said sternly yet gently. “He ruined the sport for you two. It’s not about winning.”

“Tell that to Gordon. He’s obsessed with winning.”

“You learn much more from a loss than a win, Teddy. You, of all people, should know that, considering your team hasn’t won a single Stanley Cup.”

“It was never about winning for me. Sure, going to the Stanley Cup would be nice. But I accepted being drafted into the North Stars because I knew Bella was the one, and I couldn’t ask her to move away from Minnesota, not when her family is here.”

“It takes a great deal of selflessness to choose the team everyone underestimates in order to stay with the ones you love most.” Jan offered him a quiet smile, patting his hand again. “I’m really proud of you, Teddy.”

“Thanks, Jan. Really. I don’t know what Gordon and I would become without you or Hans.”

“I think you would’ve fared just fine, sen. I’ve watched you grow up; you always stood by your principles and what you knew was right. I watched you stand up to Reilly after you lost that game; it took a lot, walking away from the sport that you loved so that your friend didn’t have to be alone.”

“He would’ve done the same for me,” Ted sighed, spooning up some rabbit stew; the taste was warm, gamey, and comforting, just the way he remembered it. “He did just that today.”

“He’ll find his way back,” Jan said gently. “Eventually.”

“Hopefully sooner rather than later.”

“Me too, lad, me too.”

A week passed. They were at sentencing. The defendant was offered a chance to apologize, which he did not do, but he issued a statement through Gordon.

Everyone could feel the tension in the room. It hung so thickly that it was like a fog. The longer Ted needed to sit in Leavenworth’s presence, the more he felt his anger and resentment build up to an explosive level, along with his grief and sadness, as he looked at Lucy, who lay in his wife’s arms fast asleep.

“‘My client wishes to say he knows the Orion family is suffering a tremendous burden as a result of his actions. He promises to pay his dues and serve the time he must, even though he knows it will do little to ease the pain that Theodore and Bella Orion are suffering through,’” Gordon read aloud, casting Ted an apologetic glance, but Ted shook his head; at least it wasn’t a pathetic attempt at an apology. He remembered how Harold Leavenworth complained that he’d need to spend a weekend in the county jail because he was the drunken fool who got behind the wheel.

“Prosecution? Is there anything you wish to say?” Judge Weathers asked.

“Yes, Your Honor,” Ted said, standing up. “‘I’m glad Harold Leavenworth didn’t offer me an apology because he meant to do this. He knew what would happen when he chose to get behind the wheel after he drank, and he continued to drink and drive. He fled from the accident, and he never once expressed any remorse for his actions. Instead, he complained about needing to spend the weekend in jail. Well, guess what? You’re spending way more than one weekend in there because you need to take responsibility for your irresponsible choice to drink and drive. This has brought suffering to me, my wife, and my daughter; I will never get to see her first steps because of what he’d done.’ That’s all, Your Honor.” Tears blinded his vision as he sat down beside his wife, who held their baby girl in her arms; little Lucy was too small, too young to understand everything that was happening. She had no clue that her life was going to change forever. All she needed to know was that she had two parents and a boatload of hockey uncles who loved her very much and would see to the end that she recovered.

“All rise,” Judge Weathers said finally, and they rose. “After careful consideration, I hereby sentence Harold Leavenworth to first-degree DWI, along with charges of assault by auto and fleeing the scene of the accident. You are to be in prison for ten years and will be fined a total of fourteen thousand dollars. You are also to attend Alcoholics Anonymous meetings regularly, and once you are released, you will be sentenced to a year of community service. You will also need to pay for any medical bills concerning the Orion family and assist them with payment for any and all repairs on Theodore Orion’s car. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Your Honor,” replied Leavenworth.

“You are to report for your sentencing no later than March 31^st. Case closed.” Judge Weathers banged the gavel, and everyone watched as Harold Leavenworth departed, but not before shooting a filthy look at Gordon, whom he assumed would fight for him to win and clear him of everything. But even Gordon understood that there was no redeeming this guy.

Ted sighed with relief, tears rolling down his face as he hugged Gordon tightly. Gordon gently thumped him on the back.

“Thank you for everything, man,” Ted whispered.

“You know I’m always here for you,” Gordon replied as he pulled away. “I told you I’d take care of you. And I meant it. That’s what you do for family.”

“I love you, Gordo.”

“Love you.” Gordon hugged him again firmly as Bella walked over, tears rolling down her face as she held Lucy close to her and hugged him, too, before pulling back and kissing him on the cheek. Gordon blushed fervently to his hairline but smiled back at her nonetheless, especially as Bella turned Lucy toward him.

“I know you claim you don’t like kids,” Bella teased gently. “But she grows on you. Trust me.”

“Come on, Gordo. You’re the only one of my friends who hasn’t held her yet,” Ted pushed gently.

Gordon sighed; even he couldn’t resist a little baby's power over you and took Lucy from Bella, cradling her carefully. “I’m not sure if I’m doing it right.”

“You are,” Bella assured him.

“Still hate kids?” smirked Ted.

“A little less,” Gordon teased. “Her, I have to make an exception.”

“I knew you would,” laughed Bella before taking Lucy back. “She’s just like Ted. You’ve got to love her.”

Gordon smiled back a little wider, though Ted could see that even though Gordon felt fulfilled for the first time in his life, he’d spent the majority of his law career in the past few years working to win, to chase after the high he got from winning, winning, winning, that he forgot how rewarding it was to do something for somebody else, that maybe, he didn’t love being a lawyer as much as he loved seeing Ted and Bella get justice for what happened to them. And as Ted watched Gordon walk out of the courtroom, he could’ve sworn he saw the despondence in his old friend’s shoulders, that sinking, like he knew he needed to go back to Ducksworth, Savor, and Gross and potentially work on a case that wouldn’t be as fulfilling as this one.

Ted just hoped that Gordon knew there was always a chance he could do something he loved again and that something was hockey. Gordon might say he hated hockey, but Ted knew that the love for the game didn’t die that easily.

But Gordon wasn’t an easy man to persuade. Like Jan said a week ago, that was one of those things that would simply take time. Ted just hoped it wouldn’t be so much time that it would be too late for his friend.

Chapter Text

Chapter 3 – Regaining Control

Ted raced along the ice for warm-ups with the team, panting hard and sucking in lungful after lungful of icy air, which burned at his chest. No matter how many times he did laps with the team, the iciness freezing and burning his chest never failed to overwhelm him; sweat ran down the back of his neck, which felt both cold and hot at the same time. Finally, Coach called for a stop to the warmups. But before he could announce that they were to scrimmage for the rest of practice, the assistant coach came over bearing Ted’s pager.

“Orion!” he barked. “You’ve got a message! The same for Modano, Vargas, and McRae!”

“Wonder who would leave us a message,” Basil panted, skating over to their assistant coach.

“Apparently, it’s your buddy Gordon Bombay. He got himself into a scrape and needs some help.”

Ted, Basil, Mike, and Hal Vargas all looked at one another; Ted could only assume what that meant. The last time he’d gone out with Gordon was during his case for the plea deal. He’d watched Gordon drink himself into oblivion; he nearly would’ve gotten behind the wheel intoxicated had Ted not intervened and offered to drive him to Jan. Still, he had a feeling Gordon had way more problems than he was letting on, and he was trying to mask them the best he could. But Ted wasn’t stupid. He knew the loss of his father really messed Gordon up for years, coupled with Jack Reilly making him feel like a pathetic loser.

Sighing, Ted grabbed his pager and listened to the message.

“Teddy, I’m . . . I’m in trouble. Got hauled in last night. I need help. Please. Either you, Hal, Modano, or Basil, please.”

Ted sighed and glanced at his coach and assistant coach. “I know I shouldn’t. But . . .”

“Go, your friend needs you, son,” Coach Gainey said, patting Ted on the shoulder.

“You need any help, man?” Basil asked. “We know how Gordo is.”

“Don’t worry, Basil, I’ve got this,” Ted said, patting McRae on the shoulder. “Get back out there.”

Basil, Hal, and Mike nodded, skating off while Ted went to the locker room to shower and change into his clothes: a North Stars zip-up, jeans, and sneakers. After making sure his locker area was thoroughly cleaned up, he gathered up his car keys, wallet, and pager before heading out to the parking lot, driving through the snowy November streets of Bloomington toward Downtown Minneapolis, where the Minneapolis Police Department was located.

The whole drive there, Ted’s heart pounded. He could only assume what this was. Gordon got into another traffic violation. He had several of them within the past few years. And Ted knew his old friend had a drinking problem, unable to get through a night without a drink. It was safe for Ted to assume that Gordon had been caught drinking while driving, which infuriated him just thinking about it. Gordon knew Ted’s feelings on drinking and driving. It had nearly destroyed his and Bella’s whole world a year ago, and the fact that Gordon had gone out and done that almost felt like a betrayal; it hurt worse than any check Ted had taken against the boards. He just felt so angry; it took him everything to focus on driving while feeling his anxiousness spike intensely. Some might think of him as paranoid, but ever since the accident, he had fears of driving in the snow. He guessed it was PTSD; he hadn’t been officially diagnosed with anything, and he was reluctant to go to a therapist. He didn’t want to have to face that possibility.

Once he parked in the spot outside the police station, he pulled his key out of the ignition and pulled out the blank check Jan had given him a while back. He’d never used it once, but he felt it would be useful now if these cops needed him to pay bail to get Gordon out.

Sighing, he headed into the police station and approached the lady at the front desk. “Hello, Officer? I’m Ted Orion; Gordon Bombay called for me?”

The gray-haired female officer shot him a look that seemed contemptuous. “He’s been here all night long, son.” She gestured for Ted to follow her, her body looking about as strict and no-nonsense as her tight, gray ponytail; it nearly reminded him of Bella, how she took control of the pediatric ward and ran the floor with an iron fist.

“What did he get hauled in for?”

“DWI with an open container and refusing to take a breathalyzer test,” the officer said, and Ted felt his anger resurface; why would Gordon do something so stupid? He was a lawyer! He should know better!

He followed her until they were outside a cell, where Gordon sat on the bed, looking red-eyed and white-faced, still wearing the clothes he’d worn to work.

“Wow, Gordo, looks like there was one hell of a party. And I wasn’t invited? I’m insulted,” Ted joked dryly as the officer unlocked the cell door, and Gordon staggered out, looking as though he hadn’t slept all night long. It wasn’t funny at all. But he was so pissed off that it was all he could think of to say.

“Shut up, Ted,” Gordon sighed, shaking his head and walking past him as Ted handed the officer outside Gordon’s cell the blank check.

“Here, take that,” he said before turning back to Gordon, who was already halfway across the room. “Hey! Gordon! Don’t tell me to shut up! You called me here to get your ass out. You don’t get to talk like that to me.”

Gordon turned around harshly and glowered at him. “You don’t get it!”

“What don’t I get? That you were irresponsible? That you got behind the wheel drinking? That you had an open container in the car? Gordon! You know what happened to me and my family as a result of stupidity like that! How could you do that to me?”

“I DON’T KNOW!” Gordon roared before suddenly going quieter, and Ted could see a wave of shame pass through his old friend. “I don’t know. Just . . . Just take me home, please.”

Ted shook his head in disgust, fisting his car keys tightly. “Come on,” he hissed. “You’re unbelievable! What the hell were you thinking? Drinking while driving! There’s no excuse for that!” he scolded as they got into the car. “After all I’d been through with my wife and my daughter! And you turn around and do this to me! To my parents, who treated you like family after your dad died! And this is how you repay us! There’s a lot you don’t get. But one day, when you become a father, you’ll understand. Oh, yes, you will.”

Gordon remained stubbornly silent the whole time, even as Ted pulled up in front of his friend’s house. Throughout the whole car ride, Gordon’s face held a stony expression, as though he knew there was no one else to blame but himself, but he didn’t want to have to take responsibility for his stupid choice. Yet, he had to take that responsibility if he had any hope of keeping his job at the law firm so he could keep his mother’s house. The house now belonged to Gordon because his mother, Janet, was in a nursing home, sick with Alzheimer’s. She'd be infuriated if she saw her son's state, just as angry as Ted felt. He watched in disgust as Gordon trudged up the steps to his home, unlocking the door and slamming it behind him.

Ted decided he was too angry to return home, so he visited dear old Hans, who’d come home about a month ago to trade places with Jan and run the skate shop. Thinking about Hans made his anger settle significantly; the cheerful Scandinavian never failed to make him feel better over the littlest things, and honestly, Ted wanted a cup of his famous hot cocoa about now.

He pulled up in front of the skate shop within minutes and parked before heading in through the back door, where he overheard Hans sharpening some skates. As he walked inside, Hans greeted him with, “Hello, Teddy. Sneaking in through the back door, just like Gordon always did.” He put the skate down and ran his finger over the blade, gasping in pain, but Ted shook his head. Hans couldn’t fool him anymore like he did when he was a little kid.

“That doesn’t work on me anymore, Hans,” Ted said, walking over and taking the skate from the older man before hugging him. The man kissed him on the cheek lightly in that grandfatherly way he always did. “Good to see you.”

“Good to see you, Teddy. How are you doing? Jan told me about your accident.”

“I’m getting there,” Ted said. “The guy who did it is in jail. All thanks to Bombay.” The sound of Bombay’s name was sour in his mouth. He still felt that stinging betrayal; he’d been stung once by a jellyfish during a family trip to Florida. Even that had hurt less than Gordon’s DWI.

“I heard he’s a doctor now.”

“Lawyer,” Ted corrected gently. “But I don’t know how long he’ll be a lawyer, Hans. The guy got himself hauled into the station for a DWI with an open container. I still can’t believe it. After everything he knew I’d been through a year ago, he goes out and does that!”  

“He’s hurting, Ted. He has been for years. He hasn’t talked to me in ten years.”

“You mean –?” Ted stammered. How could Gordon forget all about Hans?

“It was probably too painful for him. Hockey reminds him of his father. And he wants to run away from anything to do with Andrew,” Hans said solemnly. “Could I get you some cocoa?”

“Please,” Ted pleaded, following Hans through the shop. However, he stopped at the newspaper clippings covering the Peewee games he and Gordon played together as kids and felt a stab of sadness hit him when he noticed the one black-and-white photograph of Gordon missing that shot. That was one of the many things that started his best friend’s downward spiral – ever since Andrew died and Gordon cost the Hawks that win, he hadn’t been the same since.

He also caught a glimpse of Jack Reilly’s photo. Reilly . . . maybe years ago, Ted could’ve said he admired the man; Reilly had played pro with the Chicago Black Hawks, one of the original six teams. But once Ted started playing on Reilly’s team, his admiration just as quickly melted away like the snow in summertime. Within a day of Reilly watching him in practice, Ted’s starry-eyed view of the man vanished; he only stayed on the Hawks because of Gordon, who convinced Reilly that the young, scrawny, short rookie could become one of the best the team would ever have. Ted still didn’t understand how Gordon convinced Reilly to give him a shot. He supposed Gordon was just naturally a leader and very persuasive – it was no mystery why Gordon became an attorney. Gordon could use that talent for something good; Ted had witnessed that with his case against Harold Leavenworth. But for some reason, Gordon just couldn’t see that – he was blinded by winning, winning, winning.

Win.

Win.

Win.

It’s not worth winning if you can’t win big.

Ted scoffed.

He was so wrapped up in thoughts of the past that he barely smelled the hot chocolate. He took the mug from Hans and sipped it as he said, “I see you still have that up.”

“You’ve always got to remember the past, even the unpleasant parts, Teddy.”

“Yeah, well, that was the start of Gordon pushing away from everyone,” Ted said. “And now his life is a mess. He’s in shambles. And God only knows what’ll happen to him now. I just hope he learns his lesson.”

“It’s going to take him time, Theodore,” Hans said gently. “The best thing you can do is be there for him; even if he pushes away, continue to be there. You can’t abandon family.”

“Even if he doesn’t want me to be there for him?” Ted asked weakly, sipping more hot chocolate and suddenly wishing it were spiked with some Baileys.

“He needs you even if he won’t admit it. You cannot give up. You mustn’t. Because Gordon may say that he doesn’t need you, but he’s alone. He’s hurting. He cannot live in such a way forever. And I know you, Teddy, you never abandon a friend. If I recall correctly, aren’t you the same little boy who left the Hawks after his best friend quit because of Jack Reilly’s coaching methods?” Hans looked at him with those sparkling eyes, a gentle smile gracing his face.

Ted sighed. Hans was a walking fortune cookie, rarely ever wrong about anything. He managed a weak smile in return. “Yeah, you’re right, Hans.”

“That’s my boy.” Hans gently patted him on the cheek before running his hands through Ted’s hair.

A week or so passed, and word spread that Gordon was now coaching Peewee. Ted wanted to laugh at the irony of it all – the guy who claimed to hate hockey and children now had to coach a group of eleven-and-twelve-year-olds to be of service to the community, and he needed to attend AA meetings regularly. At least, that was what Hans told him.

Ted guessed karma was a bitch.

So, he went to the District Five team’s game against the Jets. District Five had always been a crappy team; they were founded sometime after Ted and Gordon finished Peewees, and had only gotten worse and worse as the years went by. Nobody wanted to coach them; any coach they found never stuck around for long. When Ted watched the District Five-Jets game, he quickly learned that none of those children had proper equipment. They didn’t even have uniforms. They duct-taped their names and numbers to the backs of hoodies, their skates looked worn out, and they wobbled on their feet, unable to skate at all.

But Ted saw something that stood out in particular: there was only one girl among a group of young boys, and the kids were all taking falls. He guessed Gordon was trying to teach them to win by cheating. He recognized the dirty tactic as something Reilly used on him and Gordon as kids, and the Varsity Warriors at Eden Hall used it all the time.

Watching from the crowd, he picked out one little boy in particular; he was smaller than the rest of them, with a head full of curly dark hair. The back of his hoodie read CONWAY, and the little guy wasn’t stable on his feet at all. Ted had seen his puck handling; it was wild and uncontrolled. If only they had someone teach them the proper basics.

But Ted guessed Gordon was in no mood for patience or teaching. He could only watch as Gordon kept ordering the kids to cheat, but the refs saw right through all the bull. Ted could tell they weren’t buying it one bit. And as Conway got shoved into the boards, Ted noticed the refs weren’t calling anything; there was a clear high-sticking penalty against the kid, with the stick handle underneath the kid’s helmet. That alone should be enough to get them a power play. The refs not calling anything legitimate made Ted shake his head, but when Conway didn’t take the fall, he saw Gordon screaming in anger, but he couldn’t hear what he was saying.  

Ted winced. He knew those children would be in for one hell of a lecture, and he had no interest in sticking around to watch Gordon scream at them. Even Ted knew screaming at those kids and not giving them constructive criticism on how to make it better wouldn’t get them anywhere, and he didn’t see himself as the Peewee coaching type, either – teenagers were much more his style, because high schoolers had a little more maturity to them and already understood everything that needed to be done.

He left the rink and headed home, happy to see Bella there; she’d gotten the day off from work and appeared to be cooking up his favorite lunch: split pea and ham soup, and she’d picked up a fresh loaf of bread from Goldberg’s Delicatessen, the little Jewish deli and bakery owned by that nice family who moved from Philly about a year or two ago. He picked out their son as the goaltender.

He removed his coat and said, “Belles, that smells so good.”

“I figured I'd surprise you since I have the day off.” Bella turned and smiled at him as he walked into the kitchen and kissed her before leaning down and kissing Lucy on top of the head, lovingly picking his baby daughter up and rubbing his nose against hers. His little girl giggled fiercely, her fingers running through his scruff.

“Well, thank you,” Ted said, sitting down at the table and bouncing Lucy up and down on his lap. As Bella served him the soup and bread, he said, “I went down to the rink to watch the kids Gordon’s coaching.”

“And? Is he changing?”

“Doesn’t look like it,” Ted sighed. “You can tell it’s just a job for him, that he just wants to do it and get it over with. He doesn’t care. He tried getting them to win by cheating. Only one didn’t do it; his name’s Conway.”

Bella hummed. “That boy sounds like you. You were always about winning fair, and you always stuck with your principles of what was right. You were never afraid to stick up for what you believed in. And you always stuck up for the little guy.”

“I watched him play; I saw me out there,” Ted admitted, slowly bringing the soup to his mouth as he wistfully reminisced on his Peewees days; some weren’t so glamorous. He remembered how awful he was when he first started, how Reilly would put him down constantly and constantly told him how much he sucked, and how Gordon took a chance on him, the skinny little guy who could barely skate in a straight line and was much smaller than all the other boys, teaching him how to get better; Ted had told Gordon back in their Peewee days how he’d make a good coach. Now, it appeared that Gordon had forgotten himself.

“I remember I was the worst one on the Hawks,” he continued. “Coach Reilly had me on the fourth line. He was this close to throwing me off the team. But then Gordon helped me, and I got better. And suddenly, I was either his linemate or protecting him out there. We were equal by the time we were twelve years old.”

“Well, Gordon’s gonna have to open his eyes and see that. He needs to remember what that was like,” said Bella. “Because if he doesn’t, he’ll lose much more than a volunteer coaching position.”

“If only he can,” Ted said bitterly, swirling his spoon through the bowl.

“Ted, I know you wanna save him. But you can’t help someone who doesn’t want to be helped. You know that. The only thing you can do is just be there.”

“Hans and Jan told me something similar.”

“They’re really wise men, then. Listen to them once in a while. They know what they’re saying.”

Ted decided to follow Bella’s advice. Gordon needed a friend, whether he knew it or not. Ted would continue to be his friend until the day he died.

He pulled up in front of the Bombay house. Everything about this house was familiar: the tire swing on the front tree where he and Gordon often played as children, the driveway where they’d practice hockey together, and the front porch with rocking chairs where their mothers often sat and watched them play. Growing up, this place was Ted’s home away from home; Janet and Andrew were his second set of parents. After Andrew died, though, a profound sadness seemed to reap the house; every Saturday for a year after Andrew passed away, Janet would be found sobbing. It got to a point where the house felt like a funeral home, and Gordon often spent nights with Ted and his parents to escape the sounds of his mother’s crying. Even Gordon’s older sister couldn’t stand to be in there seeing their mom depressed. No wonder she moved out a while ago after starting her own family. Pulling up in front of the house now, it lost its cheerfulness. That died after Andrew died. Gordon looked for every excuse to get out of the house, to the point where Ted’s mom and dad practically adopted him as a third son.

Sighing, Ted walked up the steps to the front door; if he recalled correctly, a spare key was always kept in the flower pot. He dug his hand inside and found it, inserting it into the lock and jiggling it a few times. The door opened with a loud creek, and he stepped inside.

“Gordo! Are you home? I need to talk to you,” Ted called, but when he entered the kitchen, he was greeted with something he didn’t want to see, which knocked the air out of his lungs.

Broken glass was everywhere. There were broken picture frames on the ground; Ted recognized the pictures of Gordon, Renee, Andrew, and Janet, and he also saw what looked like whiskey on the floor, the bottle broken, along with a bottle of pills wide open on the floor. But lying next to the mess was Gordon; his lips were blue, his shirt was stained with vomit, and he seemed to be twitching on the ground.

“Oh, God!” Ted ran to the phone, punching in three numbers. His hand shook harshly as his knees grew weak; he honestly felt like he would be sick.

“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?”

“Hello? Operator? Um, I need an ambulance right now!” He rambled off Gordon’s address into the phone. “It’s my friend; I think he overdosed after drinking. His lips are blue, I don’t think he’s breathing . . .”

“Okay, sir, go and help your friend. See if you can wake him up and get him breathing. Do you know how to administer CPR?”

“Yes!”

“Okay, do that.”

Ted sighed shakily, setting the phone down and rushing to his friend’s side. He tilted Gordon’s head back and got his mouth open before pressing his ear to Gordon’s chest and his finger to his neck; Gordon’s pulse was erratic under his touch, beating hard like a hummingbird’s wings, not a good sign.

He pressed hard on Gordon’s chest to keep his heart beating before leaning down and breathing for Gordon. He gave Gordon mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, tasting vomit on his lips, but he hardly cared. He continued administering CPR until he heard the wailing sirens outside the door, and he watched as the EMTs came rushing in. They knelt near Gordon, working over him to try and save his life.

“He’ll have to get his stomach pumped; he’ll also need electrolytes, a blood transfusion . . .” rambled one of the EMTs before turning to Ted. “Are you riding along?”

“Yes,” Ted said immediately, following them out the door. “I know I’m not family, but I’m close enough. He doesn’t have anyone around.”

“Then come with us.”

Ted didn’t hesitate; he jumped into the ambulance and watched as the EMTs worked on reviving Gordon, who continued laying there lifelessly until Ted finally heard weak choking from him. Ted felt he could sigh with tremendous relief, knowing he hadn’t lost his best friend. But when Gordon woke up, Ted decided that was when he’d kill him because clearly, this was the sure sign that Gordon had hit rock bottom and needed a lot of help desperately.

The next morning, Ted stood in the hospital room, waiting for Gordon to wake up again. The nurse said he’d woken up briefly, but he’d just as quickly fallen back asleep, exhausted. While Ted was relieved that his friend was physically okay, he didn’t know how Gordon was doing mentally.

He could only guess that Gordon was deeply depressed. The guy truly was alone.

Hans, Jan, and Bella were right.

Gordon did need him. He needed his family.

He watched as Gordon stirred with a low groan, and Ted was grateful he’d thought to grab a lox and cream cheese croissant sandwich from Goldberg’s Delicatessen; Gordon was probably starving, and he’d need carbs and protein, considering he spent the night getting his stomach pumped. Ted sighed as Gordon’s eyes opened, and he went closer to the hospital bed.

“Here, Gordon, I bought you some breakfast. That crap from the lunch room would kill you,” he chose by way of greeting.

Gordon glanced up at him, taking the sandwich gratefully. “Thank you!”

“So, what the hell happened last night?” Ted demanded, cutting straight to the chase and crossing his arms over his chest as he watched Gordon eat his breakfast. “I stop by to check on you, and I find you passed out, drowning in your own vomit and drool, surrounded by broken liquor bottles and pills. What exactly did you do? Have another party without telling me? What’s the occasion this time? Job promotion?”

“Don’t joke with me, Ted,” Gordon groaned.

“I’m not joking,” Ted said seriously. “God, I knew you had a problem. I just didn’t know how bad it was until now. And I was at that game the other day; I saw you screaming at that Conway kid about him refusing to cheat.”

“Don’t remind me!”

“No, you need to be reminded,” Ted said, hearing the anger lacing his voice. “Gordon, I can offer to help you all I want. But until you help yourself, I cannot do anything. How much did you drink last night? How many pills did you take?”

“I don’t know. I lost count after five glasses and three pills,” Gordon admitted. “It’s all a blur after that.”

“Look, I may not know everything that’s happening in your life right now, but I do know you’re going in a very dangerous direction, Bombay. And I do know that in the first couple of weeks after the accident, I felt tempted to do something to myself, too; after I got discharged from the hospital, I went out and got drunk. Until Bella slapped some sense into me and reminded me that our daughter needed both of us if we had any hope of recovering her. Just like how if you have any hope of getting better, you need to let others in and let them be there for you. And if you ever need anything . . .”

“I’m fine, Ted,” Gordon cut him off harshly. He crossed his arms over his chest, a sign that Ted recognized as defensiveness, as though he were keeping something closely locked inside him; the problem was, when you locked so much away in a box, it came out explosively; it was released in dangerous forms of substance abuse, bursts of anger, self-harm . . . Ted shivered internally. He didn’t want to imagine Gordon doing anything else to himself.

“Really? This is ‘fine’ to you?” Ted questioned. “Because you’re a mess, man. Really? Teaching those kids how to take falls? Pulling from Reilly’s playbook? Give me a break. I mean, really, what the hell’s happened to you? When I saw you last night, I was scared to death. I see you, and I don’t see someone who’s okay, I see someone who’s lost and . . .”

“I said I’m fine, Ted!” Gordon said irritably. That stung. But Ted knew the only way he’d be able to get Gordon to see reason was if he kept coming around.

“Fine, but my offer still stands. You know my family is your family, too, as long as you want us,” Ted said seriously before backing out of the room, leaving Gordon there with his thoughts; he just hoped he’d gotten through to his friend, that things would get better from here on out.

But the pessimistic part of his mind wasn’t sure if it would be.

Chapter Text

Chapter 4 – Reach for the Stars

News of Gordon Bombay changing the lives of the District Five team spread quickly. They were now called the Ducks, or as Gordon dubbed them, “Mighty Ducks.” When they made the playoffs, Gordon came over for dinner with his driver, Lewis, who acted as the kids’ assistant coach. Hans was also in attendance as Bella plated up her famous hotdish (it was famous because she didn’t use canned crap; she made her own bechamel sauce with fresh mushrooms and fresh green beans, and she used real potatoes instead of tater tots). Whenever someone got a taste of her homemade hotdish, they said they’d never want to eat anything else.

Gordon looked happier than Ted had ever seen him before. He looked sober in more ways than one – now that he was no longer drinking into oblivion, he looked healthier, and he even seemed to warm to Lucy even more. Those kids were making him soft. He didn’t need a sip of alcohol to get drunk anymore. He got drunk off just living life and coaching the kids. They brought him joy. And when Gordon revealed he’d quit his job at the law firm, Ted and Bella were in shock to learn that not only he’d quit but also quacked at Ducksworth on the way out. It was so ludicrous to Ted that he nearly laughed, but looking at Gordon, he saw his friend was completely serious. Ted still found it hard to believe that Gordon decided to stop working as a lawyer and that he quacked off Ducksworth.

Sitting around the dinner table, they toasted with glasses of soda before eating, and Gordon turned to Ted, starting a conversation.

“Ted, I need a favor,” he said.

“Anything,” Ted said immediately – when he told Gordon two months ago that he would continue being there, he meant it. He never once wavered on his offer. After Gordon decided to grow a pair and let those kids into his life, he started letting Ted in a little more, though he respected Ted’s request for privacy as far as his personal life went; Ted didn’t answer any questions to the press about the car crash, and when people asked him about what he’d do if the North Stars ended up moving, he gave them the same answer every time.

“There’s more to life than hockey.”

Not many knew about his family life. The only ones who knew were Modano, Vargas, McRae, and the coaches, and he appreciated their secrecy. He wouldn’t be able to bear it if the public learned what happened to his family almost a year ago. He hated pity, always had; he found it easier to grin it and bear it because there was little use in complaining about it.

“As you know, my kids made the playoffs,” Gordon said. Ted caught how Gordon said the words, “My kids.” If Ted weren’t mistaken, Gordon sounded like a proud dad, and he nearly laughed. Gordon Bombay, who claimed for years that he hated kids, was now coaching Peewee and liking it and growing to love children. Ted never thought he’d see the day.

“I wanna do something to surprise them,” Gordon continued. “Do you have any spare seats for the next North Stars home game?”

“I can pull some strings,” Ted said. “You wanna take the whole team with you?”

“Yes, because these kids deserve it. They’ve been working really hard; I’m surprised they made the playoffs at all.”

“I’m not.” Ted shook his head. “I’ve been reading about it in the papers. You're doing something right with them if they bring home wins and ties. You even got Adam Banks on the team; how’d you manage that?”

“I found out he lives within the District Five lines,” Gordon said. “Granted, his dad tried putting up a fight over it by roping in Ducksworth. But I took care of that.”

“Is that why you quit?”

“Truthfully? Yes. Another part of it was because I started this team, I gave them the name ‘Ducks,’ so I’m stuck with them.” However, based on how Gordon said that Ted suspected something else compelled him to stick with the team and fight for Banks to be on the right team.

“Let me guess. One of those kids is growing close to you?” Bella asked as she ate.

“Yeah,” Gordon admitted.

“Which one?” asked Ted.

“I won’t say. All I’ll say is, he’s really something special.”

“Well, cheers to the Ducks making it to the playoffs,” Bella said, raising her glass. “And to the new state champions.”

“We don’t even know if we qualify for the state yet, Bella,” Gordon protested.

“I disagree,” Bella insisted, smiling. “They keep playing the way they’re playing now; they’re going all the way.”

“To the Ducks!” Hans chirped.

“Quack, quack, quack, quack, quack, quack, quack . . .!”

As Ted skated along the ice of the Met Center, he heard a chorus of surprised whispers, followed by Bombay saying, “It’s a little play-offs present.”

Ted grinned, turning in his friend’s direction as the coach called an end to the practice. Ted, along with Basil, Mike, and Hal, skated off toward the locker room, but Ted stopped to wink Gordon, who stood there with the Ducks while Modano and McRae hung back to chat it up with the kids, all of whom were shocked that their coach was friends with players from the North Stars. The looks on their faces were priceless.

Ted worked out a deal to get the kids the game tickets and convinced the coaches to let the Ducks have some leisure time on the ice and skate around before the game started. Judging from the looks on the kids’ faces, Ted knew that this was the very first hockey game they’d ever attended. It made him and the rest of the team want to win for them even more, so the kids didn’t go home disappointed that the North Stars didn’t take home a win.

From where he hung back with Hal, he could overhear McRae talking up Gordon’s reputation to the kids, explaining how he and Gordon went to the same high school and how, when Gordon was younger, he was said to rule in Peewees.

“Hey, Ducks,” McRae said to the kids, “listen to this guy; he knows what he’s talking about. Hey, if you want, I can get you a try-out in the minor league clubs.”

Hal shot Ted an incredulous look. “Really? A try-out with the minors? Most people who try out for that are kids way younger than him.”

Ted shook his head at Hal. “I think he’s still got it. Don’t underestimate the older generation, Vargas. Without us, you wouldn’t be here. Besides, you came to us later, too. So who are you to judge?”

Hal shrugged. “I suppose that’s true,” he said as Modano and McRae approached them just as Gordon announced to the kids that it was time for them to have some fun.

“Are you sure it’s a good idea? Having that guy try out for the minors?” asked Hal to Basil. “He’ll be a grandpa to a bunch of kids half his age.”

“If he’s still got it, he should be given the shot,” said Basil.

“But I thought he hated hockey.”

“He doesn’t hate it,” Ted argued. “It just got ruined for him by one rotten apple. And you know who I’m talking about, Vargas. The same guy coached you.”

Hal pulled a disgusted look. “Reilly.”

“Who’s Reilly?” Modano asked.

“You don’t wanna know him,” Hal shuddered as Ted glanced over his shoulder, already seeing the kids getting their ice skates on to take advantage of the empty arena.

Ted and Bella gripped the edges of their seats bracingly. The championship game had been a nail-biter, with Adam Banks scoring the first goal for the Ducks, only for McGill to send him colliding into the goalpost, meaning the kid had to leave the arena to go to the hospital. Ted caught a glimpse of Phillip Banks’s face – even though the man had been sitting in the Hawks’ stands, he’d looked positively horrified over what happened to his child.

But the game went on from there. Only for it to end in a tie that would have to be broken by a penalty shot, all thanks to one of the Hawks tripping the Conway boy. And Ted watched, biting his lip as Gordon selected Conway to take the shot.

He could almost see a mirror of Gordon going up to take his penalty shot to break their tie – if you replaced Gordon with Reilly and Conway with Bombay, you’d see Reilly telling Bombay that if he blew the shot, he’d be a failure, a loser who let not only his dad down but his whole team down, too. Except, when Ted blinked, he saw a softened look on Gordon’s face as he talked to Conway, and Ted could only imagine Gordon was telling this boy the opposite of what he’d been told years ago. And the little smile on Conway’s face said it all – the boy believed in himself that he could do it.

Until then, Ted had never learned the boy’s first name but heard the entire team chanting, “Charlie! Charlie! Charlie! Charlie!” And he wouldn’t lie – he also started cheering the kid’s name.

He watched as Charlie Conway skated circularly, and he proceeded to do the triple deke – Gordon’s signature move. Ted could only hold his breath. This was the move that sent him and Gordon home losers in the state championship. Why Gordon would have Conway do this move under pressure . . .

But Ted watched closely; months ago, he could’ve sworn Conway was him – the one no one believed in, the scrawny little kid everyone teased because he couldn’t skate or hold his stick without it slipping right from his fingertips. Now, Ted decided Charlie Conway looked like Gordon. Or maybe the boy was some strange concoction of the two of them together.

Ted gripped Bella’s hand tightly as Charlie neared the post . . . the boy took his shot . . .

He scored!

Ted could only gasp in shock. His jaw fell open as his eyes grew wide. Bella was just as speechless as he was. He could only sit in the stands, watching everyone swarm onto the ice to celebrate. He was glued to his seat, watching Charlie and Gordon tightly hug. He noticed Moreau and Germaine sharing a victory kiss. But what stood out to him was Gordon kissing a honey-blonde woman, his arms wrapped around her tightly, and nobody else seemed to notice this at all. Only Ted and Bella noticed.

Something else Ted noticed was the look on Reilly’s face; the man was pissed. Somehow, that compelled Ted to get up from where he sat and walk over to Reilly, feeling a fire light up as his steps grew heavier on the metallic ground underneath him, his hands fisted at his sides as he stepped down from the stands and walked out onto the ice, right up to Reilly.

Reilly had to take a moment to register who stood before him. “Teddy? Teddy Orion?”

“It’s Ted now, Jack,” Ted whispered, crossing his arms over his chest. “And yeah.” He gestured with his head toward Gordon. “That loser who cost you the ‘W’ years ago beat you. Payback’s a bitch, isn’t it?” With that, he walked away, smirking as he returned to his wife, who looked at him in curiosity.

“What’d you say to him?” she asked.

“Just gave him a friendly reminder that Gordon beat him fair and square,” Ted said, caressing her red hair back.

“Do you wanna go down there and celebrate?”

“No, but I’ve got another idea in mind.” Ted fished out his credit card and walked off to the concession stand, telling the cashier, “I need fifteen bags of cotton candy, fifteen bags of popcorn, fifteen candy bars, fifteen bags of potato chips, and fifteen bags of sour gummy worms. Oh, and fifteen Cokes, too; can you bag all that for me?”

The kids need not know that it had been Ted who’d bought out half the concession stand for them so they could have an afterparty in the locker room. But he’d left a note behind on a piece of torn paper towel, which said: Congrats, Ducks. He knew Gordon, though, would be able to recognize his handwriting after all these years.

Chapter Text

Chapter 5 – Imbalance

“Come on, Gordo!” Ted roared through the empty arena; he could see his breath puffing out in a cloud of white as he yelled. “Push it! Don’t slow down! You’re a machine! Go faster, come on! You get no rest.”

He watched sternly as Gordon skated laps around the ice. When Gordon approached him about trying out for the minor league club, The Waves, Ted decided he would train Gordon. Just because Gordon helped a bunch of kids win at Peewees, that didn’t mean the guy wasn’t out of practice. He was rusty, to say the least. Gordon’s coaching tactics might’ve worked for children. But this was for men. That meant Gordon needed someone who would push him harder and make him work for it.

And Ted didn’t start soft, either. He had Gordon up at the break of dawn since five in the morning, skating around the arena for a good while – he had Gordon at first see how long it took him to do twenty laps. After the timer stopped, Ted decided he wanted to see how Gordon broke that record time.

Gordon was close to breaking his record. He was now on the nineteenth lap, skating hard and fast and panting hard.

“Come on, come on! Push it! You’re almost there!” Ted yelled. “One more, come on!”

Gordon finished the final lap, gasping loudly and coughing, his lungs heaving up and down as he nearly bent over.

“No, come on, straighten up and walk it off. Put your arms behind your head and breathe. You know to fucking breathe!” Ted snapped, walking alongside Gordon and handing him a water bottle while he watched him sternly.

Finally, Gordon caught his breath enough to speak. “Thanks, Ted.”

“I told you, after all this is said and done, you’re going to hate me,” Ted joked.

“I could never. You’re a better coach than Reilly was,” Gordon said, grinning.

“Don’t mention him. I’m just surprised Daniel Larson’s father finally did something about him.”

“I’m even more surprised that Ducksworth convinced Reilly to plead guilty. And that Phillip Banks supported the prosecution.”

Ted nodded in grim agreement. After the Hawks lost that Peewees championship, Daniel Larson’s father, Montgomery Larson, walked into the locker room to find Jack Reilly viciously assaulting the boy by breaking a hockey stick over Daniel’s wrist while he screamed at the boys, calling them “a bunch of losers” and “wussies,” blaming them for the loss. As a result, Montgomery and Tonia Larson, Phillip and Allyson Banks, Wyatt and Lylah Brown, Max and Nora Foote, and Sean and Kimberly Herek all collectively ended up suing Reilly for physical and emotional abuse and reckless endangerment of minors. Apparently, even Ducksworth knew that Reilly stood no chance because he convinced Reilly to plead guilty, and Reilly was currently waiting to start his five-year prison sentence.

Ted supposed karma was a real bitch. Not only did Reilly lose at the championship, he lost his job and his reputation, and there would be no possible way for him to rebuild. Now, the Hawks were scrambling, looking for a new coach for their next season. He wouldn’t lie that he felt a little bad for the Hawks; there was no way they’d be able to recover from something like that. But looking at Gordon, who was making it to the minors, he felt that there was some justice, knowing the kid that Jack Reilly had beaten down the most was succeeding in life while Reilly would spend five years behind bars in a prison cell.

“Well, we’re not done training yet,” he said to Gordon. “We’re going back to my house because you need weight training. And I wanna see how many burpees and jumping jacks you can do, too, because you’ll need all the stamina you can get if you’re gonna keep up with the youngsters trying out.”

“Don’t remind me that I’m old, Ted,” laughed Gordon.

“I would think coaching those kids would make you feel younger.”

“They do. But they can only do so much. I’ll be going up against kids half my age.”

“But you’ll be here in Minnesota still; it won’t require you to live somewhere else, so you’ll never be far from home unless it’s an away game.”

“That’s not the part I’m worried about.”

“Let me guess? You’ve found someone special?” Ted grinned at him, bumping his shoulder with Gordon’s.

“You could say that,” Gordon said wistfully.

“Yeah, you made it no secret at the game.”

Gordon blushed all the way to his hairline. “She told me her condition is commitment. I’m not sure how committed I can be while on the road. It makes me wonder if I could keep that promise.”

“Well, what does she expect? A ring?”

“No. Just that I don’t lose touch, ever. And that I put her kid first. I can put her son first. That’s not even a question for me. I just . . . I don’t want to lose anything when I just got it, you know?”

“You can’t be afraid of that,” Ted said. “If it’s not meant to be, then you’ve got to face it head-on. You can’t be afraid of her rejecting you or you guys not being able to work it out. Because if you really care about her kid as much as you do, then you two will remain friends and set things aside and you will continue coming around for the kid. That’s what matters most.”

Gordon sighed audibly. “Yeah, yeah, I guess you’re right. When did you get so wise?”

“I’ve been spending a lot of time with Jan and Hans,” Ted said. “When you spend so much time with two old Scandinavian geezers who sound like walking fortune cookies, you learn a thing or two.”

Gordon grinned at this. “Yeah. They’re rarely ever wrong about anything. Hans made it clear that I’d succeed by teaching those kids to have fun.”

“And that’s great and all, but fun and games won’t cut it when they get older.”

“That’s true. But they’re not at that point yet,” Gordon said seriously. “And I could see you coaching, too, Ted. Though I think high schoolers would be much more for you.”

“I might have to,” Ted admitted. “They’re talking about moving the team to Anaheim; nothing’s been finalized just yet. If that ends up happening, I’d have to go and find something to do. I might talk to Buckley – he’s the dean now at Eden Hall. They’re looking for a new J.V. coach for the ’93-’94 season.”

“Then that means you’ll have big shoes to fill if you’re up to it.”

“I will be,” Ted said, determined. “You ready to head back to my house?”

“Yeah.” Gordon grinned back at him, skating off to remove his ice skates.

The news that Gordon made it into the Waves traveled fast over the summer. Even though the Waves were a rookie team, Gordon was turning them into a team of winners during the new season. Even if Ted couldn’t watch a game because he was playing, he listened to it on the radio whenever he could. But one day in late December, when Ted was in the locker room for his own practice with the North Stars, his manager, Patrick Malone, approached him, wearing a serious expression on his face that seemed to match his dark, pinstripe suit.

“Ted, I need to talk to you about something,” he said. “We need to discuss your contract and what will happen at the end of the season. And there’s also been some developments you should know about.”

“What is it?” Ted asked.

“The team won’t be moving to Anaheim,” Pat said, the tone in his voice letting Ted know how serious this new development was. “Apparently, there’s been a contract between the Walt Disney Company and the NHL – they want to form a team in honor of the District Five Ducks; they’re planning to call it the Mighty Ducks of Anaheim.”

That was far more than Ted expected. Gordon being called the Minnesota Miracle Man was one thing. But Disney wanting to form a team that honored the District Five team? Those kids were going to positively flip when they learned that they would be represented by the House of Mouse; Ted recalled a joke one of the kids told Gordon that he’d relayed to him about the team being sponsored by Donald and Daisy. It couldn’t be more ironic and fitting. Even though it was unexpected, Ted felt a swell of happiness at the thought; it meant that the District Five Ducks were being recognized, that they were finally getting that respect they’d never gotten before, all thanks to Gordon, who’d changed their whole lives and made them into something extraordinary. They weren’t just famous in Minnesota. They were being known across the country.

But not moving to California . . . where else could the North Stars possibly move to?

“So, what about us?” Ted asked seriously. “If we’re not moving to California . . .”

“Green is thinking about Dallas, and the North Stars will most likely be merging with the Cleveland Barons,” said Pat.

“So, we’ll be the Dallas Stars,” Ted whispered, letting that thought sink in. On paper, everything made sense. Texas didn’t have an NHL team of its own yet. And the Cleveland Barons hadn’t done well at all, having ended in ’78, and there were talks of Ohio getting a new team soon called the Blue Jackets.

He wouldn’t lie if he said the idea was tempting. Texas was a great state, one of the largest in the nation, and was home to some of the most affordable, high-ranking medical schools; Bella would no doubt be able to teach at some of those classes and offer her expertise as she was considered one of the best in her field despite only being twenty-nine years old. There was year-round warm weather, a change from the bitter frostiness of Minnesota, and no doubt, the education would be better, too, and the neighborhoods would probably be much safer, too, so that Ted wouldn’t have to worry about Lucy and her safety as much as she got older.

Still, the move to Dallas would be steep – Bella was so comfortable living in the frigid winters of Minnesota – if only he’d been offered to be signed to a team like Toronto’s, that way, he wouldn’t have to be so far away from Minnesota, and he and Bella could visit often. But even so, Toronto was a hike from Minneapolis; moving away wouldn’t feel right to him or Bella.

“Yeah. Apparently so. And I know this would be an adjustment.”

“That’s an understatement, Pat,” Ted argued. “My wife can’t just relocate. She’s got a great job at Hennepin County Medical Center. And my daughter’s been in physical therapy for the past year or so; I don’t want to disrupt her recovery because her doctors are here.”

“Even though Dallas would have some of the best hospitals in the nation?”

“I don’t care,” Ted said, shaking his head. “I just put her in daycare; she’s already making friends. She’s got cousins who live here.”

“I’m not saying you’ve got to make a decision right now,” Pat said sympathetically. “And you know you’ve got all my sympathy for what you and your family had gone through last year. But this is a really major opportunity, Ted; it would be sad for them to see you go. You’ve really got the potential to be the next Bobby Orr.”

Ted had been told that before. Still, he couldn’t picture himself moving away just so he could continue playing hockey, considering he was nearing retirement from the sport, anyway – most hockey players retired before they reached their forties. That meant he needed to consider a backup plan.

Talking to Dean Buckley about coaching sounded inviting right about now.

“Give me some time,” he said to Pat.

“Take as much as you need, Ted.”

“Well, what do you think you should do?” dear old Hans asked as he handed Ted a steaming cup of hot chocolate.

“Honestly, Hans? I’m considering staying here,” he said as Jan entered the living room with a bowl of chips and bottles of Scandinavian IPA.

“It would be best for your family, Theodore,” Jan said gently. “We all know how important Lucy’s happiness is to you. You mustn’t disrupt what you’ve built. Home is where the heart is, sen.”

Ted sighed, fishing his hand into the bowl of potato chips as Hans turned the television on. The channel was turned to Gordon’s game with the Waves versus the Hershey Bears. Gordon was currently in the face-off against the Bears’ captain.

Watching Gordon play with the Waves brought a tinge of resentment through Ted – even though Gordon was with the minors, at least he’d still be playing. Knowing the North Stars would be relocating and that he’d have to make a choice between his career and his family stung, especially when he watched Gordon score the first goal.

There was so much about professional hockey that Ted loved: the rush, the adrenaline, the elation at scoring, the satisfaction of body-slamming another player into the boards . . . all of it was so familiar to him. He wasn’t sure he was ready to give it up yet. But he also knew that if he left Bella all alone in Minnesota with Lucy, she’d kill him over it. He’d never felt more torn over something in his entire life, especially as he watched Gordon pull an assist.

But then he thought about what Jan had to say, about how home was where the heart was. Those words couldn’t ring truer. His true home was with Bella and Lucy – they could make a home just about anywhere. But Minnesota just felt right to him; it was where he’d grown up, where he’d met his wife, where his daughter was born, where his best friend lived, and there were so many other things he’d miss: the frosty winds biting his face, the variety of junior hockey teams in the area, the pizzeria Twin City Slice, the annual winter festival that took place every January; you couldn’t get that in Texas.

Granted, Ted knew he could potentially return to playing pro if he wanted to. But he recalled what he said to the reporters: there was way more to life than hockey. He just hadn’t expected the imbalance that would come along with needing to make such a choice. But he thought about what Hans and Jan would say: he couldn’t be afraid of making decisions, that the most difficult decision could be the right one for him. And as tough as it was to swallow, he needed to face the thought that maybe it would be best if he quit playing, that he put his family first.

The thought of quitting put a sour taste in his mouth, and suddenly, his hot chocolate was hard to swallow. At least he’d have one more season to play with the North Stars before the Mighty Ducks of Anaheim and the Dallas Stars were formed. Would he regret quitting? Maybe. But he knew his little girl would be worth quitting for because his real job now was to be a dad.

More months went by. The North Stars weren’t in the playoffs, considering their recent loss against Detroit. But Ted could hardly complain – after the playoffs were over, he spoke with his manager, the coaches, and Norman Green about retirement. They all understood why he made this decision, even though they hated the thought of the Dallas Stars losing one of their best players.

Ted decided that night, while at the hospital for Lucy’s physical therapy, that retirement was well worth it as he positioned Lucy on the therapy ball, watching as she rolled across it to try and reach for her stuffed bunny rabbit. The hardest part of it was knowing he couldn’t put his hands on her to assist her with it; he could only tempt her with the sight of the toy to encourage her to roll forward. The goal was to see if they could get some mobility into her legs.

He hated it, though, when he saw her cry and throw tantrums over it, signs of frustration. Like right now. She screamed loudly, trying to yank her stuffed bunny out of his hands.

“No, no, no, Lucy,” Ted said, shaking his head. “Come on, come to me, sweetie.”

“Bunny! Bun-Bun! I want Bun-Bun!” she sobbed.

“I’m sorry, I can’t give you him right now,” Ted said apologetically, hating himself for this. Thank God this was happening when she was two, and she wouldn’t be able to remember any of this.

Lucy screamed loudly, smacking her hands against the ball.

“No, no, honey, nice hands,” Ted whispered, setting the toy aside and placing his hands over hers. Still, he felt tears filling his eyes at the sight of her so frustrated. He thought it would be easier just to give in to her and let her have her stuffed bunny. Finally, unable to take the sight of her crying, he handed her the toy, watching her tears stop as she bit at the bunny’s fluffy ear.

Sighing, he finally felt the tears fill his eyes as he buried his face into his hands just as Bella came in. “I tried,” he said. “I tried doing what the doctor told me I should do. But I hate seeing her get frustrated.”

“I know,” Bella whispered. “But you can’t give into her. She’s got to work for it if we’ve got any hope of recovering her.” She walked over and picked the baby up, bouncing Lucy up and down as Ted lifted his face from his hands. “Come on, baby, give Daddy kisses.” She leaned Lucy forward, and the two-year-old wound her arms around Ted’s neck, kissing him on the cheek.

“I love you,” he said, rubbing his nose against hers.

“I love you, Dada,” Lucy replied, but as she said that, a report came through on the television – Ted’s eyes flashed toward the TV just as they showed replay footage of Gordon being decked into the boards, with an opposing player viscously hooking his stick around Gordon’s knee. He watched as Gordon went down hard, and he felt some sympathetic pain shoot up in his own knee – if there was one downside to being an NHL player, it was the ankle bite and the strain on your knees that skating gave you, and when someone attacked you, and you tore your ACL, it was a pain that most wouldn’t begin to understand – for people like Ted and Gordon, hockey was life. To have to take any kind of break from it would be equivalent to taking away their ability to walk.

Ted winced, biting his teeth down. “Damn! That’s gotta hurt!”

“Tell me about it,” Bella said, worried. “But hockey players with an injury like that can return after surgery and physical therapy.”

“But Gordon could’ve gotten into the NHL after this; he’s at that point where he’d be nearing retirement. An NHL team isn’t going to want someone in his thirties with a bad knee – there’s the possibility of chronic pain as he gets older,” Ted pointed out as he set Lucy on the ground, standing her upright and holding her hands in his, trying to encourage her to move her legs forward; there was only a tiny bit of mobility, but not a lot – he knew that step by step, there was a slight possibility she could walk again, but it was very, very small. Until then, the wheelchair would have to suffice.

Bella sighed. “I guess you’re right.”

Looking at his daughter and then looking at the playback footage of Gordon laying there on the ice, curled over in agony, Ted felt a surge of empathy go through him – there was no way Gordon would be able to walk with that knee; he’d no doubt have to be in physical therapy and be off the ice, and even so, he’d most likely be walking with a cane by the time he officially came home. To top it all off, Ted knew he was right that Gordon probably wouldn’t be able to return to playing in either the minors or the NHL – teams were going to want someone young, probably fresh out of college.

So, not only was Gordon Bombay no longer a lawyer, but his chances of playing pro were also diminished by this knee injury. What would he do for work now that he had no chance of going to the NHL? Ted tried to think of other avenues; the man could potentially coach college puck or teach legal ethics classes at the University of Minnesota. And there was always the Ducks, who needed a coach for their current season, as they couldn’t rely on just Phillip Banks, Jan, and Gerry Hall to coach a group of kids. But Gordon wouldn’t be able to make a living coaching Peewee hockey – you got paid in peanuts coaching community hockey.

Ted wouldn’t lie if he said that while he felt terrible that Gordon couldn’t play anymore, part of him felt that his slight envy of his old friend could now fade away because, truthfully, he’d been jealous of the fact that Gordon made it into the minors while he’d had to choose between a career and his family. He felt now, in some twisted way, that they were even, but he knew better than to say that aloud, knowing that Gordon had wanted this forever, especially after he gained a revitalized outlook on hockey.

But he also knew that Gordon would need a friend once he returned home. He would be traveling with the team throughout the rest of their season and would spend some time in physical therapy, but once he was home for good, Ted promised himself he’d help with Gordon’s recovery in any way that he could.

“We’ll help him,” Bella said, as though she read his mind.

“We will,” Ted promised her.

Ted quickly got the word that Gordon was back home shortly after the season ended. Jan had come to pick him up from the bus stop, and Gordon had spent the night at the shop. Ted and Bella wasted no time heading down there after Bella finished work for the night; they picked Lucy up from daycare and headed to the skate shop, where they found Gordon back in the living room area with Jan; empty pizza boxes were sitting on the coffee table, and the two were stretched out along the couches as Ted and Bella walked in through the back entryway.

“We’ve got company,” Gordon announced, grinning in their direction as he got up with the support of his cane, hobbling over.

“Hey, how’re you doing?” Bella hugged him tightly as he dropped a kiss to the top of Lucy’s head. “Someone’s missed you,” she added as Lucy moved forward to hug Gordon around the neck; Gordon didn’t hesitate to pull Lucy into his arms and give her a couple more kisses before handing her back over to Bella.

“I’m all right. But I can’t return to the minors,” Gordon said, and he didn’t try to hide the sadness in his tone as he hugged Ted.

“You could if you want to,” Ted said, pulling away.

“Like they’d accept someone in their thirties with a bad knee.” Gordon rolled his eyes. He gestured to his bum leg to make a point.

“Well, what about returning to Ducksworth’s?” Ted asked.

“No way he’d take me back. Not after I quacked at him,” Gordon sighed. “Sure, he and I are all right. But would he re-hire me? I don’t know.”

“Well, I told him earlier that Team USA is still looking for a coach for the Junior Goodwill Games,” Jan said, taking the empty pizza boxes into the kitchen.

Ted and Bella glanced at one another before looking over at Gordon. “That’s a potential,” Bella said optimistically. “If you were to coach for Team USA hockey, it could open up more opportunities in the future. And the work you did with the District Five team made that group of kids into state champions for the first time ever since they were founded. Imagine what you could do for the junior hockey team selected to represent the United States.”

“I don’t know about it, Bella,” Gordon said. “Sure, I want something bigger, something better, but I don’t know if I’m cut to coach Team USA.”

“You don’t give yourself enough credit,” Ted said. “What you did with the Ducks is nothing short of incredible. And the reason why the North Stars moved to Dallas was because the Walt Disney Company wanted to work with the NHL to make a team called the Mighty Ducks of Anaheim, named after your kids.”

At this, Gordon looked shocked, his blue eyes widening considerably. “Wait . . . they’re naming an NHL team after my kids?”

Ted nodded seriously. “Yeah. They’re going to be in the Honda Civic Center, where the finals for the Junior Goodwill Games will be held. Word has it the arena’s name will be called the Anaheim Pond.”

“Wow,” was the only thing Gordon could say; he sat down, his already sore knee seeming to grow weaker from the surprise of knowing there would be a team honoring his Ducks in the NHL. “Gosh . . . wait until I tell them. They’re gonna freak out.”

“You guys are world-famous now,” Bella said, grinning. “Imagine if one of your kids gets selected to represent Team USA. You’d have to sign on as a coach then.”

Gordon seemed to ponder this before saying, “I guess if one of them is chosen. My money would be on Adam Banks.”

“I think all of them have a chance,” Ted argued. “They need a roster slot of thirteen kids to compete. Last I checked, you’ve got more than enough. Just you wait and see. You’ll have the board members from the Junior Goodwill Games knocking on your door soon enough.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 6 – On the Rocks

The warm summer ended too soon for everyone’s liking. Before everyone knew it, it was time to go back to school. Ted never thought he’d be one of those people, but when he saw Eden Hall Academy was in need of a J.V. coach, he didn’t hesitate to go straight to Dean Buckley and interview for the position. Between his years of playing in the NHL and his years of schooling in physical therapy, he was more than qualified for the position.

Eden Hall Academy considered itself to be proud of being founded on tradition. Ted, Gordon, and Basil all went to high school there as boys, with Hal Vargas joining them three years later. Beyond that, it was proud of its athletic program, especially the hockey team. The school didn’t bother with a football team; hockey was much more valued.

Ted wandered to the familiar ice rink to meet the lineup of boys trying out that day, orientation day, on the first day in the fourth week of August. The season would officially start in September, with their first game taking place against the Blake Academy Bears. The roster slot needed was thirteen kids for J.V. The Varsity team, meanwhile, was looking for replacements – many of the seniors graduated, leaving the Varsity team with only five remaining boys from last year. However, it was expected that a few freshmen boys would be expected to make the cut for Varsity.

Ted entered the rink, the icy air greeting him; he sat on the bench and laced up his skates before skating over to Coach Franklin Wilson, who’d been his Varsity coach when he’d been at Eden Hall.

“Hey, Teddy Bear!” Coach Wilson grinned. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m coaching the J.V. team now,” Ted answered.

Coach Wilson nodded. “Understandable. It’s a real shame they moved the North Stars to Dallas.”

“Yeah, it was.”

“Well, who would’ve thought we’d be coaching against each other? I’ll be facing you in the annual J.V.-Varsity showdown at the end of September.”

Ted nodded. He remembered the tradition of the upperclassmen playing against the underclassmen; he, Basil, and Hal had ruled against the underclassmen when they’d been on the Varsity team together in Ted’s senior year. However, he knew he’d need to select a good group of boys who could stand up to the Varsity.

“So, tell me about the lineup of kids we’ve got signing up,” he said.

“Well, we’ve got a returning Varsity member, Bradley Cole – he’s on the team from last year, and the year before,” Coach Wilson said, pointing out the hulking blond boy skating around and warming up.

“That guy’s a teenager?” Ted asked, surprised at the size of Bradley Cole – he remembered the boy’s father Dennis; Dennis had been practically superhuman, massive in size for his age and considerably tall. It was no surprise that his son Bradley was just as large and intimidating. Ted quickly peeked at the roster sheet, which listed the grade point averages the kids from the previous year had, and he was quick to see a lot of D’s and C’s on Bradley’s report. “There has to be a mistake, Frank. It says here that Bradley Cole was on academic probation last year and the year before. Eden Hall requires everyone on the sports teams to be at least C average or better.”

“He’s a bit slow,” said Coach Wilson. “And so what? Varsity needs him. He’s an asset in more ways than one, especially when we play against Minnetonka Prep and Randolph Academy.”

“That’s no excuse,” Ted argued. “If he doesn’t have substantial grades to play, he shouldn’t be on the team.”

“Look, Ted, my hands are tied – Dennis is on the school board, and he’s also a member of the hockey booster club – the vice president, to be exact.”

“So, it’s a story of nepotism.”

“Ted, come on,” Wilson said, an easy smile on his face. “You know how things work around here. Dennis and Tara Cole fund us and line our pockets; their son gets to play. It’s as simple as that.”

Ted shook his head; he knew some things would need a shakeup around here, especially as he saw Rick Riley; he recognized Rick instantly as Tom Riley’s boy, and he could also pick out Luke Banks, who was a junior and a hopeful return for the Varsity team. Even Scott Holland, the son of Quinton and Mary Holland, was seen as a potential for Varsity – Quinton had been an incredible Eden Hall Warriors goalie when he’d been in school and was listed in the Eden Hall Academy Athletic Hall of Fame and had even been named Boy of the Year.

A lot of these boys were probably hopeful they’d make Varsity because their parents had been on Varsity. But Ted firmly believed that they shouldn’t be selected just because of who their mommies and daddies were – he wasn’t going to have any of that, not here. He knew from the beginning that he’d have his work cut out for him, and that he’d have to lay down the law and prepare these boys for high school-level playing, something that went beyond trick plays.

So, he watched the tryouts. He saw quite a few standouts, mainly Dallas Mullin and Bruce Kabine. Scott Holland also stood out. But looking at Rick Riley, the boy was cocky and arrogant – he played with a lot of aggression and seemed to breathe an air of elitism, and he wasn’t willing to work with anyone when Ted and Coach Wilson had them pair up into smaller groups, and even when they held the scrimmage at the end of tryouts, Riley hogged the puck all to himself; he even seemed to think he nailed his tryout and that he’d just simply get on the Varsity team in a landslide.

But Ted had other ideas in mind. He knew these boys would probably hate him for it. But he knew that as the new J.V. coach, things couldn’t be the same. These boys wouldn’t make it to the high school level if they went in expecting to get into Varsity because their parents influenced the school government.

The next day, Ted received a knock on his office door. He peered up to see Bradley Cole and Rick Riley standing there, blinking at him in confusion.

“Can I help you boys?” he asked them.

“Yes, Coach. Um, we think there’s been a mistake. We should be on the Varsity team,” Rick said. “Right? Why are we listed for J.V.?”

“I chose to put you guys on J.V.,” Ted answered back, and he didn’t once regret his choice. Riley had a lot to learn before Ted could even consider promoting him, and Cole needed to learn some discipline.

“Yeah, that’s really funny,” Rick said. “Seriously, are you joking?”

“No, I am not,” Ted said firmly. “I stand by my decision. I know your boys’ pedigree – you’re both former Hawks. That didn’t go unnoticed. However, you boys might think you’ve got what it takes for Varsity. But I don’t. I think you two still have much to learn before earning those positions. I also looked at your past reports – Cole.” He turned to Cole, who blinked at him stupidly. “Eleven unexcused absences, thirty incompletes in Spanish and history, a D minus in Algebra, an F in English comprehension, being held back for two years, and needing to repeat freshman year; how did you manage to stay on Varsity last year with grades and disciplinary complaints like that?”

“I don’t know, sir,” Cole repeated back dumbly. But Ted had a distinct feeling Cole knew; he just wasn’t willing to share that his parents probably bought his way onto the team since he clearly didn’t have the grades or the discipline for a school like Eden Hall, which would typically toss you right out if the board members felt you didn’t follow their strict expectations. It was the classic mentality of everyone else having to follow the rules, but you were exempt from those guidelines because your parents would cover for you and make excuses. Ted fought his very hardest to contain his disgust – this sort of thing had been going on when he was in school, and he’d always thought it was wrong. Now that he was a teaching staff member, he had a chance to change something.

But he felt that fight would be futile, anyhow, because the board members would simply shut him down.

“That’s not gonna cut it,” Ted said, deciding to further his argument. “I’m not gonna accept anyone average on my team; I think that’s unacceptable. And quite frankly? You two have got skills. I’m not denying that. However, you two need to learn something that I don’t think you quite understand.”

“And what would that be?” sneered Rick.

“Teamwork,” Ted replied icily. “There’s more than one player on a team. If you think you’re the only one and you rely only on yourself, everyone else falls behind and has no room to show what they can do. And the other thing you need to get is discipline because I won’t tolerate any showoffs on my team; I don’t care what your background is. You’re all here to do one thing. Can you guess what that is?”

“Win?” Cole asked.

“No. You’re here to learn. And quite frankly, you’d learn much more from losses and earning your way up into Varsity. I don’t care if you’d been on Varsity a year ago; you might’ve suckered Coach Wilson, and you might’ve impressed him, but based on what I saw yesterday, what you two displayed won’t cut it, at least for me. Be glad that at least you’re on a team. And I hope to God you two learn one thing if you don’t learn anything else: that high school hockey is hard work. And if you want your spots in Varsity, you’d better be willing to actually work for them because future colleges aren’t going to hand out roster slots and scholarships if you don’t do the work. And I’m sorry that you two expected you’d be on Varsity even though you haven’t earned your way in, but I don’t care who likes me and who doesn’t. I’m here to teach you to do better than you think you can. Are we clear?” Ted locked eyes with both Cole and Riley, hoping he conveyed the message to them.

But he knew deep down he didn’t. He knew Riley and Cole would put up a major fight. But Ted was ready to face that fight head-on. He wasn’t afraid of the alumni group or the hockey booster club, not one bit.

He should’ve predicted how quickly things would turn.

Within a week or so of having Riley and Cole on J.V., he saw neither willing to work to adapt. Cole had already skipped three of his classes within that first week; teachers were reporting some disciplinary problems with his bullying other students. Riley fought him at every turn whenever Ted critiqued him on his skating or his defensive play. Ted wasn't surprised when he was called into a meeting with the alumni group, the hockey booster club, and the school board to discuss the matter at hand.

Sitting before the alumni group and Dean Buckley, he quickly picked out Tom Riley and Dennis Cole, who looked cold as undertakers in their Armani suits.

“Ted, you know why you’re here,” Tom Riley said. “We must sort out this little problem; you see, my boy, Richard belongs on Varsity. His older brother is on the Varsity team. Bradley Cole has been on Varsity since the ’91-’92 season; he has the talent for it.”

“But not the grades,” Ted argued. “This school requires a C average or better; his grades are below average. I think he’d be on academic probation and shouldn’t be allowed to play at all. I was actually doing him a favor, putting him on my team until he cleaned up his act. Even his teachers have complaints against him. Have you not seen his disciplinary reports from a year ago?”

“Does that matter?” Dennis asked. “Look, he’s just very gifted, and the teachers don’t understand him.”

Ted internally rolled his eyes. He felt like retorting that if Cole were so gifted, why would he have been held back two years in a row? But he held his tongue; he knew that if he asked that, these board members would chew him up and spit him right out.

“But if he’s going to play, he should adhere to the standards that are set, standards that you all put in place to begin with,” Ted argued. “And I put Richard on J.V. because he’s talented, but he still has a lot to learn before he earns the responsibility of being on the senior team. I think a level of maturity needs to be met, and I do not believe that Richard displayed that in try-outs.”

“Well, I really don’t care what you think, Theodore,” sneered Tom Riley. “You will move my son to his rightful place, where he belongs.”

“And if I don’t?” Ted challenged back.

“Then you can say goodbye to your coaching position,” Tom replied coolly.

Ted could only stare back at Tom, feeling as though someone had pulled the rug out from under him. Could these board members and alumni really take his job away? He needed this to provide a stable income for his family. And Tom seemed to know this, too, because his voice was icy and sharp when he spoke next, and it was enough to make Ted’s blood go cold.

“And I know you’ve been out of work since you left the NHL. So, I must ask, if you didn’t have this position, how would you afford to take care of your daughter’s little problem? Many have heard about that terrible accident you got into two years ago; I can imagine you’re still paying off a lot of fees, fees that can’t be paid off without a paycheck.”

“What happens with me and my family is none of your damn business,” Ted snarled. “So, leave my kid out of this!”

“Then, do we have a deal?” Tom asked, a smirk playing on his lips.

Ted glowered at him but said, “Fine. I’ll talk to Coach Wilson about bumping Richard and Bradley up.”

“That’s all I ask. Well, Dean, I suppose this little problem has been fixed.”

“Yes, it has,” Dean Buckley replied, but not without giving Ted a sympathetic glance.

Ted shook his head and rose from his seat, stalking out of the board room toward the staff room to have his morning coffee. When he arrived in the faculty room, he grabbed a copy of the newspaper and flipped open the sports page, only to be met with the glaring headline:

BOMBAY PICKED TO COACH TEAM USA

Gordon Bombay

“It’s great to be home.”

Ted’s eyes widened as he read the article, and they flashed to the photos of the team roster. Listed for the Ducks were Lester Averman, Adam Banks, Charlie Conway, Guy Germaine, Greg Goldberg, Jesse Hall, Connie Moreau, and Fulton Reed. For the newer kids, there was Julie “The Cat” Gaffney from Bangor, Maine; Luis Mendoza from Miami, Florida; Dean Portman from Chicago, Illinois; Dwayne Robertson from Austin, Texas; and that figure skater from the Olympics; Ken Wu, from San Francisco, California.

Ted almost couldn’t fathom it as his eyes skimmed the article, reading it over and over until it finally sunk in. The Ducks were going to the world stage with the Junior Goodwill Games, which would take place next month and continue for a few weeks. As he read the article, Ted couldn’t keep the smile off his face, knowing this was exactly what Gordon wanted: bigger and better. What could be bigger and better than the national stage? Those kids were going to be world-famous; they weren’t only going to have an NHL team named after them, there would be toys, maybe video games, possibly a Saturday-morning cartoon on Disney Channel – there wouldn’t be a child in the world that didn’t know about them. Ted could foresee them going to a school like Eden Hall Academy on scholarship; this was going to open so many doors for them, and he would be proud to coach a group like this, a group of kids who worked really hard to earn something.

He continued to smile all day and made it a point to call Gordon after work to congratulate him on being the official coach for Team USA. Ted knew that he would watch the games every time they aired and cheer those Ducks on to bring home the gold.

Ted’s coaching of the J.V. team was successful. They triumphed over Blake Academy and crushed Minnetonka Prep, and while Scott “Scooter” Holland was showing fantastic promise in the net as the first-line goalie, his other J.V. players were standouts, a lot of which he could see would be bumped up to Varsity next year; he could foresee them earning those Varsity roster spots fair and square. He watched as they began working together as a team, especially after he gave them his lecture about confidence and defense, the very words that Jan had fed him two years ago but abbreviated differently – he wasn’t about to get mushy and personal with the boys; he wasn’t there to be their friend. He was an authority figure and a teacher – he needed to keep things professional.

And at the end of each week, he went home to watch the Jr. Goodwill Games hockey tournaments, particularly Team USA.

They triumphed over Trinidad and Tobago and Italy in the first two weeks. Dean Portman and Fulton Reed were being labeled in the papers as the “Bash Brothers” due to their aggressive play as team enforcers. It was a good thing they were so aggressive because, from what Ted saw, they fiercely protected the other kids out there.

But there were other things he noticed. Yes, Adam Banks and Charlie Conway were the standout scorers. But Gordon changed – for one, his hair changed to something slicked back, looking very much like Wolfe “The Dentist” Stansson, someone Ted had the unfortunate displeasure of facing on the ice multiple times until Stansson was run out of the League and the country. He still recalled when he witnessed Stansson punching out his own coach, how Stansson knocked players’ teeth out with his hockey stick – how he became the coach for Iceland, Ted didn’t know. All he knew was that Stansson was a disgrace to the sport of ice hockey and brought great shame to it. However, he was certain bullies like Richard Riley and Bradley Cole thought the guy was some national treasure for being a complete goon, a style Ted never considered himself to play by, as whenever he’d been out there on the ice, he’d never wanted to hurt anybody. If he accidentally did, he sat in the penalty box and accepted his punishment, knowing he deserved it. It was about accepting responsibility for your actions.

Aside from Gordon’s change in attire, Ted was quick to notice that his best friend spent a good chunk of time chatting it up with the press and posing for advertisement photos to endorse Hendrix Hockey Apparel – Ted knew that Gordon had been dreaming of bigger and better things and that Gordon was prone to having a bit of a fat head at times and could be easily distracted by the idea of being a winner. He just hoped that this wouldn’t negatively impact the kids. However, he knew that what Gordon chose to do with his public image affected the team because he was their coach and represented them.

Another thing Ted noticed was the kids’ weaknesses – they weren’t very good defensive players. Little Kenny Wu was the smallest and not at all skilled at defense. Connie Moreau and Guy Germaine had no sense of self-preservation. But what surprised Ted more was that The Cat – Julie Gaffney – was so underutilized that Goldberg was put in before her. After each save that he made, it appeared he spent much time talking trash to the other team. He found it unfair that Julie wasn’t being given her shot to show what she could do.

And when Ted watched them play against Iceland, he saw how these negatives outweighed the positives.

It started off badly. Dean Portman was kicked out of the game for not only getting in the middle of the Iceland captain and shoving him before the face-off could begin but also attacking the ref, which meant Team USA would be without vital defense.

“Are you kidding me?” Bella asked beside him angrily. “How’s that fair?”

“He attacked the ref, Belles; normally, he'd be in the box for that attack against the other player. But attacking the ref is out of bounds,” Ted explained as he watched Lucy color.

Within seconds without Portman there, the Vikings scored.

The kids were getting knocked left and right. Conway got knocked over, and Ted winced, suddenly remembering Charlie as the skinny, small little thing he’d seen play in Peewees; even though Charlie had grown a few inches taller, he was still small at the age of twelve or thirteen, and Ted saw that the boy had no sense of defense at all, focused only on the thought of scoring and getting that puck to the other side of the blue line. His heart sank as the Vikings kept on scoring. At one point, Dwayne Robertson kept hogging the puck – the kid was a complete show-off and didn’t know how to share, which was a problem when the Vikings ended up stealing the puck away. Even Luis Mendoza had the puck, but the kid had issues with stopping even though he had incredible speed – the boy ended up colliding into the boards and missing the shot altogether. And little Ken Wu was sent out there only to get knocked down again, as he was focused on using his tricks from figure skating, but figure skating maneuvers weren’t going to cut it against a team like this, no matter how agile he was.

By the time they got into the third and final period, Iceland led the game with four to nothing. Ted’s heart leaped slightly when he saw Adam Banks take center ice; if that boy could make his shot . . .

But Banks got knocked right down. After Goldberg failed to save the puck for the first time in the third period, Bombay knew they’d have no chance with Goldberg in the net, so he went in Julie. Ted hoped Julie could give them some morale . . .

Apparently, Julie constantly being benched got to her; Ted watched as the Iceland goons skated up to her (Ted imagined them doing that to make fun of her), and Ted couldn’t help laughing as he watched The Cat knee them both right in the groin. The two crumbled under the pain of Julie’s knee, hitting them in their soft spots.

“Ted! That is so not funny!” Despite saying that, Bella laughed, too.

“Nobody puts Baby in a corner,” grinned Ted, even though he knew Julie would get kicked out of the game for that, and Goldberg would have to go back in. But it only got worse; even Fulton’s fierce shot couldn’t make it past the goalie’s glove. After that, Banks started; he had the puck, slid right in, he shot; he scored!

“Thank God!” Bella said, her hand over her mouth.

“Good job, Banks!” Ted said, applauding, but the celebration didn’t last long. He watched as one of the Iceland players slammed his hockey stick over Banks’s right wrist. He couldn’t help hissing sympathetically; he could practically feel his own wrist aching just watching Adam get hurt.

Bella’s eyes widened in alarm. “Oh, gosh, is he okay?”

“No, he wouldn’t be. That stick hit his wrist, and he’ll be really badly bruised; it’s probably a nasty stress fracture,” Ted explained, remembering plenty of players who’d gotten those before.

“But could he continue playing like that?” Bella demanded.

“No, he can’t. He’ll need time off the ice for that wrist to heal.”

“Somehow, I don’t think Gordon’s noticed.”

Ted winced; Gordon didn’t seem to notice at all that his mini-Wayne Gretzky had gotten hurt. He seemed more pissed off over the fact that they were three goals down. And Iceland just kept scoring even more as the kids floundered, crumbling under the weight of bullying goons rushing them every which way.

The game ended miserably with twelve to one.

Ted groaned, burying his face into his hands, knowing those kids would be in for one hell of a lecture. But even he could see that their complacency was part of what led up to this; they’d gotten way too comfortable in their roles, not at all adapting to what Iceland was doing. And the fact that he wasn’t surprised was what scared him the most.

“Something needs to change, and not just Gordon’s attitude,” he said to his wife. “Those kids need to learn how to play real defense. They can’t keep going like this. Imagine if they continue at the high school level; the Eden Hall Warriors and the Blake Bears would eat them alive.”

“They could learn something from you,” remarked Bella. “You’re the expert.”

“It makes me wonder if it would’ve gone differently if I were there,” Ted admitted as his stomach twisted, especially as he watched the post-game press interviews, with Conway, Banks, Hall, and Reed all commenting on how embarrassing that was and that they swore they’d bring it on next time against Germany. Conway had tears in his eyes; Banks looked like he was trying not to cry, and Ted suspected it came from both the pain in his wrist and the sting of that loss, knowing they were one more round away from being eliminated and sent back home.

Team USA was truly on the rocks, and from the looks of it, shaken.

Ted was glad that that loss against Iceland was the last loss Team USA had to endure; he knew in large part of it was because Jan flew out to California to show Gordon what an ass he was being. As a result, changes happened: a boy by the name of Russ Tyler got recruited to the team to be Adam Banks’s replacement until Banks’s wrist healed, and he proved to be an asset. His “knucklepuck” got them the win against Russia, and the next day in the paper, Ted saw in the sports section that the kids met Wayne “The Great One” Gretzky. He had to fight his envy at that, but he could imagine those children were thrilled at meeting such a hero.

The day that the USA would play against Iceland and potentially bring home the gold was the same night as the J.V.-Varsity showdown, meaning he wouldn’t be able to watch the game on television and would be hearing reports about it either on the radio or in the paper the following day.

He knew that this would be a tough game; the Varsity team was notorious for beating J.V. every year – Ted recalled how he and Basil dominated over J.V. when they were freshmen; part of that was because Frank Wilson was such a competitive coach – he wanted his boys to win and be undefeated, and it was because of that winner’s attitude that the team cared so much about defending their title.

From where he stood behind the bench, he watched his boys struggle; Scooter was really good and held off for as long as he could, which was the entire game. He blocked every shot, but Varsity’s goalie blocked every shot, too, partially because both teams were playing strong defense. The game ended with a tie of zero to zero, meaning they were in overtime and needed to go into a shootout.

Ted selected his best five boys: Dallas Mullin, Bruce Kabine, Logan Brown, Jed Avery, and A.J. Cooke. None of them could get a shot past Varsity’s goalie, Randy Kellan. But Rick Riley, Luke Banks, and Rodney McGill scored three goals against Scooter, ending the game with one to nothing.

Ted led his despondent team back to the locker room, patting a few of them on the shoulder out of sympathy.

“Look, I know that was a tough one, but you boys really held in there. I’m proud of how you all did,” he said.

“Yeah, but they outshot us in the shootout,” pointed out Avery, shaking his head.

“I know they did,” Ted said. “But this was just an exhibition match – it won’t count. And there’s always a chance next year. Besides, you guys have your game against the Cardinals next week, so use this loss as a learning experience to improve your playing, especially if we make it to the playoffs – I really think this team has a shot at it.”

The boys all nodded, heading off to shower. Ted exited the locker room only to find Coach Wilson out there, his hand extended.

“No hard feelings, Ted?” Wilson asked.

“No.” Ted shook Wilson’s hand. “This game doesn’t count anyway. Besides, this loss was good for them; they’d won twice already. I think that you learn a lot more from a loss.”

“Really, Ted?” Wilson asked, eyebrow cocked upward. “Was that something you learned in your time playing under me?”

“No, something I picked up from my years playing pro,” Ted argued back. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to get back home to my wife.”

“Of course. We’ll play against you next time. Good game.”

When Ted flipped open the paper the next day and saw that Team USA won the gold after a shootout against Iceland, elation jumped through him like electricity. He nearly choked on his coffee as he read about how, at the last possible minute, Goldberg and Julie the Cat got switched, and Julie made a massive save against Iceland. To top it all off, Gordon and Jan had made a last-minute change to the uniforms from the Hendrix red, white, and blue to white, teal, and purple jerseys that had a duckbill hockey mask on the front, making the kids the USA Mighty Ducks, which Ted could only imagine united the kids even more.

He turned on the television to see the post-game reports. He saw Conway, who’d decided to step down to let Adam Banks play, speaking.

“Well, it was either I sit out or Russ, and you know, Russ, he’s been valuable to us, and Adam, he’s better than I am; he was the only one to score against Iceland the first time, and I knew the team would benefit. I don’t regret it. You know, Russ really helped us toughen up; he plays forward just as well as he plays defense; he’s just awesome.”

“So, what are your plans after all this?” the interviewer asked.

“Go back to school, keep playing for District Five; I think Coach is going to continue coaching us for the rest of our regular season, and then we’ve got next season and then high school. I think we can only keep going up from here. You know, I think we’ve got the best team in the world, and we plan to defend our title in the state championship at the end of our season in March. This win for Team USA is only gonna help more.”

“And Coach Bombay, would you say you agree with him?”

“I do,” Bombay said. “I’m very proud of him stepping down like that. You know, it takes real humility to know when someone else is needed. And he told me he makes a better coach than a player; he brought Russ in when we really needed someone badly. He really is captain material, great player, awesome kid, just all around one of my best and he was selected to be on the roster for a reason.” Gordon patted Conway on the shoulder, and the boy beamed a little wider; Ted could instantly see a bond between the two that went beyond coach and player, and as he watched the rest of the team interviews, all of them looking thrilled at the win.

Ted wouldn’t lie if he said he felt victorious, too. Even though his J.V. team lost to the Varsity last night, knowing Team USA beat Iceland and came home with the gold was a victory for everyone in America, especially the state of Minnesota. And he could see the potential for those kids to go on to something even better than just being a district hockey team. They could make the cut for a school like Eden Hall if they wanted to go to school at his and Gordon’s alma mater. And Ted wouldn’t mind coaching them in the least, either.

Chapter Text

Chapter 7 – The New Flock Leader

A year went by after the USA won the gold. In March of ’95, the District Five Mighty Ducks brought home another state championship, and but Ted’s J.V. team had failed to bring home a state championship, in fact, they hadn’t made it through the playoffs and didn’t win at the J.V.-Varsity showdown, something that many members of the hockey booster club were displeased about. There was even word that the Ducks were accepted into Eden Hall Academy on a full athletic scholarship to compose the J.V. hockey team, meaning quite a few of Ted’s boys would be pissed off that they were losing their roster slots to a bunch of underprivileged kids, but the kids proved they had the grades and the skills for a school like Eden Hall.

Gordon knocked on Ted's door during the summer of that year, bearing a large plastic shopping bag filled with videotapes, and Ted invited him in for breakfast. But when they sat down at the table, Gordon broke the ice with, “As you know, my kids got scholarships to Eden Hall Academy, Ted.”

“Yeah, that’s something you should be very proud of,” Ted replied as he sipped his morning coffee.

“Well, here’s the thing; I can’t be coaching them next year. I think you and everyone else saw what happened on the international stage in the Goodwill Games; yes, they won, but by the skin of their teeth. Part of that was because I may have taught them how to be a team and have some fun. But for high school, they need someone who is going to teach them how to grow up,” Gordon said.

“Well, you could always come in and be my assistant coach,” Ted said.

“It’s not that simple, Ted,” Gordon argued. “I got a call from the Junior Goodwill Games committee. They want me to manage their junior hockey program worldwide. I’ll need someone else to take over for the rest of the season. And I need that someone to be you.”

Ted was floored. Him? Get handed the keys to the house and be given the full authority to coach Gordon’s kids? He couldn’t bring himself to speak; he tried, but no words could make their way out of his throat. Why would Gordon give him the keys and entrust him to take over coaching the kids who’d become his family?

“Because I trust you,” Gordon said seriously, answering Ted’s unspoken question. “You’ve already been coaching at Eden Hall for two years. And you’re not me – I allowed myself to get distracted; you’re the most focused coach I know, and I know you’ll push them outside their comfort zones. If I keep coaching them, they’ll remain complacent. I need you to be that person who can make those difficult decisions.”

This took Ted aback. On paper, it made sense. Yes, Gordon Bombay was a good man with a kind heart who taught those children how to have fun and how to master the basics, but they needed someone who would teach them how to mature and grow up, someone who could show them what it meant to play true defense and to compete at the high school level. Sure, sports were supposed to be fun. But it was hard work at a school like Eden Hall, and your spot had to be earned. Yes, those kids had scholarships to play. But they also needed to gain a lot of that responsibility. They needed an authority figure who would teach them how to turn into young adults, not rely on trick plays, but play two-way hockey, and learn what it meant to be a high school hockey player; someone who would force them to get tough and face those high expectations – two years ago, Rick Riley and Bradley Cole fought him every which way; he just hoped that these kids wouldn’t be as challenging to put up with as Cole and Riley.

“I have their tapes right here,” Gordon said, passing them along to Ted. “Watch them, and then come over by my place. I want you to be honest with me about what you think.”

Ted nodded, clutching his hand around the plastic bag. “You can count on me,” he promised.

He spent the rest of his morning watching the kids’ tapes. He picked out every single strength and weakness and reviewed their performance from the Junior Goodwill Games. He also reviewed all the paperwork Gordon had given him in a folder: it had their current weight, height, numbers, stats, everything. Adam Banks was obviously the most skilled out of everyone. Fulton Reed and Dean Portman were not the best skaters, but they had the toughness for defense. Julie “the Cat’s” potential had been completely wasted in her time playing for Team USA. Moreau, Germaine, Averman, and Robertson were weak on defense; Ted actually winced when he watched the footage of Moreau playing in the finals against Iceland, how she took a major check into the boards, but to her credit, she got right back up again and had no qualms about standing up for herself.

The other weak ones were Mendoza and Wu. Mendoza still had issues with speed control. Wu was timid and easily bullied around by larger players, relying on the Bash Brothers for protection.

He also reviewed the tape of the Minnesota State Championship from winter of ’95 – Conway was the standout who shot the winning goal, and he saw from the footage that Gordon named him the captain, but what it meant to be a captain, Ted wasn’t sure Conway had quite grasped that concept, let alone have the maturity level yet to be the captain for the team.

After spending hours watching their tapes in front of the television, his eyes burning, he gathered them up and drove to Gordon’s house. He knocked on the door, and Gordon offered him a drink of water as they sat on the sofa.

“All right, let’s talk business,” Ted said seriously. “In all your years of coaching them, you somehow forgot to teach them defense. I knew that when I watched them play as Team USA. Everyone saw that.”

Gordon winced at that; somehow, he knew that. “Yeah,” he said sheepishly.

“And you wasted Gaffney,” Ted continued, surprised at the anger in his voice, but he couldn’t help it – seeing Julie being wasted made him think of his own daughter, who’d had her sixth birthday in June; he’d hate the thought of Lucy’s potential being wasted. In fact, it was right now – he wanted to put her in mite hockey, but the coaches weren’t willing to accommodate her due to her being disabled, something that pissed him off utterly, especially when he had to break the news to her that she wasn’t allowed to play with the other kids in District Five. She’d cried about it for days when he told her that the coaches weren’t willing to give her the accommodation she’d need.

“Goldberg was on a hot streak,” Gordon defended.

“And he was weak against Iceland,” Ted said sternly. “You could’ve won right there if you put Gaffney in much earlier. There’s no mystery why she kneed those goons in the soft spot – she was pissed off and didn’t feel valued at all. Couple that with her being a girl; well, what does that make you look like in her eyes?”

“A pretentious, sexist ass?”

“Good, we agree on something.” Ted sipped his water, needing the cooling sensation down his throat before he continued talking about the other kids. “Tell me about the kids a little bit.”

“Well, there’s Guy,” Gordon said. “He and Moreau, well, they’re kind of on a break. When they’re together, and I mean together, they’re great linemates. When they’re not, well, he loses focus. He’s what I’m most concerned about; he's overprotective when it comes to Connie. Always was. But he never looks out for himself. He and Averman received the most injuries out of everyone last season.”

“Mmhmm,” Ted hummed.

“I think Adam Banks might be too skilled for J.V.,” confessed Gordon.

“I gathered that from watching him,” Ted said. “I’ve watched him play in that Peewees state championship; he got you your first goal. His older brother, Luke, was in Varsity before he graduated.”

“Then you know where he belongs. Averman and Goldberg were always attached at the hip. Um, Gaffney, she’s got the fast glove; I think you know she should come first now. Kenny, Averman, Guy, and Connie, well, they need to learn to protect themselves better. Fulton and Dean need a lot of help with skating. Luis has improved with speed control, but he still has his moments. Dwayne and Russ tend to show off a bit.”

“And Conway?”

“Well, Charlie’s . . . he’s Charlie,” Gordon said, and Ted caught how Gordon’s words got caught in his throat, how his eyes began misting with tears.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“He’s why I have a life now,” Gordon confessed. “He’s everything to me. He’s my world.”

“And you named him the captain.”

“Yes, I did because he’s the heart of the team. He’s my son, not legally or by blood, but he’s my . . . He’s the real Minnesota Miracle Man.” That caused Gordon’s tears to spill over, and he hastily wiped them away.

“You really love him, don’t you?” Ted asked gently.

“I do,” Gordon said. “I fell in love with him first. But I know he won’t be happy about this change. Still, I have to take this job; otherwise, I’ll just spend the rest of my life thinking about the ‘what if?’ If I don’t take this chance, I’m afraid I’ll resent those kids. And I don’t want that.”

“Then you know everything needs to change. And I need to control them fully,” Ted said sternly. “I can’t have them go crying and whining to you whenever something goes wrong. They need to learn what it means to become young adults. So, that’s how I’m going to treat them.”

“Fair enough,” Gordon said roughly, still wiping his eyes.

“As for Charlie, though, you know I’m going to have to take away his ‘C.’ He’s not playing for you. He’s playing for me. I need to see him earn that responsibility. I’m not going to hand everything over to him.”

Gordon nodded. “Yes, that’s fair. I agree he needs to learn a lot more because, truthfully, I think winning multiple state championships in a row has inflated his head a bit.”

“But did you tell the kids you won’t be coaching them yet?” Ted asked.

“No,” Gordon said, shaking his head. “I haven’t even told Charlie yet. But he’s not going to like it. Not one bit.”

“Why?”

“He’s been through a lot,” Gordon confessed, his voice breaking as more tears rolled down his face. “But it’s not my information to share. You’ll learn with time.”

Sighing, Ted said, “Well, I’m not going to treat him any differently than the other kids. He’s going to earn his captain slot. He’ll get his ‘C’ back if I feel he has. But he’s got to be willing to work. I know it's inside him because I’ve seen what he can do. Because this is real life.”

Gordon nodded. “I know. And I know you’ll be good for him. You and him will learn something from each other. But it’s going to take time.”

“I’m willing to learn from him as long as he’s willing to work with me.”

“Then good luck.” Gordon shook his hand, and that sealed the deal. Ted was the new flock leader. “Oh, and by the way, I’ll sort out Lucy’s issue with not being allowed to play on the Ducks. I can be very persuasive. Consider this me returning the favor for you taking over for me.”

“Thank you.”

“Take care of my kids, okay?”

“I will.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 8 – The Minnesota Miracle Kids

When he went to the ice rink to meet his new J.V. team, Ted Orion knew what would have to happen. The kids were probably going to hate him, but he needed to be the bad guy and lay down the law and let them know a change was about to come; they weren’t going to like it, but they needed to prepare for real life, and he wasn’t going to stand for any disrespect, either, from them, especially after he heard the original District Fivers showed up to orientation day late, through the backdoor of the theater, crashing into the curtains wearing roller blades. He wondered whose idea that had been. But he could guess. He had to clarify that he wasn’t there to be their friend. Once practice was over, they could have fun and be a family. But when it was practice time, it was time to work.

He got a first glimpse of them – some Ducks were missing; Jesse Hall and his brother Terry and their family moved away to Ohio due to his dad getting a better job out there the previous season, and Dean Portman decided he didn’t want to go to Eden Hall if Bombay wasn’t the coach. Ted could see the kids horsing around with a lasso, with Dwayne roping them up as they skated around, trying to avoid getting roped – whoever got caught was out.

These were the Minnesota Miracle Kids, Team USA, and the USA Mighty Ducks – Gordon’s little golden children, his babies, the family he’d created for himself over the years. Gordon had turned the keys over to him, giving him complete control to do as he wanted. Having the keys to the house now, he needed to set some new rules.

Ted could see they were laughing and having fun, but fun needed to come after the hard work, and he couldn’t have them practicing this way. They wouldn’t learn to protect themselves by skating away from a lasso.

Sighing, he prepared himself for what had to happen. Skating out onto the ice, he stopped just as the captain – Conway, Charlie – collapsed, the rope tied up around him as he fell at his feet, glancing up slowly, only to see a purse-lipped Coach Orion standing there, arms crossed over his chest, not at all amused by their childish display.

“My name is Coach Orion,” he said sternly, his voice moving into his “coach” voice, the same tone he used whenever he spoke to his old J.V. team, many of whom were on Varsity now; he watched, unamused, as Charlie slowly got up and onto his feet, watching him in surprise – he knew Charlie recognized him as a player of the North Stars. “You can call me ‘Coach’ or ‘Coach Orion.’” When Charlie stood up, he stood maybe a few inches shorter – he could tell the boy would grow to at least his height when he got older, and he wasn’t going to stop growing any time soon.

Charlie stuck his hand out to shake his. “You can call me ‘Charlie,’” he said, smiling only slightly, but when he saw Ted was in no mood for formalities or kidding around, he pulled his hand away. Even the Ducks’ chuckling went away just as quickly.

“That must be what that ‘C’ on your jersey stands for, huh?” Ted asked him. “It sure doesn’t stand for ‘captain.’”

Russ Tyler spoke up. “Sorry, Coach. We were just messin’ with you, ya know?” Ted turned to glance at him – knew from Russ’s records that the kid came from central LA, from the thick of what some would call “the hood.” The kid was clearly determined to be on good behavior and keep his scholarship, not at all wanting trouble. But Ted remained firm and stern as he looked at every single one of them.

“Hey, Bombay gave him that ‘C,’” said Goldberg, all decked out in Philly pride.

“And I respect that,” Ted said, meaning every word of it – he did respect Gordon’s decision to name Charlie the captain; he was sure Charlie was a great leader, no question, but he wanted to see Charlie earn it under his leadership. “But that’s the past. This is my team now, and I’ll be selecting the captain.”

“You gotta be kidding me, right?” Charlie asked him, and Ted instantly internally recoiled, not at all liking this kid’s attitude; he was a far cry from the innocent-looking child he saw when the boy played in the Peewees, the youngest Ducks member at age ten years old in a group of eleven-year-olds; there was a jaded bitterness there that hadn’t at all been present in the boy when Ted had first seen him play many years ago in Peewees.

“I mean, you’re the rookie here,” Charlie continued. “We’ve all been together for four years.”

The other Ducks murmured in agreement; Ted could see how Charlie influenced them, and it instantly reminded him of Bombay, the cockiness and arrogance, but it also reminded Ted of himself, of how he could get just about anyone to listen to him and follow him; it was why he’d been named captain of the Varsity team by the time he was in his sophomore year of high school. Even looking at Charlie’s blue eyes, which seemed so similar to his and Bombay’s, Ted was convinced that somehow, someway, he and Bombay possibly had a long-lost connected relative who made a love child with Charlie Conway’s mother – his personality was like the two of them morphed together.

Sure, it was easy for Charlie to say that now. But he wouldn’t be saying that after he started to play at the high school level.

Not at all breaking eye contact with the boy, he said, “Okay, Charlie, laps.” He needed to get this kid to stop talking out of his behind and start following some orders. “Right now.”

Charlie begrudgingly removed the lasso from around his neck as he asked, “How many, Coach Orion?”

“I don’t recall saying,” Ted replied, not at all liking Charlie’s attitude at this point – he wasn’t quite sure what happened to the boy that made him this way; he could only begin to wonder who lit a match under this kid’s ass to turn him into someone who could go from carefree to moody and defiant. The kid was a hurricane – that was the best metaphor Ted could conjure up.

Charlie sighed but otherwise did as he was told, but not without shooting him filthy glances in between. But Ted wouldn’t waste time on Conway’s attitude problems, not when he had a group of kids he needed to discipline.

“Now, you all listen up, and listen good,” he said sternly, glancing at every single kid in the room, remembering their names and faces – he picked out Julie with her dirty blonde hair braided down her back, looking like an older version of his daughter, Connie with her long, dark hair and soft baby face wearing a jersey for the Minnesota Moose, Averman with his curly red hair and glasses, Goldberg who was heavyset and heavily tanned and looking like a walking billboard for the Flyers, and he could also pick out Banks, who looked like a younger version of his mother, Allyson, who’d been homecoming queen in Ted’s freshman year at Eden Hall, all the way from his blond hair to his face. They all looked at him, intimidated, their mouths shut, faces pale with unease, their eyes following his every movement.

“We are here for one reason and one reason only,” he continued. “You know what that is? It starts with a ‘W.’” His gaze landed on Averman, who decided now was the time to start cracking jokes.

“To win, Coach Orion, sir!” Averman yelled at the top of his lungs, but only a few of the Ducks snickered uncomfortably while some looked at Averman as though they hoped he’d just shut up. But Ted wasn’t about to tell Averman to shut up – he wouldn’t lie if he said Averman slightly amused him; the kid had some charm and was witty. Besides, at least he answered, even if he was partially joking. Ted had to fight back a grin; he swallowed his amusement and continued.

Ted cleared his throat, fighting back laughter, and said, “No.” Everyone instantly stopped laughing. “To work!” He watched as Averman blushed fiercely, turning as red as his hair. “High school hockey is very hard work.” He’d given this lecture to Riley and Cole in Riley’s freshman year, only for Riley to turn against him and fight him, running off to Daddy to get him on Varsity even though he didn’t deserve to be on Varsity. The only difference here was that he knew the kids were listening to him, some of them nodding in agreement. “And it all begins . . . with defense. I’ve seen your tapes. I know you can score goals. I just don’t know if you can stop them.”

“Hey,” laughed Goldberg, moving forward and locking eyes with Ted. When he saw Ted wasn’t kidding around, he added a soft, “Sorry, sir.”

“You’re not kids or little ducks anymore,” Ted continued, “so I’m not gonna treat you that way. You’re gonna learn to play two-way hockey: offense and defense. It’s gonna take one thing. It starts with a ‘W.’”

“To work, Coach Orion, sir!” Averman piped up, and at this, nobody laughed. Even Ted was losing his patience with Averman’s jokes.

“Wrong,” Ted said sternly. “Will. It’s gonna take real will . . . if you want to play in my barn. All right. Count off. Let’s climb the ladder.”

The kids all counted one, two, three, and within minutes, Ted had them start. He put Goldberg in first to see what he had, and he instantly saw Goldberg was slow, lazy, and out of practice – Adam Banks shot against him first when Ted had them line up in front of the net to take their shots for a warm-up, and yes, Goldberg blocked one against Banks, but when Germaine followed up, he scored easily. Dwayne then followed it. When it was time for Goldberg to pick up the pace and move, he did not move fast enough. He remained slow and sluggish in the net, not at all covering the open areas of the net – how the Ducks lasted this long with him, Ted didn’t know.

Ted shook his head, not satisfied with what he saw. Goldberg had grown so complacent in his role, so comfortable that he grew cocky, and he got so caught up in his own cockiness that he let it get into his head. Even Averman scored against Goldberg. But when Kenny did a trick maneuver from his figure skating days and knocked Goldberg over, Ted fought back his laughter, pursing his lips together tighter.

“Hey, Baryshkinov, knock that off!” Ted ordered at Kenny, watching as Goldberg struggled back up to his feet slowly. “Goldberg! When’s the last time you practiced?”

“Well, uh . . .” Goldberg stammered, “we don’t practice, per se. We either play or play around. You know, have fun. You know, that thing that makes you smile and laugh.”  

And that was the problem; all Goldberg had to say was just that. None of them took practice seriously. Granted, Ted didn’t expect them to take themselves seriously all the time, but when it was time to work on their strengths and weaknesses, it wasn’t the time for jokes. He thought up something he could do to make practices fun afterward, maybe have them scrimmage for fun or play “dodgeball” if the training was arduous (they were fourteen, after all, they needed some enjoyment out of it to blow off some steam), but he would save that if he saw them work really hard to improve after a few weeks.

Afterward, he wanted to see what Julie the Cat could do. Ted shot Goldberg a stern look, and he watched as the boy said he’d shut up now. Watching Julie, Ted saw her block every shot. She was so fast, so lithe; it was like watching a lynx pounce on its prey, and she was so graceful despite wearing those heavy pads. He watched as she blocked her teammates’ shots, apologizing each time she did – she was a sweetheart, a trait that he saw in his own little girl, but she was also no-nonsense and focused and determined. He felt his anger swell up – the fact that her talent had been wasted in the Junior Goodwill Games was a crime because she was an absolute beauty to watch in front of the net; it was like she was from another planet. He needed her to be the first one in the net and get the cat out of the bag because nobody put Baby in a corner, not in his arena. It didn’t matter to him that Connie and Julie were girls – they had that grit and that will; they were fierce and independent, and he wanted to see them empowered.

He ended the practice by having them do a scrimmage, and once he called an end to the practice, he had his roster sheet completely written up. Based on what Ted had seen, Banks was getting bumped to Varsity. But Charlie needed to earn his captain’s position. Russ was going to the third line; he needed more discipline, and he needed to learn to stop being so cocky. Charlie was no doubt going to be on the first line, along with Fulton; they were going to be his starting line-up, with Julie as the starting goalie, and he’d make Goldberg a defensive player along with Fulton, but Fulton needed to get out of his comfort zone and start shooting from the right; he’d even put Russ in as a potential defense, too. Even Luis would be third-line until he learned to control his speed.

The kids were all sore, hot, sweaty, and tired, but Ted followed them into the locker room as they all collapsed to the benches, exhausted. But he needed to make something else clear to them.

“Eden Hall requires you to maintain a ‘C’ average to compete,” he said as he walked past the kids, pinning the roster sheet to the wall. “I believe that’s a bad rule. I don’t want any ‘C’ players on my team. I want Bs or better, or you’re going to be riding the pine pony. Now, you’ve got fifteen minutes after each practice to clear this locker room. You’ve got homework to do. Oh, and one more thing. Stay clear of the Varsity until we play them in the J.V.-Varsity showdown.” He caught the looks on the kids’ faces – they kept staring back at him, expressionless, but he was serious.

This year, the J.V.-Varsity exhibition would be taking place the final week of September (like it did every year), as they were scheduled to play the Blake Academy Bears on Friday the eighth, the Coon Rapids High School Cardinals on Saturday the sixteenth, the Stillwater High School Panthers on Saturday the twenty-third, and then the Minnetonka Preparatory Barbarians on Sunday the twenty-fourth, with the J.V-Varsity showdown taking place Friday the twenty-ninth, a day before they were supposed to play an away game against the Duluth High School Cubs.

“You got that?” he demanded finally.

As he left the locker room, he was met with quiet nods.

He came home that night to Bella’s cooking. After taking Lucy home from her mites club hockey meeting, he entered the house and was greeted by the scent of Bella’s oven-baked salmon, mashed potatoes, and corn on the cob.

He entered the kitchen, smiling at the sight of his wife and her expanding belly – she was about eight months along and due to give birth in either late October or early or mid-November. He was glad they would be a family of four in a few short months, and he’d finally get his boy, though he was torn between naming the baby Hans or Theodore.

“Hey, Belles, man, that smells so good,” he commented, kissing her hello. She could tell his smile was forced because concern flashed over her face as he sat down at the table. She walked over and gently massaged his shoulders to alleviate the tension.

“How’d the practice with the new team go?”

“Gaffney’s been wasted this whole time,” he said, not even trying to hide his anger at the thought. “I still can’t believe it. And Conway . . .”

“Gordon’s boy?”

“Yeah, he’s Gordon’s, all right. He inherited everything, including Gordon’s attitude,” Ted explained. “He’s not going to be easy for me to deal with; I can tell you that right now.”

“He can’t be that bad.” It was so like Bella trying to give everyone the benefit of the doubt, but Ted’s desire to do just that was wearing thin, especially after how Charlie behaved during their first meeting.

“That little brat called me the rookie because I just got there.” Ted looked at his wife incredulously. “I knew he wouldn’t like someone else coaching him other than Bombay. But I didn’t think he’d be so arrogant – he’s not the kid we saw in that Peewee state championship four years ago. He’s changed. Something happened to him. But let me tell you if he doesn’t clean up his act and quit behaving like a brat . . .”

“You’ve got to give him a break, Ted. He’s just found out his old coach is leaving them in your hands. He and Bombay share a bond. Put yourself in his shoes. He probably sees it as his dad leaving him.”

“I’m trying, but he doesn’t make it easy to,” Ted said weakly.

“Well, you’ve got to try and understand him more,” Bella pressed, her hands digging into his shoulders a little harder, deepening the massage – she’d given him many of those after he came home from home games with the North Stars; she knew how to hit every pressure point and somehow knew what helped him relax without him having to tell her. “The only way that’s gonna happen is if you make him see that he can trust you.”

“How?”

“By showing him in your own way that you care,” Bella said. “And don’t write him off just yet; you’ve got to give him a fair chance, just like he has to with you. Let him adjust. Maybe he just needs some time.”

“How much time?”

“I can’t say because I don’t know him. But you know three other people who do. It wouldn’t hurt to reach out to at least one of them.”

“I can’t talk to Bombay about this, Belles. Just like how I can’t have those kids cry and moan to him whenever something doesn’t go their way.”

“Then talk to Hans, sweetheart. He’ll know what to do.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 9 – Confidence

A week went by after orientation day. During practice all last week, the kids’ performance was less than stellar: he had Goldberg constantly complaining about his spot being taken by Julie, Russ was bitter about being on the third line, Luis still had problems with stopping, Connie and Guy seemed tense all the time and couldn’t get through practice without bickering over something, and Charlie . . .

Charlie fought him at every turn. Charlie didn’t take it well whenever Ted critiqued him on anything. He showed up late multiple times, which forced Ted to add extra time to warmups, and he was certain the boy was doing it out of spite due to his “C” being taken away, but he was also sure that it had to do with Adam Banks being bumped up to the Varsity team, too. To boot, Ted kept hearing about how Charlie snuck Cole horse turd brownies, and it caused a major food fight in the dining hall. He hoped that was the last he’d need to hear of J.V. getting into confrontations with the Varsity team. But he suspected this wouldn’t be the last.

This practice proved to be just as bad.

Charlie and Fulton arrived late again, meaning Ted needed to give the whole team extra laps during warm-ups. But he watched Julie move slowly, much more sluggishly than everyone else, which wasn’t like her at all – she was one of the fastest skaters.

“Work those legs, Gaffney!” he barked, unable to hide his underlying concern that she looked as though she weren’t feeling well. “Where’s your energy?”

He heard her mumble something about how she thought she’d be sick, and within seconds, she was leaning over the penalty box, vomiting. Ted winced at the sound of it, but he noticed Goldberg looking quite smug as he said, “One cupcake over the line, Cat Lady.” He had his suspicions that Goldberg may or may not have had something to do with that, and he didn’t want to know what it was that Goldberg had done. But it was safe to assume that Julie wasn’t eating correctly – if she were, she wouldn’t be this sluggish and feeling ill after doing laps.

But his gaze shifted to Charlie and Fulton. He noticed Charlie helping Fulton with his skating, instructing him to bend his knees and get lower – he could see hints of a true captain in Charlie. Charlie seemed to help Fulton improve his confidence, and he saw Fulton moving much smoother with Charlie talking him through it; yes, they were behind everyone else, but Charlie was helping Fulton put forth some more effort to do his best. Ted saw it was there; Charlie cared about his team and tried to help everyone. But it would take far more than Charlie helping one individual for Ted to consider giving him his “C” back. If only he could get Charlie to trust him.

The whole time, he watched them. Whether these kids knew it or not, he noticed everything. He saw whether they put in effort or whether it was pure laziness. He saw how close they all were and how some of them, mainly Moreau and Germaine, were starting to fracture apart and move further away, which was proof that those two could not be on the same line; he’d have to move Fulton over to first line in place of Moreau and possibly put Averman in Germaine’s place, because if Moreau and Germaine couldn’t cooperate due to a petty teenage breakup, then it would impact them when they played against Blake the week after the Labor Day holiday. He even saw the arguments between Gaffney and Goldberg over who was superior.

He also noticed that they all felt something was missing: Bombay. They all missed him and wished they were playing for him instead; if Bombay’s name was brought up, Ted saw the looks on their faces. Ted wouldn’t lie that it hurt, knowing he was constantly being compared, that he was the “mean” one and Gordon was the “nice” one – he didn’t want to be the bad guy. But he had to get these kids to break their bad habits before he went around letting them have fun.

He turned his gaze back to Julie, who was still throwing up. For her to be vomiting that much, Ted knew there was the risk of dehydration, which would worsen her condition even further. “Julie the Cat!” he yelled. “What’s the matter? You eat a furball?”

Goldberg approached him, skating around him, laughing, “Yeah, that’s good, Coach. I like that. Furball. That’s very clever.” He stood beside him, hopeful.

“Just get in the net, Goldberg,” Ted sighed, resigning. Goldberg wouldn’t be his first choice right now, but they needed a goalie for practice, since Julie wasn't feeling well.

“Me?” Goldberg asked, but Ted was sure he heard the kid’s conceit – for sure, Goldberg had done something to try and sabotage Julie’s performance, but that wasn’t going to change Ted’s mind; Julie was still going to come first no matter what. “Sure thing. Be my pleasure.”

Ted sighed, shaking his head; he wandered over to Julie and stepped behind the bench, where he kept a stash of Gatorade and water in a cooler for emergencies. Once Julie stopped gagging and finally caught her breath, he pulled a blue Gatorade from the cooler and handed it to her.

“Sip that slowly. Don’t chug it down,” he advised, watching as she tilted the drink toward her mouth and took small sips. “You take it easy, honey. You need to see the nurse?”

“No,” Julie replied stubbornly, but she looked pale. Her eyes were rimmed red and moist, and she breathed shakily. But if Ted weren’t mistaken, he saw a hint of anger in her eyes as she glanced at where Goldberg stood in the net – she knew something he didn’t know.

“Then sit this one out, okay? And when you eat tonight, keep it light. I’ll need you in top form for tomorrow,” he told her, patting her shoulder. He supposed that even though it wasn’t the Cat in the net, using Goldberg would suffice for an essential lesson on defense – everyone needed to work to defend the goalpost, not just the defensemen.

“Okay,” she whispered huskily. “But I’m gonna kill Goldberg when this is all over.”

“Don’t,” he replied firmly. “All right? He’s needed, too. You’re all needed.”

“Fine. But Goldberg’s never gonna mistake me for some dumb blonde ever again.”

Ted nodded sympathetically. “Between you and me, blondes have more fun.” He winked at her gently.

Julie looked at him, bewildered for a moment before she cracked a smile at that. “Thanks, Coach.”

Ted gave her shoulder one last pat before moving on to the rest of the team. With Goldberg in the net, he dropped a puck down and split the kids – he put Charlie, Guy, Dwayne, Averman, and Fulton on one side of the blue line while Luis, Kenny, Connie, and Russ were on the other. Ted was on the other side’s team and had control of the puck, and he had Charlie, Guy, Dwayne, Averman, and Fulton skating backward toward the goalpost to defend it. He was looking for someone to go in and attack the puck; he passed it over to Russ, who made his way through and passed over to Kenny, who weaved around quickly.

“You know, I don’t see a captain out here!” he yelled, watching closely as Kenny went nearer toward Charlie; the kid wasn’t back-checking; he was only going forward. “Make him make the first move, Conway!” Ted roared, only for Charlie to not do as he said. Kenny went in and took the shot, only for Goldberg to luckily deflect it, and Charlie wasn’t doing his part to clear the puck away from the zone; in fact, he kept clearing the puck away into the wrong direction; he was just focusing on getting it so that he could be in control of it and get out of the zone.

Ted shook his head, barking, “Freeze! I SAID FREEZE!” He blew his whistle, and everyone stopped instantly, though Averman clumsily went crashing into the boards. “Averman!” he groaned, shaking his head again as Averman tried to shake it off – he was the most injury-prone next to Guy.

“Where’s the one place you never want to clear the puck?” Ted demanded from Charlie, skating right up to him, hoping for a captain’s response from the boy.

Charlie went to remove his helmet. “It looked open.”

“Just answer the question, Conway.”

“Listen, I’m not a defenseman! I’m a scorer!” Charlie yelled back at him.

It had been the first time Charlie had raised his voice at him – most of the time, Charlie responded with passive-aggressive mutters and kept his voice at a reasonable volume. Hearing him yell and get so angry, Ted pursed his lips tightly, trying his hardest to contain his disappointment – he’d really been hoping to see something from Charlie this practice, especially after seeing the boy helping Fulton the way he’d been earlier. But of course, the kid just had to ruin that; it was like he was going out of his own way to be self-righteous and defensive about everything, and Ted hated seeing it.

After a painstakingly silent minute, Ted said, “Follow me.” He skated over to the bench and gestured for Julie to join her teammates. Then, he opened the penalty box for Charlie, silently ordering him to sit inside it. “Anybody share his opinion?” he asked everyone else.

Everybody glanced at one another, clearly afraid to say the wrong thing, thinking they’d just piss him off further. He skated over to them when he received no answer.

“All right then, take a knee.”

He watched as everyone knelt down and listened as Charlie threw his stick on the ground like a six-year-old throwing a tantrum. He didn’t need Charlie throwing a fit – he already had one six-year-old he needed to come home to, and even Lucy showed more maturity than Charlie.

Ted sighed, leaned down, and picked the puck up, holding it up for everyone to see. “What’s the one thing all great teams have in common?”

“Great coaching,” Averman said, grinning at him.

“Don’t try to suck up to me, Averman,” Ted said sternly before adding, in a much softer, more thoughtful voice, “Defense. See, unlike scoring, defense never quits. But to play great defense, you need one thing above all else.”

“I bet it starts with a ‘W,’” commented Averman, only for Ted to prove him wrong again.

“Confidence,” Ted corrected, deciding that if he was going to reach these kids, he needed to speak from the heart. He remembered what Jan had said to him four years prior, about how defense in hockey was just like real life, that he couldn’t be afraid to fail Lucy and Bella, and that just like in hockey, he needed to have confidence and control his attitude even though he wasn’t in control.

“Listen,” he said, “if you learn nothing else when you’re here, you learn this. All right? ‘Cause it’s not just about hockey. It’s easy to be confident when you have control of the puck. It’s very, very difficult to keep that confidence when you gotta take whatever strange bounces life throws your way.” As he said this, he didn’t see the Ducks – he saw his then-seven-month-old daughter lying there in the plastic bassinet, breathing tubes up her nose as the reality sunk in that she might never walk ever again; that had been the absolute worst moment of his entire life, knowing she hadn’t seen her first birthday yet, and she already had to struggle through so much. When he blinked, he saw the Ducks again, staring back at him, holding onto his every word.

“Don’t be careless, but don’t be too careful, either,” he continued. “You cannot be afraid to lose. That’s how you gain the confidence to attack the game when the puck isn’t yours! That’s how you attack life even when you think you don’t have any control. And that’s how you play real defense. Are we clear?”

“Yes, Coach,” he heard the kids chorus.

“All right, let’s go for that again.”

The practice ended with him and Charlie getting into yet another row. It seemed that no matter what Ted tried with the boy, it was like he was talking to an erect brick wall; Charlie just stood there, arms crossed over his chest, a sign of defensiveness, like this kid felt this need to protect himself against something, though Ted didn’t quite know what that was. But looking into the kid’s eyes, he saw the burning anger and frustration, that frustration of thinking that it wasn't right no matter what he did. Ted felt the same way because no matter what he said or did in practice, it would never be right in Charlie's eyes. He didn’t know what it would take to get them to see eye to eye.

It was why Ted was looking forward to escaping for a couple of hours to the District Five Ice Rink, which Hans and Jan had purchased as an investment property and would soon be rebranded the Ice Palace; it was where the Ducks teams practiced, and even though his spat with Charlie after practice had soured his mood considerably, Ted couldn’t help smiling at the notion of going to his daughter’s first mites hockey practice. He looked forward to an hour of practice time with his kid and then coming home to a nice, hot dinner.

After picking Lucy up from aftercare, he got her to the rink. He helped her out of her wheelchair and into her hockey sled; Bella was going to be one of the hockey moms for the team, and Ted figured that once his tenure of coaching at Eden Hall was over, he could go back to school and finish his degree and get a job as a PE teacher and assistant coach his daughter’s hockey team. And he wouldn’t mind it. Unlike Charlie, his daughter listened to him when he told her to do something and didn’t throw a fit over it.

How was it that a six-year-old was much more mature than a fourteen-year-old?

After strapping Lucy onto her sled, he helped get her out onto the ice, pushing her along and wearing his own skates. “All right, honey, let’s get you warmed up. Show Daddy what you got. Remember: what does defense do?”

“Protect the goalie,” Lucy said.

“Yes, but you can also assist and score. But your priority is defense. Everyone’s priority should be defense. If you all don’t do your part to defend the goalie, the other team scores. But when your time comes to play offense, you make it count, right?”

“Right!”

“Good girl.” He extended his palm forward, and she high-fived him. “All right, let’s see how you shoot the puck in. Come on.”

Lucy nodded, determined, gripping both her sticks as Ted found a loose puck on the ice. He dropped it in front of her, watching as she pushed herself along the ice with the assistance of her sticks. Once she got the puck into the goal, Ted watched as she whooped loudly, giggling fiercely.

“Good! That’s great! All right, go again! Come on. Give me more, sweetie.”

Suddenly, he heard another little voice echo in the rink. “Connie, when’s your first game?”

“The Friday after Labor Day, Sadie. But come on, get your skates on! I wanna see how you move on the ice.”

Ted turned his gaze over to the bench where Connie Moreau stood with a little girl about his daughter’s age, assisting the child in tying her ice skates.

“That’s Sadie Moreau,” explained Lucy. “Everyone in school says her sister’s famous.”

“They’re not wrong about that,” Ted said as he watched Connie lead her little sister onto the ice to warm her up for practice.

When Ted watched the practice occur fifteen minutes later, he felt his pride swell up in him as Lucy held her own against everyone as the third-line defense; she wouldn’t get much playing time in, but when she did, she went hard and did her best to make it count. And he could pick out more potentials, like Moreau’s younger sister and Germaine’s younger brother; he caught sight of the couple in the stands, sitting there together, cheering on their brother and sister, but even Ted could see the distance that had come between them . . . if only he could get them to come together and realize that regardless of whether or not they were dating, they needed to be on the same page and play on the same team. When those two sat there cheering on their siblings, he saw Moreau and Germaine were harmonious, like a symphony that flowed together so well. It was just sad that they were going through growing pains in their relationship right now and that, under different circumstances, they wouldn’t have this much distance between them. He knew better than anyone that in relationships, it took two; it took compromise. He had to figure out how to fix that, too . . .

Watching his daughter move was like watching a mini version of him play in the Hawks, except his daughter was no Hawk; she was a Duck. And Ted was proud to call his daughter a Duck. Even though it was her first time playing on a hockey team, she wasn’t scared at all – she was playing with confidence. He honestly forgot how enjoyable hockey could be and how fun it was when you weren’t under constant pressure from the school board, alumni, and the booster club for your team to perform up to a certain standard. Watching his daughter smile and have fun with her new little friends, he saw how she flew across the ice on that sled and how much she loved to play. He recalled how she begged him over the summer to sign her up for ice hockey; she wanted to do everything just like him. Now, she was doing it. And she loved it. His smile stretched wider across his face as he watched her scrimmage with the team, how she and the other defenseman worked to clear the puck away, and how she communicated with everyone else to work with her.

He could see the makings of a captain in her. But his smile faded as he thought about how only if he could get Conway to see things the same way his daughter did. If he could turn Conway into more of a team player and remind him what it meant to lead by positive example, if he could get Conway to channel all that passion and anger into fuel and desire to want to do better for not only himself but the others as well . . .

But he wasn’t quite sure whether Conway was coachable. Because Conway wasn’t willing to listen, Ted was willing to bet that even if he changed his approach, Conway would still be unwilling to invite change.

But Ted also knew what Hans would probably say: that it wasn’t just Conway who needed to be willing to learn; Ted needed to be willing to learn from Conway, as well, that they both needed to be open-minded enough to try something different. That thought haunted Ted all night, even as he lay beside his wife. Bella fell asleep quickly while he tossed and turned, unable to get the look on Charlie’s face out of his mind when the boy yelled at him about not being a defenseman but a scorer.

Chapter Text

Chapter 10 – The Bears Go Duck Hunting

Practices leading up to the Bears game improved.

The other Ducks seemed to be responding to his speech about confidence. But the only two outliers were Charlie and Fulton. Ted saw how Fulton followed Charlie around like a lost puppy, unwilling to do his own thing or go along with the other Ducks. So, he and Conway were the ones still consistently late. Half the time, the practices turned into a full hour of just conditioning because Conway made it go longer than needed.

That was why, during their home game against the Blake Academy Bears on Friday night, Ted wondered whether he was making the right decision by selecting Charlie as the starter. But they needed to make a statement even though they weren’t at all where they needed to be as far as defense was concerned.

Ted first gathered them all onto the bench, reminding them to prioritize defense. Afterward, he had them all put their hands in, only to hear the beginnings of their chant, “Quack!” Quickly, he cut them off.

“Hey, hey, hey, hey, what the hell’s that? Knock it off,” he said sternly; he knew it was unfair, but the team name wasn’t the Ducks; it was the Warriors; they couldn’t have anything that branded them as “Mighty Ducks.” It was time for them to cut that cord.

Part of Ted felt guilty for taking away the one thing that tied them all together, though, especially when he noticed their faces dropping in despondency, and he made them yell, “Go team!” In fact, he felt his own heart sink, as well; he knew how much that quacking cheer meant to them. They only did the “Go, team!” cheer with minimal enthusiasm, though; he could see their hearts were just not in it at all, and even looking at them in the red and white Junior Varsity Warriors jerseys, he could see that that just was not them at all – they looked like they were being forced into Halloween costumes that didn’t fit them properly, because those jerseys weren’t them, much like how this school wasn’t them at all; they weren’t wealthy or privileged, they were the average person, most of them coming from homes where they relied on food stamps just to get by.

Still, as sympathetic as he felt toward the whole thing, Ted also acknowledged this was part of their contract – they were to play as Warriors, not Ducks. He hated it, but it had to be done. And part of growing up and becoming an adult was doing things you did not want to do sometimes. Like this.

He sent Averman, Fulton, and Conway out first for the starting lineup; with no defense players behind them, this would be their ultimate test: to see if they could defend their zone. He hoped they’d learn something here, at least.

Looking out into the stands, he saw his wife and daughter sitting there. He was grateful that Lucy didn’t have practice, that her first game was tomorrow afternoon, and that she could be here tonight to see what her daddy did for a living. Lucy beamed at him, waving, and Ted smiled warmly back at her and Bella before shifting his eyes back to the game, where Conway had already scored the Ducks’ first goal. The kid was so caught up celebrating that he wasn’t thinking about the other possibility; sure, Blake’s team wasn’t the most skilled and was notorious for being weaker, but they couldn’t take anything for granted.

“All right, knock off the celebration,” Ted barked at the kids. “Act like you’ve scored before, huh?” He called for a line change, sending Kenny, Russ, and Connie out there to see what they could do. Russ pulled an assist with Kenny, setting Kenny up by doing his famous “knucklepuck,” getting the Bears’ goalie in the helmet, knocking him out, and letting Kenny slip inside and score.

Ted barked for another line change; they were two and zero now, but that didn’t matter to him. They needed to keep their eyes on one number: zero. They needed to play as though they were in a shutout. Turning his gaze over to Julie, she looked bored out of her mind, kneeling there in front of the post. By the time the Bears adapted to them, she’d be so overwhelmed because she’d had nothing to do the entire time. How would she be able to make any saves if they didn’t let her do her job?

Ted shook his head; he didn’t care about goals. In fact, if they won this game, he wouldn’t be happy. Sure, they won, but did they learn anything? Did they do any real defensive work? These kids were utterly missing everything he’d been trying to teach them for the past two weeks of practice time. Glancing up in the stands, he caught his wife’s face; she watched him with a look of concern etched in her green eyes, even though she cheered every time the kids’ scored something. She knew he was frustrated. He vented his frustrations to her every night before they went to bed, particularly his frustrations toward Conway.

Above all, he hated knowing he brought his stress from work home; even his conversations with Bella were short and tense, and at eight months pregnant, that wasn’t fair to her at all. He promised himself that that night, they would have a family night with Lucy; he would order Bella pizza that was half anchovy-pineapple-black olives (she got the weirdest cravings during pregnancy; when she’d been pregnant with Lucy, she’d craved deep-fried pickles dipped in Nutella, disgusting) and another half with sausage for him and Lucy, and they’d watch their favorite movie they loved to watch as a family, Rodney Dangerfield’s Back to School. He owed it to her after stressing her out with his crap; she didn’t deserve to have to listen to his stress all the time. She busted her ass in the ER at eight months pregnant – what she deserved was for him to come home and volunteer to rub her feet and start her a hot bath, not sit there at the kitchen table and complain.

At least she saw first-hand why he came home from work so short-tempered these days, and she seemed to understand.

This continued for both periods, with the Ducks racking up their offense; Conway got the hat trick, giving them a nine-to-nothing lead over the Bears.

But the third period was when things started coming undone. Suddenly, the Bears somehow began adapting to what they were doing. And it went just as Ted thought it would. After the Bears scored against the Cat, he called for another line change.

“All right,” Ted said, “change it up. Mendoza, Robertson.”

The line changed. But their defense wasn’t getting better, even with Mendoza and Robertson out there. After Roberton and Mendoza failed to protect the zone, Ted called for yet another line change.

“Moreau, Conway, change it,” he ordered, still hoping they could keep these Bears from scoring again. These weren’t the same Bears from last year. They’d gotten better.

That line change proved to be even less successful than last time. Even after Julie blocked off several shots, nobody was doing their part to clear the puck away. Ted kept yelling for them to clear the net, to get the puck away and out of their zone, but when he watched the puck sail in, he knew they were in deep crap now. He then barked at Germaine and Fulton to go, but even that didn’t do much. At one point, he had Robertson and Conway out there, and Conway was back-checking as Ted yelled for him to make the Bear make the first move, only for the Bear to trip Conway on his way to the net, scoring, making it nine to seven.

Ted bowed his head down in anger, more pissed off than ever before. He was seeing red now, and not just because the Warriors’ jerseys were flaming red. He watched Conway angrily break his stick against the Warriors’ goalpost. Ted shook his head; this would be acceptable behavior from a toddler, not a teenager, and he felt a swell of embarrassment rush through him. While he understood why Conway was so mad because the penalty was uncalled, that didn’t excuse his childish antics as he was forced into the penalty box for lousy sportsmanship; the whole time, Conway kept screaming at the refs to do their job, to make the call for the clear intention to trip him, but the refs did nothing. And Ted wouldn’t lie; he was mad, too, about that poor call from the refs. Looking up in the stands at his wife and daughter, he saw Bella look angry, too, partially at Conway and also at the ref’s poor call.

At the last minute, Ted called for a goalie change. Gaffney was getting tired. He was so desperate that he was sending Goldberg out there. He knew it was a long shot. But he hoped that maybe a goalie change could help . . . maybe . . .

But it didn’t. The game ended in a tie at nine to nine. And they went into overtime, where nobody scored at all. Nobody scored in the shootout, either.

He could see the embarrassed looks on each of the kids’ faces as they went to the locker room, upset that the game had ended in a tie. When he entered the locker room, he overheard an argument between Russ, Conway, and Fulton and walked in to find Russ and Fulton in a shoving match. Ted slammed the door open, silencing them all instantly.

“How long does it take to score a goal?” he demanded from all of them, clutching the puck from the game in his hand. He threw it right at the bulletin board in the locker room, sending it crashing to the floor. “Less than a second! That means no lead is safe if you can’t play defense! Now, get this straight! I don’t give a damn how many goals you score. I want one number on your mind: zero, as in shutout! You got that?”

He was met with their petrified stares, and he could imagine this was similar to how it had been when they’d lost to Iceland for the first time in the Junior Goodwill Games. But he wasn’t about to go around calling them names like “pathetic,” “stupid,” “hopeless,” or “losers” because that wouldn’t get them anywhere, putting them down and making them feel even more inferior than they already did. His gaze landed on Conway as he asked his final question, but Conway wouldn’t even look at him; he kept staring at the floor with red-rimmed blue eyes, his face hot red and covered in beads of sweat, lips pressed in a line so thin, they seemed to disappear into his face; Conway looked about as angry as he felt, albeit for a different reason.

Inhaling deeply, Ted continued. “Practice. Tomorrow morning. Five a.m. Got to get up early if you want to hunt goose eggs.”

He left the locker room silently so he could head outside to meet his wife and daughter, who were waiting for him. He heard Dean Buckley approach him as he listened to the Varsity team warm up.

“Ted. Ted,” Buckley said, walking to keep up with his pace. “I know you’re as disappointed in that tie as we are.” He felt Buckley pat him on the shoulder in sympathy, but Ted shook his head.

“Actually, I’d have preferred a loss,” Ted said.

“You’re kidding, right, Coach?”

“Well, you learn a hell of a lot more from losing than winning,” Ted answered, which was true – the losses he faced in the North Stars were his most challenging, but they made him step his game up and want to do better than his best for the next game. And unlike past coaches at Eden Hall, Ted cared about whether or not these kids learned anything.

Dean Buckley looked at him with desperation in his face, blue eyes widening. “We don’t have time for learning. They need to win! They could lose their scholarships!”

At this, Ted was exasperated. So, those alumni only gave the Ducks those scholarships to win at hockey, not play hockey? The picture became clearer to him: the alumni, led by Tom Riley, thought the Ducks to be one big joke; they loved that this was happening. They wanted to prove these kids didn’t belong in a school like Eden Hall, so they gifted them athletic scholarships for what? To be one big circus act for the student body to stop and look at? To make them look like a bunch of uneducated, stupid losers who would never make it?

He felt a harsh hurricane of disgust wipe away his anger, along with a fierce sensation of sympathy and compassion that these kids were being set up to fail. Looking at Buckley, he knew the dean thought it to be unfair; however, the guy was also willing to bend over backward to the alumni and kiss their asses, making it harder for Ted to have any sympathy for his former biology teacher.

“You’re kidding . . . right, Dean?” Ted asked before walking away, shaking his head. The moment he stepped out of the arena, he was greeted by Bella and Lucy.

“Are you okay?” Bella asked gently.

Ted shook his head. “Buckley just told me they’ll lose their scholarships if they don’t win,” he said disgustedly. “Tom Riley hasn’t changed a bit!”

Bella looked about as angry as he felt. “But that’s not fair!”

“I know it’s not,” Ted said, shaking his head as he rubbed her pregnant stomach. “Apparently, I’m the only one who gives a crap if they learn anything.”

“Oh, honey.”

“Come on, Belles, let’s get home. I’ll order in tonight,” he said gently, but as he said this, he caught a glimpse of Tom Riley stepping out for a smoke break, and he felt his anger flare all over again. He also saw Tom’s smirk, and Lucy must’ve seen it, too, because she angrily rolled up to Tom Riley before Ted could catch up with her – she was super-fast despite being confined to a wheelchair and also super protective of her Daddy.

“What do you mean you’re gonna kick the Ducks out if they don’t win?” she demanded, and Ted could hear in her voice that she was near tears.

“Little girl, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Tom Riley scoffed, rolling his eyes.

“Yeah, you do! Don’t lie to me! That’s not fair! My daddy’s J.V. coach! You don’t get to take my daddy’s job away just because the Ducks aren’t winning!” Lucy screamed angrily, showing the hints of a six-year-old child; Ted was shocked. His little girl was usually so mature and so well-behaved. But he also knew she was his daughter. She didn’t care if she sounded like a brat when she saw injustice. She was going to stand up for what she believed in no matter what.  

“And I have a name! And it’s not ‘little girl!’” Lucy added angrily.

“Look, kid, nobody’s trying to take your daddy’s job away.”

“Liar!” Lucy cried indignantly, and she nearly started rolling over Tom Riley’s perfectly polished designer dress shoes. Luckily, Ted grabbed the handlebars on her wheelchair and tugged her back, pulling her into his arms and hugging him tightly as he stroked her hair gently.

“That’s enough, Lucy,” he whispered soothingly. “That’s enough.”

Lucy shook her head. “But it’s not right!” she gritted out.

“I know it’s not,” Ted said gently. “Just stop. Come on, let’s take a walk, baby.” He kept his arms wound around her and led her away from Tom Riley’s smirking face because, to be honest, he felt like wiping that smirk right off Tom’s face at that moment.

The hot water of the bath relaxed him only marginally.

After they put Lucy to bed, Ted and Bella climbed into the steaming hot bath in their master bathroom. Ted had made sure to put a variety of soothing lotions and oils into the water, perfuming it with lavender, rose, and peppermint as he leaned back, rubbing Bella’s pregnant belly and feeling his little boy kick against his hand.

“That little man is going to be trouble,” he said to his wife, kissing her shoulder. “Imagine what’ll happen if we put him in hockey. He’ll be a menace.”

“Mmmh, I guess so.” Bella leaned her head back on his chest, sighing. “Honey? Do you really think the board would try and revoke those kids’ scholarships?”

“They better not,” Ted whispered. “I’ll make sure they won’t. We’ll do better in the next one.”

“But what about that Conway boy?”

“What about him?”

“Do you think you’d ever be able to reach him?”

“Honestly, Belles? I think he’s too far for me to reach,” Ted admitted. “I mean, I’ve never met someone with so much anger in my entire life. He doesn’t even give me a chance to work with him. I critique him on one thing, and he explodes. And it’s not about winning for me, Belles. I thought that I could get those kids to learn something through all this. But it’s Conway. He’s the roadblock.”

“Or he could be the one to help you down the path you need.” Bella turned around to face him, her eyes serious. “Sweetheart, I know you care about whether or not those kids learn. And I know that boy hasn’t been easy for you to put up with. But there might be something else going on with him that you don’t know about.”

Ted scoffed. “He’s just pissed off that Bombay left me in charge. He’s gotta learn to get over himself.”

“Ted,” Bella said sternly, “have a little sympathy.”

“He acts like an insubordinate!”

“I understand that. But he probably thinks that it's never enough, no matter what he does. How long do you suppose he’s felt that way before Bombay came in and made him and the rest of District Five the Ducks? Hmm? I think part of him wants to please you, but he doesn’t know how to because he doesn’t know what you want from him.”

“All I want is for him to do his best. And I know that that game was not his best. He can do so much more if he just played better defense,” Ted admitted.

“So, you’ve got to show him how he can be better than his best. You’ve got to show him what it is you know he’s capable of and share that with him.”

“But I don’t know how! I’ve never met someone so stubborn before. He won’t even let me teach him. He’s worse than Bombay – he’s even more stubborn than Gordon had been.”

“If I can recall, you were the same way,” Bella reminded him.

Ted sputtered, “What? I was never an immature little –”

“Not the you from high school,” Bella protested. “I’m talking about you after the accident. You and I both cried for days after we learned Lucy wouldn’t walk. But you were worse than I was. I remember when you went out drinking after we got home from the hospital, do you?”

Ted shuddered; he remembered that night. It hadn’t been good. He’d been so angry, so depressed over the idea that his daughter would never walk, that as soon as he was released from the hospital, he went to a bar and drank; he drank so much he didn’t recall how many drinks he’d had. But he remembered the alcohol numbing everything and briefly making him forget about the problems he needed to come home to.

“I remember you screaming at me over it, telling me going out and getting drunk wouldn’t do anything to fix it.” Ted blushed deeply; Bella had a way of making him humble.

“You weren’t willing to accept that you needed to pick yourself back up and attack the problem like you would the puck when you played hockey,” Bella reminded him. “It took me and Jan talking sense into you and reminding you that real life is just like hockey. What happens when you don’t have any control? Do you run away? Or do you face it? Charlie needs to learn that, too, just like you did. But it’s going to take him time to get there.”

“How much time?”

“I really can’t say, honey, because I don’t know him. But you’ve got to find a way to connect with him and show him that you know what it’s like, that maybe you don’t get all of it, but you get some of it because I didn’t see an angry teenager throwing a fit when I watched him break his stick. I saw a scared, hurting child feeling the need to protect his friends and himself from getting hurt. Think about it.”

Ted tried. He really did. But he was still so mad at the prospect of those kids losing their scholarships that he couldn’t find it in him to have much empathy for Charlie Conway right now. He just sunk further into the bathtub, the hot water hitting his shoulders as he tried to think about what Bella was advising him to do.

Chapter Text

Chapter 11 – Words of Wisdom

If Ted had been hoping that the tie would light a fire under Conway and Fulton and make them realize what was on the line, he’d been wrong.

He showed up at the Eden Hall rink at five a.m. sharp and saw all the other Ducks there but no Conway or Fulton.

“Anyone know where Conway and Fulton are at?” he called to all the kids.

“We don’t know, Coach,” answered Germaine with a shrug.

Moreau and Gaffney were both still yawning heavily, rubbing their eyes.

Ted sighed. “I can’t waste practice time waiting for them. And you all know why you’re here and what we need to work on. We need our heads back on straight before we play Coon Rapids High School next Saturday because the dean talked to me after that tie last night. He said we need wins, or the board would seriously consider revoking your scholarships.”

That woke the kids up, especially Gaffney; she looked infuriated. “WHAT?” she screamed.

“NO!” thundered Mendoza.

“They can’t do that!” added Wu.

“Yeah! They can’t! I’ve been getting A’s or better so far in every class!” Averman defended.

“And I’m in AP bio, and Dean Buckley told me I’m being considered for the honor roll!” Julie protested.

“That’s why today, I’m going to push you all harder,” Ted said, cutting off their cries of indignation. “We’ve gotta give those board members a reason to keep you here. That means we’ve got to work twice as hard and prove to them that you all belong. I’m not gonna let them kick you kids out that easily.”

“Yes, Coach,” they all replied.

“All right, let’s warm up. Twenty laps, ten one way, then ten the other way. Let’s get to work!” He blew his whistle sharply, watching the kids scatter up and onto their feet. Halfway through laps, he saw neither Fulton nor Conway showing up, which meant he would make them stay even longer after practice on Monday afternoon because he did not want this negativity to bleed over onto the rest of the team. Conway might’ve been able to influence Fulton into following him, but Ted was pleased to know the rest of the Ducks were taking this practice seriously. He watched them after they stopped skating laps around the rink and then had them do more defense drills. But when seven o’clock came, just as he was having the kids do a scrimmage, Conway and Fulton arrived, not even dressed in their pads; they were still in pajamas.

“Look who decided to show up!” Ted barked, glowering at Conway and Fulton, somehow beginning to feel even more pissed off than he felt last night over the draw. He skated over to Conway and Fulton, who were about to get dressed in the locker room. “What time did I tell you to be here?” he demanded.

He didn’t receive an answer from either boy.

“Five a.m., not seven!” he snapped. “Don’t even bother getting changed; practice is almost over, anyway. After practice, step into my office. We need to talk.” He sharply turned back to the others, who were going hard and hauling ass. Goldberg was the standout – the heavy goalie pads might’ve hindered his massive size, but without them, he could move and knock some people around; it made Ted think that Goldberg would serve them much better as another defensive player. They needed more muscle, and Goldberg could bring forth just that.

Finally, at seven-thirty, he blew his whistle, cutting off practice. “All right; excellent job today! I think we’ve got our heads back on straight. I’ll see you all on Monday morning; we’ll only practice for an hour because you’ve got classes at nine a.m., so be here at six a.m. Sharp. And then, on Monday afternoon, you all better come ready to work. Are we clear?”

“Yes, Coach Orion!”

“All right, go hit the showers and enjoy the rest of your weekend.” He watched as they skated off to the locker room; Conway and Fulton remained on the bench where he told them to be. After changing his skates for his shoes, he gestured for the boys to follow him into his office.

Once in his office, he turned to face the boys, who stood there stony-faced, drawn and pale, and in a bad mood, but Ted couldn’t give a crap about their pissy attitudes, not when they had so much on the line.

“Look, you two, when I tell you to be here at five, you be here at five,” he said sternly. “The next time you are late, I will bench you both, and you won’t be playing in our game against the Cardinals because I need you two to take this seriously. I can think of a lot of other things I could be doing; I could be in bed at home asleep right now. Instead, I am here because we cannot have what happened last night happen again. If you are late for practice, if you do not do your part to play defense, that is not your best! You got that?”

He was met with no answer from either of them.

“Listen, I know you two can score. That’s not a problem. I don’t care about wins; even if we did win that game, I wouldn’t have been happy because I know that what you both displayed out there wasn’t defense,” he continued. “We need better than your best if we’re going to play a decent game next week.”

“I was trying to get us the win,” Conway finally gritted out.

“And none of that mattered,” Ted stressed. “That’s why I’m having you two here tomorrow morning, five a.m. And you better be on time. And if neither of you shows up, you’ll get a lot less playing time, and I will contact your parents and let them know of your disciplinary issues. Are we clear?”

He got no answer.

“Are we clear?”

“Yes, sir,” grumbled Conway.

“Sure,” Fulton replied.

“Then I will see the both of you here tomorrow – five a.m. And I mean it; I’m not playing around here. Get out.”

He watched as Conway and Fulton begrudgingly left, not even trying to disguise their resentment.

His daughter’s first hockey game against the Jets was just what he needed. After dealing with Conway and Fulton’s attitudes, he looked forward to relaxing and watching his kid play. He was forever grateful to Gordon for arguing that Lucy should be allowed to play hockey with the Ducks. All it took was some extra funding on Hans’s part to get Lucy the necessary equipment, like her sled and sticks.

He was pleased that she was on the first line as defense today instead of the third line, meaning those coaches realized she brought much value to the game. Watching her maneuver along the ice, her tiny body so agile, it was the cutest thing he’d ever seen. For so long, Ted fantasized about putting his children in ice hockey – when his daughter told him she wanted to play, he didn’t hesitate to sign her up; sure, they dealt with protests from the Ducks’ coaches, thinking there would be no way to accommodate her, but they fought it, and now, Lucy was on the team, one of the only two little girls among a bunch of boys, the other girl being Connie Moreau’s little sister, Sadie.

It was refreshing watching the little kids play. Seeing them playing and enjoying themselves reminded him of how simple things could be when you weren’t worrying constantly about a bunch of teenagers’ attitudes – he corrected himself, Conway’s attitude – because Conway was the force that was fracturing things, whether the boy realized that or not.

Lucy was a natural; even though she was the tiniest one, he knew she’d grow up even taller as she got older. She was like him in that regard. Everyone underestimated her because of her disability. Now, they saw how much value she brought to the team, and it wasn’t just because she was Ted Orion’s daughter.

Seeing Lucy do her part to play defense, he saw her encouraging her other teammates to do the same, getting them to communicate and focus on defense when it counted. She was a true team player, and he felt his pride soar; it was as though all the stress he’d gone through last night had been worth it.

He watched from where he stood off to the side with the other coaches. Next year, he’d be assistant coaching; for now, he was filling the role of “hockey mom” as Bella was stuck at work and wanted to ensure his little girl had a parent there supporting her.

“She’s got great potential,” said the newly-appointed mites coach, Quinn Tingman; his father, Jim, was currently the trainer for the Calgary Flames, and his own son, Daryl, was expected to play on the Ducks when he hit the age. “I never should’ve underestimated her, Orion.”

“Good, I’m glad you see it now,” Ted said.

“But even if she weren’t in the wheelchair, why wouldn’t you have tried to put her in something like dance classes or figure skating? Maybe buy her some Barbies and princess dresses?” Coach Tingman asked.

“I can’t, Tingman,” Ted said, shaking his head. “She loves hockey.” He grinned as he watched Lucy clear the puck out of the zone, moving quickly along the ice toward the Jets’ zone; they were leading the final period with two to one; they either needed one more goal, or they could tighten up on defense and prevent the Jets from scoring more. Ted hoped his daughter would influence her little friends to prioritize defense, especially as he watched little Seth Germaine (Guy Germaine’s little brother) score the next goal for the Ducks.

“Good job, Seth! Way to show them, son!” Coach Tingman yelled. “Nice shot!”

The game ended in the Ducks’ favor of three to one, which Coach Tingman seemed especially pleased about. After praising the kids, he cut them loose, and Ted grinned broadly at his little girl, leaning down to hug her tightly and kiss her.

“You did so good!” he said. “You were amazing out there, baby! I knew you could do it!”

“Thanks, Daddy!”

“Come on! Let’s get you showered; afterward, we’ll go and pay a visit to Santa Clause!”

Lucy beamed brightly as he helped her off her sled and into her wheelchair. Once they were in the locker room, Ted proceeded to help her shower away from all the other kids; afterward, he braided her hair again, put her bows in her hair, and got her dressed in her skirt and T-shirt before pushing her out to his Land Rover. He strapped her into the backseat and drove off to Hans’s, knowing Hans would have lunch ready for them.

Once they stopped in front of Hans’s, he got his daughter back into her wheelchair and proceeded to push her along, but he stopped short when he saw Conway sharpening skates in the window.

Watching the kid sharpen the skates, Ted saw another side to the boy; he looked a little bit at ease, but Ted could also see from the distance that the kid looked sad over something. Even from where he stood, Ted could see the boy’s eyes were bright with tears.

He recalled what Bella told him the other night: Charlie was hurting over something. But Ted couldn’t begin to guess what it was because Charlie wasn’t letting him help or teach him anything. If only Conway would just let his guard down and let Ted show him that all he was doing was trying to help him . . .

It only softened him a little bit, however. As sympathetic as Ted felt for the kid, Conway’s attitude was simply unacceptable. His lateness today proved that the kid had a massive chip on his shoulder and that whatever upset him so much, he was not at all willing to share.

Ted continued to watch until Conway finally stopped sharpening the blade on the skate; he watched as Conway left the shop, wiping his eyes, not at all noticing that Ted was standing there watching him, just like how he never knew that Ted had been there at the Peewees championship in winter of ’92 watching him score that winning goal in overtime.

Once assured that Conway was a good distance away, Ted pushed Lucy along until they were inside the skate shop. As soon as Lucy saw Hans, she rolled right up to him.

“Hi, Santa Clause,” she said, hugging him around the middle. Since she was three, Lucy dubbed Hans “Santa Clause” because he looked the way she imagined Santa to look – big-bellied, jolly, gray-haired, sparkly eyes. It helped that Hans delivered Christmas presents to the Orion household every year.

Hans chuckled, pecking Lucy on the top of the head. “Hi, Lucy. Hi Ted. Are you two hungry?”

“Starved,” Ted said as he and Lucy followed Hans to the living room, where a plate of sandwiches awaited them, along with a juice box for Lucy and a bottle of water for Ted.

“Did you listen to the game last night?” Ted asked Hans as he ate his roast beef sandwich.

“Four p.m. sharp,” Hans said. “I’m sorry it was a tie. That must’ve been hard.”

“If only I can get Conway to take it seriously,” Ted said. “Dean Buckley told me that if those kids don’t start winning, the board will throw them all out.”

“It’s not about winning, Ted; you’re teaching them something valuable. That’s what they’ll remember long after they graduate.”

“But I still don’t get it; Conway’s the problem. I need to get him to stop fighting me at every turn. Today, he showed up two hours late; he shows up late to every practice. I can’t even get him to back-check. I don’t know what else I’m supposed to do.”

“He’s hurting, Teddy,” Hans said gently. “It isn’t my place to say, but the boy never had a father before Bombay. So, when Gordon left, it was like his father left him.”

“And I sympathize with that,” Ted argued. “But what I can’t sympathize with is his childish attitude. Last night at the game, I saw the poor sportsmanship he displayed. I expect that kind of behavior from my six-year-old, and even she doesn’t do that! She never talks back to me and throws a fit like this kid does. Every time I try to talk to him, it’s a fight! I don’t know what to do!”

“He’s even more like you than you know,” Hans said gently. “If I recall correctly, you had his rebelliousness.”

“Yeah, when I was eleven.”

“And in high school, too. You’ve always concerned yourself with sticking up for your friends, even at the great expense of your own reputation. Charlie sees it as him standing up for those he cares about. Did you know his friend, the small one . . . Wu, has been getting his lunch stolen by the Varsity team every day since they arrived at the school?”

That Ted hadn’t been aware of. His kids were being bullied? To what extent? Sure, he was aware that the Varsity hockey team at Eden Hall was notorious for consisting of bullies, but he didn’t know the Ducks were getting picked on. “No, I didn’t,” he admitted sheepishly.

Hans nodded gently. “I think you should let them hear your story.” He gestured to Lucy, who flipped through hockey magazines as she ate her lunch. “Because if you are going to get those children to trust you . . .”

“They’re not little kids anymore,” Ted argued.

“But they are still children,” Hans argued. “If you’re going to earn their trust, you must let them see another side of you, let them see that you are more like them than they know. Because right now, they feel no one is on their side. And Charlie feels he’s on an island all on his own; I’ve been trying to reach him, but it’s like he keeps slipping away.”

“That’s how I feel.”

“Then show them what it means to play defense, Teddy. Show them who you are.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 12 – The Ducks Are Dead

Ted thought about Hans’s advice all week. Could he make himself vulnerable to those kids? He didn’t think he could.

He’d promised himself from the beginning that he would keep everything strictly professional, that he wouldn’t be anything more than a coach to those kids because he’d seen the consequences teachers faced when they tried to be a student’s friend. Mrs. Summers, one of the English teachers who’d been Ted’s guidance counselor in his senior year, had gotten fired a year ago because she’d hugged a male student, consoling him over the loss of his grandfather. If sweet, motherly Mrs. Summers, who’d been an Eden Hall staff member since Ted’s senior year, could get penalized for comforting a male student, who was to say Ted wouldn’t get in trouble for crossing professional lines?

The week leading up to the game against Coon Rapids High School, practices could’ve gone better, and that was putting it generously. In fact, their performance in practice was so poor that week that Ted scheduled an early Saturday morning practice with the team because they needed to get their heads back on their shoulders if they had any hope of defeating the Cardinals, who’d made it to the playoffs last season. And part of the reason why their practices had gone so poorly all week long had been because of Conway, who’d either skipped practice altogether or showed up tardy. Ted heard from the teaching faculty that Fulton and Conway were both cutting several classes. When he looked at their records, he saw several missing assignments for Algebra I, history, and biology. He even saw Conway had a “D” in gym class – how the hell did someone get a “D” in gym class when the only thing you needed to do was show up in sweatpants? It was ludicrous to him. Clearly, Conway was doing this as an act of defiance; that was the only reasonable logic Ted could devise.

He rose early that Saturday morning, even earlier than Bella. He went downstairs, opened Lucy’s bedroom door, kissed her on the forehead, and then wandered to the kitchen to make himself coffee. He poured his black coffee into a travel mug and drove to the Eden Hall ice rink, thinking over Hans and Bella’s advice about getting vulnerable with the kids.

On paper, it made sense. Conway didn’t trust him. He mistook Ted’s pushing him so hard as punishment or that Ted didn’t think he was good enough, which was far from the case. Ted had watched Charlie play since Peewees, going from the youngest and smallest rookie to a skilled, confident teenager; it was easy for Charlie to be confident when he thought they were doing well, but the minute it was time for him to go defense, all of a sudden, he crumbled under pressure, which showed Conway had a false sense of confidence covering up insecurities . . . insecurities that came from not having a father.

Ted hadn’t known about the kid being fatherless, much less that Gordon had been the only consistent father figure the boy had. Granted, Ted knew how Gordon felt about Charlie – he’d called Charlie the real Minnesota Miracle Man, the heart of the team, his son, his boy . . . Gordon said all those things with so much love in his voice that Ted knew it killed Bombay to pack his bags for California.

Still, as understanding as Ted was, he had minimal to no sympathy for whining and tantrums, especially from a fourteen-year-old who behaved like a spoiled baby, pouting because he didn’t have Bombay coaching him.

Parking in front of the ice rink, Ted sipped his coffee, savoring the bitter taste before leaving his car. But what concerned him when he got out was that he saw the Varsity team’s cars were parked in front of the rink; that was odd. Coach Wilson mentioned nothing about having his boys practice at the same time as J.V., primarily since Varsity had crushed the Blake Bears in their game from last Friday night.  

When he went to open the door, though, he saw it was already unlocked; no surprise there. He’d asked the janitors to open the doors early so that J.V. could get changed in the locker room. However, when he stepped inside, he heard the sounds of angry yelling. Conway’s voice stood out to him the most.

“GO CRY TO YOUR RICH PARENTS!”

“ALL RIGHT! FINE!” Banks’s voice shouted.

Ted’s blood ran cold as he quickly swapped his sneakers for his skates, and when he stepped out onto the ice, he saw J.V. and Varsity in a shoving match. Banks and Conway were fist-fighting; he wasn’t quite sure, but he thought he heard Banks saying, “You’re just pissed off because your precious coach bailed on you!”

“Shut up!”

“You don’t have a dad! Get over it!”

“Take that back!”

Gaffney and Holland were shoving each other, and Riley and Cole were ganging up on Wu, Averman, Germaine, and Moreau. Worry flooded him, along with anger. He’d told the kids to stay away from the Varsity, but it was clear none of them had listened. In fact, he felt especially pissed when he saw they were wearing their old uniforms, a clear symbolism of separating themselves from the title “Warrior,” determined to clutch onto the last thing that made them “Ducks.” Watching the kids fighting, he wasn’t thinking about who started it; all he cared about was keeping Varsity away from J.V. and getting his kids out of this pickle because the likelihood of someone getting hurt was high.

He blew his whistle shrilly and yelled, “FREEZE! HEY! HEY! BREAK IT UP!”

Suddenly, Varsity looked scared, like a deer in headlights. He didn’t think Rick Riley or Bradley Cole had ever seen him truly pissed off before; this was a first for them as he raced in to break up the brawl, getting in the middle of Riley and Fulton.

“Break it up now! Hey!” He turned to Riley and seized the stuck-up senior by the collar of his jersey, glowering at him in anger and disgust. “It’s a damn good thing I’m not your coach,” he growled at Riley, grabbing the boy under his chin and forcing Riley to look him in the eye, but Riley didn’t look scared; he looked smug, smirking and laughing as though this were all one colossal joke to him, and Ted’s disgust somehow translated to sickness; his stomach twisted with nausea as the black coffee he’d had that morning threatened to crawl up his throat.

“Now, get your team out of here!” he snarled at Riley, shoving the senior back harshly before addressing the rest of the Varsity team. “Varsity team, out! Let’s go! Outta here! Let’s go! You! Out!”

He heard one of the Varsity players mocking J.V., telling them that “this wasn’t over.” What wasn’t over? Watching the Varsity team leave, all of them except Banks looked smug, proud of themselves for what they’d done, but Ted continued glowering at them, hoping his eyes were so icy that they’d turn into shards and cut into every single one of those bullies; it would be fitting, seeing as the Varsity team thought it cool to pick on those they thought were weaker. He could see Rick Riley’s face, how Riley was laughing hysterically, how Cole looked especially proud of what they’d done. But when Ted turned to glance at his kids, he saw them all looking vexed and hurt over what had happened; he noticed the expressions on Connie, Charlie, Ken, and Fulton’s faces that said, “You’re supposed to be on our side.”

But he was on their side. If he weren’t, he would’ve let them keep fist-fighting with those goons, all of whom were much larger, even meaner than the Iceland team they faced two years ago in the Junior Goodwill Games; Varsity wouldn’t hesitate to crush them like bugs under their shoes, and Ted felt a swell of fatherly overprotectiveness wash over him as he looked at every single one of his team members, especially when he heard Riley mocking them, threatening that Varsity was going to destroy them, with the Varsity waving goodbye like a bunch of cowards. Even though he’d promised himself he wouldn’t get close to these kids, he couldn’t help it – they grew on you.

But that didn’t negate the fact that his kids ignored his orders when he told them to stay away from the Varsity team, not interact with them, or give them any satisfaction because he knew this would happen.

“Well, congratulations,” Ted said sarcastically. “You just forfeited whatever mental edge you might have had over the Varsity. Now they know that they own you.”

Looking at the kids’ faces, he knew they knew this. The only one who didn’t look the least bit ashamed was Conway, who stood there defiantly.

“This isn’t the Peewees. Your little Duck tricks are not gonna work at this level,” Ted continued, watching as Moreau, Gaffney, and Averman looked down in shame. But Conway continued to look straight ahead at him, glowering, blue eyes storming with an even deeper rage than Ted ever thought possible. “Now, for the last time. Stay away from the Varsity!” He made sure to look at Conway when he said this before adding, “And get those Ducks jerseys off now. Let’s go.” Seeing the kids’ hesitation, he said, “Now. Come on, let’s go. Take them off! The Ducks are dead.”

Conway and Fulton were the only ones who didn’t start to remove their Ducks jerseys. In fact, Conway crossed his arms over his chest defiantly, defensively, as though he were determined to protect the one last thing that made him a Duck, the one last thing that had become part of his identity for the past four years, the very thing that made him . . . him, the thing that Gordon had given to him, the same hill that he was willing to die upon because if he wasn’t a Duck and if he wasn’t the captain, then what was he? Just Charlie? Ted knew that this had to be hurting the kid, and Conway thought it to be unfair. Still, Ted had to get these kids to break away and start getting used to playing under a different name because, truthfully, even though their new uniforms bore the name “Warrior,” they were still a flock of ducks; they had to find a way to be both, somehow, and truthfully? Maybe Ted had to learn to find that balance, too, and he was willing to learn with them if they were willing to do the same with him.

“You got two choices, Conway,” Ted said, mimicking Conway, crossing his arms over his chest. “Take off the jersey right now, or you don’t play.”

Conway uncrossed his arms. “You’re breaking up the best thing any of us ever had,” he said hotly.

“Well, it’s time to grow up,” Ted said, mirroring him, which seemed to anger Conway even more.

Conway skated up to him, spitting out, “Grow up? Like you, huh? A washed-up pro who has to show off to a bunch of kids. Real grown up.”

The words “washed-up pro” hurt worse than anything; suddenly, Ted wasn’t in the rink anymore, but back in the car with his wife and daughter almost five and a half years ago, the impact of the other car slamming into his as an unimaginable pain he’d never felt before smacked into him. Hearing Conway call him a “washed-up pro” made him think of his playing career he gave up, all for his little girl – it was true that Ted could’ve chosen to return to the NHL, but he chose his family over hockey, even though he didn’t regret choosing his family, part of him would always miss playing pro. For Conway to rub that right in his face and sneer at him, it hurt worse than when he’d been in that car accident that ended his whole playing career. He felt like someone had punched him in the stomach; he remembered one time when he got into a fight with a Buffalo Sabres defenseman, Colin Cole, the impact of the man’s fists hitting him everywhere. Getting hit by Colin Cole’s fists hurt less than this, and he suddenly felt his nausea return, but he swallowed it back just as quickly.

“Okay, goodbye, Conway,” Ted said, suddenly unable to look at the boy’s face. “Anybody else?”

He watched as Fulton left next. Of course, Fulton and Conway were attached to the hip. Ted recalled a story Gordon had told him of what happened when Banks got brought into the flock: the entire team forfeited their match against the Flames, the only two who didn’t were Fulton and Conway because of how close they’d grown, and Ted could see how Conway influenced Fulton, how Fulton followed the Ducks captain around like a lost puppy, either scared to not follow the leader or so unswervingly loyal to his best friend. Now, Ted was seeing a mirror of that happening all over again, this time with Conway and Fulton leaving the flock while the rest of them stayed behind with him.

“All right,” Ted said. “Goodbye, Fulton.” Ted turned to the rest of the kids, saying, “No one’s forcing any of you to be here. It’s your lives. You decide what to make of them.” When he saw the kids were unwavering, he said, “All right. Twenty laps, then hit the showers.”

After the kids finished, he cut them loose. After twenty laps, he decided that practice was over because he needed to get inside his office to think straight. Now that Conway and Fulton were gone from the team, he needed to strategize a whole new game plan for the game later that night. But while the kids went off to hit the showers in the J.V. locker room, Ted needed to use the bathroom first; he headed to the men’s room, only to hear whispered threats and tearful whimpering from inside the bathroom.

“Just leave them alone. They haven’t done anything to you!” He recognized Banks’s voice. The fear in his tone was palpable.

“Nah, Banksy, it’s more the fact that they exist,” came Rick Riley’s sneer. “If you don’t wanna be a Warrior, then go crawling back to those little wussies and see what happens to you, you little punk! You know, I really should’ve taught you your lesson last night when you tried sneaking off like a little rat to pay that bill! ‘Cause you know what happens to rats? They live in sewers! And when you hang around trash like that long enough, you start to stink.”

“Besides,” came Cole’s voice, “nobody’s stopping you. If you wanna leave, leave. We don’t need you. We never did, you little wimp!”

There came the sound of someone’s fist connecting, a cry of pain, and a whispered demand, “Come on, drink it! Aren’t you thirsty?”

“No . . . No!”

“Come on, open your mouth and drink!”

“Fuck you!”

Another punch, and then, “Watch your fucking mouth. Maybe you should rinse it out!”

Ted shoved the door to the bathroom open, finding Banks pressed against the tile wall, white-faced and petrified with a black eye already forming, and Cole and Riley cornering him, their hands gripping his shoulders and keeping him caged there as he stood there shaking in terror. Riley was holding a spring water bottle and was forcing Banks to drink from it, but Ted suspected that that water was not fresh, based on the twisted look on Banks’s face, as though he were tasting something particularly nasty. Ted was willing to bet that water had come out of the toilet.

Ted stormed in and ripped Riley and Cole away, water spilling from the bottle, and Banks leaned over, coughing up water along with whatever little he had to eat the night before. “And just what the hell do you two think you’re doing? Huh?”

“Nothing, we’re just messing around,” Cole said.

Ted glowered at him. He’d been around long enough to know that this was just the sort of hazing the Varsity team liked to do to someone new.

He’d been on the receiving end of Dennis Cole’s hazing after being recruited during his freshman year. He remembered himself and Basil being forced into drinking from urine-filled water bottles by means to “initiate” them. He also recalled Tom Riley’s way of hazing new Varsity players: whoever pulled the most assists or scored more goals during the game, that person was rewarded with a beer that Tom snuck in (it was the early eighties; everyone drank underage at one time or another; it was something nobody thought of at the time), but the unfortunate ones who didn’t get any playing time or even worse, missed a wide-open shot on an empty net, was forced into swallowing a spoonful of a hot sauce made from ghost peppers. Neither Ted nor Basil spoke up about the bullying because they didn’t want to be rats, but seeing what Cole and Riley were doing to Banks filled Ted with pangs of regret, his stomach feeling sick.

“After what I saw out there earlier, you’re lying. Do I look stupid to you?” he gritted out.

“Yes,” said Cole, to which Ted got into his face, gripping his hands on the collar of the boy’s shirt.

“Then you’re sadly mistaken,” he whispered coldly. “I’ve been around a long time, Cole. I know your kind. And I know the sort of shit you think you can get away with! You might’ve been able to stay at this place because Daddy’s on the school board, but you are not gonna pick on anyone else ever again! Not on my watch! You two make me sick! Now, get the hell out of here! Both of you! Out!”

“Yeah, sure, whatever, Dad!” sneered Riley, and he spat right in Ted’s face on his way out, with Cole following closely behind.

Ted slowly wiped the spit off his face before turning to Banks, who’d sunk to the ground, shaking like a leaf. His face was wet with tears as his black eye swelled up slowly, going from a pale green to a shade of blue.

Ted walked over to Banks and held his hand out. “Are you all right?” he asked, concerned.

Banks shook his head, wiping his face.

“What were they threatening you over?”

“Last night, they took the J.V. team to the Minnesota Club for dinner,” Banks replied, sniffling. “They told Charlie and the others that it was a tradition: the seniors treat the freshmen to dinner. I believed them when they said it. But I found out last minute that it would be a dine-and-dash; I tried to warn them, but Rick grabbed my wrist and he . . . he threatened to kill me if I said anything to them. But I couldn’t just leave them there; I snuck off and paid half of it, but Rick found out, and now he’s gonna make my life hell on earth, and Charlie hates my guts, and I can’t do anything to fix this!”

Hearing this, Ted wasn’t surprised. He’d seen it happen before; the dine-and-dash thing occurred whenever scholarship kids were on the J.V. team. It had been done when he’d been at Eden Hall, except he considered himself lucky that he hadn’t been stuck alone with the bill because he made the Varsity team as a freshman.

Looking at Banks, Ted could see the palpable guilt on the kid’s face; the boy looked as though he were about to be sick, thinking about how his old team had to work all night long to pay off that bill at the Minnesota Club, a bill that Ted knew from experience did not come cheap. But the fact that he wasn’t surprised made him feel terrible, worse than he already felt; no wonder Conway had been so defensive and why J.V. kept responding to the Varsity. They were sick of being looked down upon and spat on for not coming from money, not wearing the right clothes, or not owning fancy equipment. It made him wonder what else Varsity had been doing to his kids. And it made him wonder if things would be different if he’d stood up to the Varsity team a lot more when he’d been Banks’s age – if he had, would this bullying still be going on today?

“I heard what you said to Conway,” Ted said, and he watched as Banks’s face reddened in shame. “That was out of line. You had no right to say that to him.”

“I know,” Banks sobbed, more tears rolling down his face. “I screwed everything up. He’s never gonna forgive me.”

“Hans told me about Varsity picking on your friends,” Ted said. “What else have they done? I know Wu has been getting his lunch stolen, but that’s about it.”

“During the Bears game, they . . . they threw J.V.’s clothes into the shower,” Banks said roughly. “I didn’t know anything until Monday when Julie told me about it in biology – she’s the only one not pissed at me for it. I gave her the idea to ice the Varsity jackets with liquid nitrogen while Varsity was practicing.”

Somehow, Ted hadn’t heard about that. But knowing what he knew now, there was no mystery why J.V. hadn’t stayed away from the Varsity – the Varsity had made them feel that they needed to protect themselves, thus the prank war.

He shook his head, sighing as he gave Banks a once-over; aside from the now-forming black eye, he noticed Banks’s right wrist looked a little swollen; no doubt, Riley knew Banks’s right wrist was his weakness since that was the wrist that got hurt in the Junior Goodwill Games; for Riley to grab Banks like that, he irritated an old injury. Ted could see where Rick’s handprint was; it left a colorful bruise around Banks’s skin, purpling with an outline of green and looking relatively fresh. Riley had to have grabbed Banks’s wrist in quite a grip to twist and bruise it the way he did.

“Have they been doing anything else to you?” he asked Banks.

Banks nodded, more tears rolling down his face. “I didn’t play at all in the Bears game. Not once. But Brown, Mullin, Kabine, Riley, Avery, and Cole scored a lot – Mullin and Cole got the hat trick, and Riley and Avery scored a lot when we were on the offense. But Mabina, Labine, Bard, Hart, Darrow and I . . . we weren’t so lucky. Riley and Cole gave all those who scored the most a beer. But those of us who didn’t . . .”  

“Let me guess,” Ted said gently. “Did they force-feed you boys ghost pepper sauce?”

Banks looked at him in surprise, more tears glassing in his eyes. “How’d you know?”

“Riley’s borrowing from his old man’s playbook,” Ted explained sympathetically. “Come on, then. Let’s get you to the nurse. We should get that wrist checked out.” He reached down and grabbed Banks’s left hand, pulling him to his feet.  

“No.” Banks gulped, shaking his head. “No one can know! They’ll kill me if I say anything!”

“And if you don’t get that wrist looked at, you could injure yourself permanently,” Ted said gently. “Now, come on. Let’s get out of here.”

Banks stared back at him, mouth gaped open. “Why are you being nice to me?”

“I’m doing my job,” Ted said firmly. “Besides, for you, I’m sympathetic. I know how it feels. It was the same way for me.”

“Really? You?”

“Yeah. Trust me. I’ve been there before. I’ve dealt with my share of bullies.”  

“I’ve been sick over it all morning. I tried to tell Charlie I didn’t know anything until it was too late. As far as he’s concerned, I’m a turncoat.” Ted watched as more tears flooded Banks’s eyes; he could see all over the boy’s face how deeply this hurt, knowing the kid’s best friend now resented him even more. Looking at Banks, Ted could see the similarities between him and Bombay, but he also saw a mirror of himself; it was odd, but Banks and Conway both reminded him so much of himself.

“I can’t make any decisions for you, Banks,” Ted said as they left the bathroom. “But I can see you’re different from the rest of them. Do you think anybody on the Varsity team feels bad for what they’ve done?”

“No, maybe Scooter, but definitely not Rick and Cole.”

“Well, then you need to decide what kind of person you wanna be. Because the only way you’ll set things right with your friends is if you take a step forward and assess what’s important to you: do you be what everyone expects you to be? Or do you be your own man?”

Banks nodded, swallowing. “I’m no Warrior. I’m a Duck.”

Ted nodded along gently. “Then I’ll see what I can do. But I know Wilson will put up a fight to keep you on his team.”

“I don’t care how long it takes to fight. I miss my friends.” More tears rolled down Banks’s face as they left the rink together, and Ted swore to himself that he’d find some way to fix this, as he was partially responsible for this mess and needed to clean it up. He knew he couldn’t repair the friendship between Banks and Conway, but he had to try to get Banks back on J.V.

Chapter Text

Chapter 13 – Breaking and Rebuilding

Without Conway there, the team seemed to fall apart at the seams.

After the Cardinals scored twice against the Cat in the first period, Ted decided to send Moreau and Germaine out there.

It proved to be the worst combination he’d ever put out there.

Within seconds of starting the second period, he watched as Guy got distracted with trying to protect Connie out there, forgetting that he needed to clear the puck out of the zone. Even though he scored with an assist from Averman, the Cardinals shot the puck right underneath Julie’s glove, giving the Cardinals a three-to-one lead over them, partially because Guy had been trying to protect Connie from getting ganged up on by the Cardinals’ defense.

Ted shook his head. “Mendoza, Robertson, change it up!” he barked, watching as Robertson and Mendoza hopped over the guardrail to replace Connie and Guy, who were in a heated argument.

“I did not need a hero out there! You should’ve been doing your job!” Connie snapped.

“And you weren’t watching yourself! You could’ve gotten hurt out there if I hadn’t done anything!”

“Then you could’ve let it happen, and we could’ve gotten a power play for that! God, Guy! I am no lady; I’m a Duck!” Connie spat out as she hopped over the wall to sit on the bench, looking infuriated that Guy had been so preoccupied with protecting her.

“That’s enough!” Ted snapped at the two of them. “Okay? Germaine, she has a point; you weren’t doing your job. You’ve got to let her learn how to handle herself out there and let her fight her own battles. But Moreau, Germaine was following his instincts and was worried about you; it’s okay to have people worry about you and want to protect you!”

“But I’m sick of being treated like the weaker sex!” Moreau said indignantly.

“Nobody here is doing that!” protested Guy, only for Connie to glower at him to get him to shut up.

“Connie, he’s right; nobody here thinks you’re weak,” Ted said firmly, returning to watch the game. Seeing that they were getting weaker with defense, he turned to Goldberg. “Goldberg, you’re our extra man for defense! Go!”

“Really? Me, coach?” Goldberg asked, looking out there in bewilderment, which was understandable: he hadn’t been utilized that way at all, and this would be his first time being in a game, not in the goalpost. But it had to happen. Ted was getting desperate. And they needed a shakeup if they had any hope.

“Yes, you. Now get out there right now.”

Goldberg nodded, hopping over the wall and getting out there; already, Goldberg’s presence boosted their defense. He was like a wrecking ball, knocking over several Cardinals and clearing the puck away; even though the J.V. Warriors weren’t scoring anything anymore, at least they were tightening up.

Turning to Connie and Guy, he said, “Look, I don’t know where things went wrong for the two of you. But you can’t let your bickering infect the attitudes of everyone else. Germaine, your problem is you’ve got to trust her – she does not need you; women do not need men; they can survive without us. If you let her do her job, and you let her learn, and you let her take it, she will be like Superwoman out there. But Moreau, Germaine also can’t help it; he protects you because he cares about what happens to you. It doesn’t mean you’re incompetent. It means he wants to ensure you'll be okay no matter what happens. It’s natural. It’s normal. You can’t take it personally. You understand what I’m saying?”

At least Connie and Guy had the decency to look ashamed of themselves. He watched Connie turn bright red, and Guy looked down at his feet. The two nodded sheepishly.

When the Cardinals scored again, making it four-to-one, Ted shook his head, barking for another line change, ordering Wu and Tyler to get out there.

He heard his little girl screaming from the stands, “COME ON, DEFENSE! WHAT ARE YOU ALL DOING? WE’RE MOVING LIKE MOLASSES OUT THERE, FOR CRYING OUT LOUD!”

Connie turned her gaze to the stands, where she noticed Lucy and Bella sitting. “Is she yours?”

Ted turned his gaze and locked eyes with Connie. “Yeah, that’s my daughter. Why do you ask?”

“She plays on the mites with my little sister and Guy’s little brother,” Connie answered. “I’ve seen her play. She’s really good.”

“Thanks,” Ted said, managing a smile even though they were losing badly. “And I’m glad your sister is on the team with her. She doesn’t have too many friends who are girls. All her little friends are boys.”

“Let me guess; she’s the type that doesn’t like playing with dolls?”

“I tried,” Ted answered. “But she likes hockey.”

Connie smiled at that. “And I respect that. And I saw you at the rink a couple of times because Guy and I go there for our siblings’ practices and games. I didn’t say anything then ‘cause it really isn’t my business, but . . .”

Hearing Connie say that brought some genuine warmth through him. He supposed he could invite Lucy to come if he had to schedule a practice for tomorrow with the team. He guessed Hans was right in that regard; if he was going to get these kids to trust him and his decisions, he needed to let them see another side of him. He supposed that maybe Lucy being there at the practices, offering her own critiques, could potentially help them in the long run; plus, it could help with making at least one of the practices fun.

Ted groaned as the buzzer went off, leaving the Cardinals in a four-to-nothing lead over them, and he heard his daughter yelling indignantly from the stands.

“OH, COME ON! UUUGH!”

Ted sighed, shaking his head and gesturing for the kids to go to the locker room before he began walking up toward the stands, gesturing for Lucy to come over.

“Daddy! This is, like, so embarrassing! It’s like they’re not even trying!” she said.

“They are trying, sweetie,” he argued back.

“Well, I know what the problem is! There’s not enough players out there; you’re not gonna get good defense if only four people are protecting the goalie! You need at least one more!” Lucy pointed out.

“Okay, then, if you claim to know so much, why don’t you go in that locker room and give those kids some advice?” Ted proposed.

“Really?” Her face brightened up at his suggestion, and Ted looked to his wife for her approval.

“Go on then, honey,” Bella said.

“All right, come on, Coach,” Ted said, pushing his little girl along out of the stands and to the J.V. locker room, where the team sat on the benches, despondent. He could hear the conversation brewing in there.

“If only we had Charlie back!” complained Wu.

“Well, he and Fulton are not here, Ken! They left us! Which means we’ve gotta do what we can with what we’ve got,” argued Connie as Ted came into the locker room, with Lucy rolling in behind him.

“That’s right, Moreau,” he said. “Look, I know you guys are missing Conway and Fulton. But we don’t have them here right now. That means we’ve got to hold on the best we can without them. It sucks, but it’s the best we’ve got right now.”

“Besides,” Lucy piped up, “unless you tighten up on defense out there, you’ll go home losers. So, why don’t you guys stop trying to score and start clearing the net?”

The kids all looked abashed, several of them going bright red in the face. After all, it wasn’t every day that you heard a six-year-old critique you on your performance.

“And who are you to tell us that, little girl?” Averman asked.

“My daughter,” Ted answered, proudly patting Lucy on the shoulder; he watched as several of the kids looked at one another in surprise. “Can’t you see the family resemblance?”

“Well, then, why don’t you tell her to go home and play with her Barbies instead of coming in here telling us what to do?” asked Russ.

Lucy glowered at him. “I hate playing with dolls,” she grumbled, crossing her arms over her chest.

Ted chuckled. “You tell ‘em, honey.”

“Yeah, and I play defense,” Lucy argued. “Everyone has to. That’s the only way you’re gonna have any chance tonight. You might not score, but . . . but at least you’ll keep them from scoring. Yeah, a four-to-one loss isn’t good. But at least it’s not six-to-one or nine-to-one.”

The kids blushed even more profoundly and nodded, agreeing as Ted’s advice finally sunk in for them. Who knew it would take a six-year-old coming in to whip them into shape?

“So, Coach, what do you say we do?” Goldberg asked her.

“I’d send him out there with him,” Lucy pointed to Goldberg and Russ, who shared surprised glances.  

“We’ve got names, you know,” Goldberg told her.

“I know, Goldberg,” Lucy said. “But you’re gonna need an extra guy out there. And those two, they can’t play together if all they’re gonna do is fight like babies.” She pointed to Connie and Guy, who both blushed fervently.

“Getting lectured by a four-year-old; this is great!” grumbled Luis.

“I’m six, thank you very much!” Lucy sassed. “And I know a lot of stuff. So unless you all wanna be cooked up well-done, I think you should get out there and play defense, and if you see your chance, score a goal if you can.”

That seemed to shock the team into silence. Her words lit a fire underneath them, and they nodded. Finally, Luis said, “She’s a mini-you.”

“I’ve been told,” Ted chuckled. “So, team, what are you gonna do?”

“Tighten up and play defense,” answered Guy.

Ted nodded. “Good answer. Now let’s get back out there, haul ass, and see how we do in the final period.”

“COME ON! MOVE FASTER, GOLDBERG! QUIT MOVING LIKE MOLASSES AND MOVE YOUR BUTT!” Lucy yelled as she watched the J.V. team skate laps around the rink.

The game ended with a four-to-two loss; Lucy’s pep talk in the locker room had gotten the kids to think more like defense, and even though they lost, they were showing they now understood what Ted had been talking about. They didn’t have Conway and Fulton. But they were playing together better; even Connie and Guy managed to stop bickering long enough.

Ted decided to let Lucy in on their practice the following day. She didn’t complain at all; she was the ultimate morning person, especially when it came to hockey. She sat there on her sled, watching the J.V. team critically, pointing out their weaknesses: Goldberg was slow, and Luis still had issues with speed control. And she had no qualms about pointing that out to them and speaking her mind.

“I’m going as fast as I can,” Goldberg panted.

“No, you’re not! You’re barely even moving!” Lucy demonstrated by pushing herself along on her sled, her sticks guiding her around the ice; even she could move faster than Goldberg, and she was wheelchair-bound. “See? If I can move faster than you, that’s a real problem!”

That seemed to ignite a fire in Goldberg as he moved faster to try and keep up with Lucy, who skated almost as quickly as Luis. When she watched Luis slam into the boards, she yelled, “LEARN TO STOP, MENDOZA! WHAT’S GONNA HAPPEN WHEN YOU LEARN HOW TO DRIVE?”

Luis shook himself off and got back up; the next time he started up, he stopped just in time before he could ram into the boards.

“That’s better,” Lucy approved as Ted blew his whistle, cutting off their time for laps. “Okay, Daddy, let’s scrimmage! I wanna see them play.”

“You heard her, kids! Let’s scrimmage. Averman, Germaine, and Moreau against Tyler, Wu, and Robertson,” Ted ordered, blowing his whistle. “Cat, get in the net. Goldberg, you’re with Averman for defense. Mendoza, you’re Robertson’s extra man. Let’s get to work!”

The scrimmage went over well. Lucy’s presence seemed to boost the team’s morale overall, as everyone wanted to do their best given that a six-year-old was sitting there watching them, and not just any six-year-old, but their coach’s daughter, and nobody wanted to let her down. Ted found himself grateful for Hans’s advice because the older man had been right: by letting the kids meet his daughter, they got to see the very thing that drove him so hard every day and why quitting the North Stars had been well worth it. It made them want to work that much harder. And for some reason, Lucy being there seemed to make the practice more fun for them, especially when she jumped in, showing Connie some of the defensive maneuvers she learned from Daddy and teaching the girl how to protect herself better; she even got on Guy’s case about his overprotectiveness, saying that if he didn’t stop being so overprotective of Connie, she’d never learn anything, and even said she thought Connie could handle herself just fine without him, something that caused Germaine to go bright red in the face, because he knew Lucy was right: he needed to start trusting Moreau more.

After ordering the kids to hit the showers, he had Bella drop Lucy off at home, promising he’d return home after visiting Hans. Once all of the kids left the rink, he locked up and drove to Hans’s shop. He knew Hans had heard about their loss on the radio, but despite losing, something reignited in the kids, pushing them to want to do better than their best. He didn’t know if it was his daughter’s presence or what, but whatever it was that now drove them, they needed to keep the momentum going.

He pulled up in front of the skate shop before putting his car into park and exiting. He found the spare key buried under the doormat, knowing the shop was locked up because Hans closed the store on Sundays. He pulled the key out and unlocked the door, stepping inside.

“Hans!” he called. “Hans, I’ve got a lot to tell you, and –”

He stopped short, walking into the living room area of the shop. What he saw made him stop walking instantly. Hans lay in the recliner, mugs of tea still sitting there, ice cold, the radio still switched on, which was odd. Hans never left the radio turned on overnight, as he could not sleep with any noise playing on the radio.

“Hans? What are you doing?” he asked. When he received no answer, he walked a little nearer, this time noticing how pale Hans’s face looked as he turned the radio off. He dipped his finger into the mug filled with tea, noticing how icy it felt against his skin, and when his hand brushed Hans’s, the older man’s hand was like ice under his touch.

A chill passed over him as his whole body went numb. He was barely aware that he was crying until he felt the tears on his cheeks, and when he brought his hand to Hans’s neck, he didn’t feel a pulse.

“Oh, God!” Ted whispered. “No, no, no! Hans, Hans, wake up! HANS!” He grabbed hold of the older man’s shoulders, shaking him. “HANS! OH, GOD! OH, GOD!” His hand automatically went to the phone, and he punched in three numbers.

“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?”

“Um, operator, I’m at 3275 Glenwood in Minneapolis. It’s my friend, he’s not breathing, he won’t wake up . . .”

“Okay, stay on the line with me. Do you know how to administer CPR?”

“Yes!”

“Okay, then lay your friend down on the floor and begin compressions. Help is on the way.”

Ted set the phone aside, grabbed Hans, and laid him flat on the ground before opening Hans’s mouth. He then started chest compressions, pressing down before giving Hans mouth-to-mouth to try and resuscitate him.

“Come on, Hans!” he yelled. “Come on! Breathe, Goddammit! Come on!” He pressed down harder, trying to get Hans’s heart beating, but when he heard something snap, he gasped, realizing he’d potentially broken a rib. As he heard the sirens outside, he could hear his own breathing grow more hysterical, and he was suddenly taken back to being in the hospital after the accident, when he learned that there was a chance that Lucy would never be able to walk ever again. But like when he heard that news, he refused to accept the inevitability that he knew the paramedics would tell him once they got inside because there was no way that Hans could be dead.

He kept going on and on with CPR even as he heard the paramedics enter the shop. He heard one of them demand that he back away, but part of him couldn’t bring himself to let go of Hans and kept holding the older man’s hand despite their protests. He watched with a held breath as the medics tried reviving Hans, attaching the defibrillator to the man’s chest to jump-start his heart while another medic put an oxygen mask over the older man’s nose and mouth. Ted could only kneel there and watch as Hans’s lifeless body jumped a few times off the ground, but there was no hope of restarting his heart.

“We’ll contact the coroner to collect the body,” the female paramedic said gently. “Just stay here until they arrive. We’re sorry for your loss.”

Ted could only nod numbly. Even as the medics left, he knelt there looking at Hans’s lifeless face, imagining the time the older man had died and what possibly happened. He felt the guilt flood him that he hadn’t been there; maybe he could’ve helped, maybe there was something he could’ve done. But of course, he knew what the coroners would say: There was nothing he could’ve done, that it was Hans’s time to go, that it was out of his control, that they were sorry for his loss, words that wouldn’t make him feel any better, knowing the older man had died alone, and nobody got the chance to say any final goodbye to him as he took his last breath.

Numbly, he rose to his feet and wandered to the kitchen, but as he neared the sink, he felt something acrid crawl up his throat as his stomach began to roll, a cold sweat breaking out on the back of his neck as he leaned over the sink, vomiting. Wiping his mouth, he numbly looked out the kitchen window, seeing the sunlight shining through the window as the warm rays touched his face, but nothing could make him feel warm as he heard the coroners come through the shop's backdoor. He turned around to greet them numbly.

“We’ll take him back to the morgue. Does he have any family we should contact?”

“His brother’s out of the country. But I’ll call him,” Ted said.

“What about other family?”

“The kids I’m coaching . . . I’ll tell them tomorrow.” He knew his kids were going to take Hans’s death really hard; after all, he was the one who gave them all of their equipment before they became the District Five Mighty Ducks. It made him wonder who else he should call; even though Conway wasn’t on the team anymore, he needed to tell the kid’s mother, but that would have to wait until tomorrow because he didn’t know if he could bring himself to tell her today, not when she had enough on her plate with her son’s behavioral issues.

The coroner nodded. “I’m very sorry.”

Ted stood there, watching as the coroners draped the covering over Hans’s body and hauled him out onto a stretcher. The shop suddenly felt emptier than it had after he discovered Hans’s body, and as he walked out the door of the shop, he locked up and then went outside to sit in his car. It was in there that he allowed himself to break down and sob in hysterics, screaming until his throat grew raw as he felt his whole body tremble.

By the time he calmed himself enough to drive home, it was well past dinnertime. He felt particularly guilty that he hadn’t driven Lucy to her physical therapy session, as he was typically the one who took her to the hospital for every appointment. But he’d been so wracked with sobs that he wouldn’t have been able to drive at all without getting into an accident. If he did, his wife would kill him for sure for getting into another accident. He’d been lucky the first time that nothing serious had happened to him.

Looking at the clock in his car, he saw that it was nine o’clock at night, which meant dinner was cold, and Lucy was in bed, fast asleep. Numbly, he exited his car and wandered into his house, where Bella sat up on the sofa, waiting for him.

“Ted, what are you doing home so late? Lucy and I had to eat without you and –” When she caught sight of his reddened eyes, she asked, “What’s wrong?”

“Hans,” Ted choked out, more tears flooding his eyes.

“Oh, no,” Bella whispered, tears filling her own eyes as she took his hands into hers.

Ted nodded, unable to get any words out because when he opened his mouth, he started to weep again as Bella pulled him into her arms, holding him gently.

“Oh, baby, I’m so sorry,” Bella murmured as he buried his face into her hair, wailing loudly but trying to muffle his cries so as not to wake his daughter up. “What can I do?”

Ted pulled back, sniffling, saying, “We need to work on the funeral. Someone needs to tell Jan and those kids that . . . that Hans isn’t here.”

“Don’t worry, honey. I’ll help you take care of everything, okay?” Bella pressed her forehead against his. “It’s gonna be okay.”

Ted shook his head silently, suddenly so grateful for his wife’s presence. Staring into her eyes, he saw the strength radiating through them as she cupped his face into her hands, brushing his tears away with her fingers. Her gentle touches sent waves of warmth through him as he stood there, shuddering.

“I love you,” he choked out, leaning down and kissing her as though he’d never kissed her before.

Chapter Text

Chapter 14 – Loss and Mourning

The first place Ted went to Monday morning was Mickey’s Dining Car. He’d eaten there several times and knew Conway’s mother worked there as a waitress, and he also knew she was the woman Gordon had dated for a time when Conway was younger. He just hoped that she was scheduled for the day.

He counted the lucky stars that Casey had been there; she was working an all-day shift that would last until the late-night hours after dinner was over. He walked over to the counter and sat down.

Needing to tell Casey Conway would be one of the most difficult things he’d need to do. The only other people he’d told about Hans’s death were Jan, Bella, and Lucy, and seeing how Lucy took Hans dying, Ted couldn’t take the idea of needing to tell anyone else. But the kids deserved to know, and since Conway quit the team along with Fulton, he figured telling the kid’s mother would be the easiest way of letting the kid know that the Ducks’ old equipment supplier had passed away and that there was a possibility the shop would have to close because Jan couldn’t run the shop all on his own at his age, meaning Jan’s only source of income would be the local ice rink where the Ducks practiced.

As he sat at the counter, Casey glanced up, her expression changing from focused to something akin to sorrowful; it briefly made him wonder whether she already knew about Hans’s passing, but Ted had to remind himself that Casey couldn’t know because she wasn’t one of Hans’s next of kin.

“Hi, you’re Coach Orion, right?” she said. “Listen, I’m sorry about Charlie’s attitude lately. I’ve been trying so hard with him, but he’s been –”

“I’m not here about your son,” Ted cut her off. “Although his disciplinary issues have been a problem, I don’t blame you for his acting out. I just . . . I’m here to get some coffee before I head to Eden Hall. But I also stopped by because I felt someone should tell you.”

“Tell me what?” Casey asked.

“I stopped by Hans’s the other day after the kids’ practice,” Ted said hollowly, feeling an emptiness he hadn’t felt in a long time. “Hans . . . he passed away. He died in his sleep.”

“What?” Casey’s eyes filled suddenly, her hand flying over her mouth.

“I went to the hospital the other day to find out how. He had a heart attack,” Ted told her, feeling his eyes sting. “I’m gonna tell the kids at practice today. The funeral will probably be on Friday; Jan’s unable to get a flight back to America in time for the funeral, so . . . my wife and I are gonna handle the arrangements.”

“I’ll see if I can reach Charlie,” Casey whispered, tears rolling down her face.

“I’m not sure if you can. He hasn’t attended his classes and quit the team.”

“I know; he told me yesterday. I was looking for him all day on Saturday; I called Hans and asked him if he knew where my son was.” Casey closed her eyes, sniffling. “I told Charlie he needed to go to his classes today because I wasn’t about to watch him throw away his chance at a good education, not when Gordon worked so hard to get him this scholarship. But I don’t know if he’s gonna listen or not.”

“He’s stubborn,” agreed Ted sadly. “But you should call Gordon, too, and tell him about Hans. He needs to know.”

Casey nodded. “Of course.”

“Well, I better head to the school. I’ll let you know more about the funeral in a couple of days,” he said roughly as Casey poured him a to-go cup of coffee and rung it in at the cash register.

“Okay, I’ll talk to Charlie later.”

Ted was absolutely dreading needing to tell the kids about Hans. He’d thought about it all day, what he’d say, how he’d say it. But every time he either wrote it out or rehearsed it, nothing sounded right. He could hardly eat anything all day, his stomach cramping with pains that threatened to rip apart his insides, and there were several times throughout the day that he thought he’d cry, but he didn’t want to. He couldn’t. He needed to be strong for those kids when he told them the bad news.

He caught the end of the Varsity practice and stopped Banks before he could go to the locker room to shower. “Banks, a word, please?”

Banks nodded, following Ted to his office in silence. Once inside, Ted closed the door behind them.

“What do you need to see me for?” Banks asked.

“Well, I’ll be talking to Coach Wilson soon about getting you back on my team.” He gestured to Banks’s bruised wrist, which Banks had left unwrapped – he supposed Banks did that to try and show Rick Riley that he could take some roughing up, but Ted knew that Banks playing with his wrist unwrapped would lead to more painful consequences later.

“And what else?” Banks asked as Ted went for the first-aid kit in his office, grabbing an ace bandage and wrapping the kid’s wrist up to give it the extra support it would need to heal.

“First of all, keep that wrist wrapped and ice it,” Ted said sternly. “I don’t need you damaging it further, especially if I get you back on my team by the end of the week.”

“I will. But what was the thing you wanted to talk to me about?”

“The other day, I went to visit your friend, Hans,” Ted whispered, unable to hide the graveness in his tone as he finished taping the kid’s wrist.

“Is he okay?” Banks asked. “I haven’t been to see him in a while, and I’ve been meaning to. I’ve wanted to talk to him about . . .”

“When I went to see him, he wasn’t okay,” Ted said gently, cutting the kid off. “He . . . when I got there, I learned he passed away.”

“What?” Banks asked, his tone numb.

“He had a heart attack,” Ted explained. “I found him like that when I got there. I tried to revive him, I did what I could, but . . .”

“Do the others know yet?” Ted winced as Banks’s eyes filled with tears suddenly.

“I’m gonna tell them during practice. My wife and I are taking care of the funeral arrangements because Jan is stuck back home and can’t get back in time. The service will be on Friday if you want to go.”

Banks nodded. “You know I will.”

“I’m really sorry. I know what he meant to you and your friends.”

Tears rolled down the boy’s face. “Does Charlie know?”

Ted shook his head. “I don’t know if he will until he comes home. He and Fulton quit the team, Adam.”

“What? But . . . That’s crazy! He loves hockey! Why would he quit?”

“He quit after your little underground scrimmage on Saturday.” Ted closed his eyes. “I guess my pushing him to be his best only pushed him away. Did you see him in any of your classes today?”

“No, sir. He and Fulton were absent all day.”

Ted sighed, running his hand through his hair. “I really messed up now, haven’t I?”

“It’s not your fault. You were trying to make us better. You knew I was too good for J.V. You did what you thought was best,” Banks assured him earnestly.

“Well, he sure doesn’t see it that way,” Ted said, shaking his head. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I gotta go tell your friends about Hans. And you need to go and shower. Just make sure you wrap that wrist back up when you’re finished.”

“I will, Coach.”

Ted patted Banks gently on the shoulder, watching as the boy left to head off to the Varsity locker room. Meanwhile, he went into the J.V. locker room, seeing the girls absent as they changed into their pads and shorts. When he entered, he was surprised to see Fulton sitting there, his Ducks jersey folded up on the bench beside him.

“Fulton?” he asked.

“I wanna be back on the team, Coach,” Fulton said, handing the Ducks jersey over to him.

Ted nodded. “What made you change your mind?” He tucked the jersey gently underneath his arm; he’d add it to the pile later.

“My uncle and my grandmother. They told me they’d kill me if I wasted a perfectly good opportunity at a better education,” Fulton answered as Julie and Connie came back into the locker room.

Ted nodded again. “They sound like smart folks, then. Welcome back, son.” He held his hand out, and Fulton shook on it. “Your jersey is still here.”

“Thanks.” Fulton must’ve noticed the sad look in his eyes because he then said, “What’s wrong?”

“You better sit down for this one,” Ted said, his voice gentle as he looked around at every single one of the kids. Fulton nodded and resumed taking his seat between Guy and Goldberg. “I went down to the skate shop to visit Hans on Sunday. But when I got there, he was . . . he was gone.”

“Gone where?” Connie’s voice shook slightly as she tried to register what he was saying.

“He died in his sleep,” Ted whispered, his own eyes filling as he watched Guy, Goldberg, and Fulton start to cry. Connie was biting at her lower lip, trying to hold back her tears. Those of the kids who didn’t know Hans that well looked just as crestfallen, with Julie’s eyes already bright with tears.

“No,” choked out Luis, biting on his lower lip, but his eyes were bright red.

“Does Charlie know yet?” sobbed Connie, tears finally spilling over as Guy wrapped an arm around her. Ted watched as she leaned into Guy, who started stroking her hair gently; it amazed Ted how the announcement of Hans’s death suddenly made those two forget that there was so much tension between the two of them.

“He hasn’t been in school all day,” Fulton said, shaking his head. “I would know. I was with him.”

“I stopped by Mickey’s to tell his mother. She’ll let him know when she sees him,” Ted whispered, his voice breaking as he watched the kids cry even harder. “I told Banks already. He needed to know.”

The mention of Banks darkened everyone’s faces except for Gaffney. Her sapphire eyes became significantly softer and blurred with more tears, while everyone else looked hurt and betrayed, especially Fulton, Germaine, Moreau, and Russ.

“Why? He stabbed us in the back!” Russ yelled, tears rolling down his face.

“No, he didn’t!” Julie sobbed out, jumping from her seat as Russ got up. She shoved at his chest fiercely, glaring at Russ angrily. “He didn’t know about our clothes getting tossed in the showers until I said something to him in science class! He gave me the idea for the liquid nitrogen and suggested I apply full pressure to his stuff because he knew the Varsity team would kill him if we didn’t include him in the prank!”

“She’s right, Tyler,” Ted said. “After your little underground scrimmage against the Varsity, I found Riley and Cole harassing him in the boys’ room. He’s gonna be without his right wrist for at least a week. He told me he tried sneaking off to pay half that check for that dinner.”

“You mean, this whole time he –?” Fulton stammered.

“Yeah, he wasn’t aware of half of what they were doing to you guys. But he did try and do what he could to help you,” Ted said firmly. “That’s why I’m talking to Coach Wilson; I’m gonna bring Banks back in. He’d be better off with you guys. Because the Varsity team isn’t above hazing their own players.”

The kids all nodded in sad agreement.

“But what do you kids wanna do?” Ted asked. “Do you even want to practice today? I’d understand if you don’t.”

They all looked at one another in shock. Ted had never given them the option to opt out of practice before.

“I’m offering because I have to start the funeral arrangements. I still have to call Bombay and tell him about Hans,” Ted said weakly, tears rolling down his own face, mirroring the tears in his team’s eyes. “Whatever you kids want, I don’t care. We’ve got plenty of time all week to practice for Saturday’s game. And then we’ll have another chance on Sunday’s game against Minnetonka Prep.”

“You said defense never quits,” Russ said, shaking his head. “We’ve gotta practice so we can make this next game count.”

“Yeah. Hans wouldn’t want us to stop,” agreed Wu, wiping his eyes.

“Are you sure?” Ted couldn’t say he was surprised, though; these kids were some of the most resilient he’d ever met in his life.

“We are,” said Robertson.

“Yeah,” Connie agreed, nodding fiercely.

“All right, then we won’t have a hard practice. Twenty laps, then we’ll do a defense drill, and then we’ll scrimmage, all right?” Ted compromised.

“Yes, Coach,” the kids chorused.

Ted drove home after the practice finished, proud of how his kids did. Despite grieving Hans, none of them compromised their habits and actually stepped their game up. He was confident they’d do well in Saturday night’s game against the Panthers and even better against Minnetonka Prep’s Barbarians. Despite feeling proud of them, he dreaded calling Gordon to tell him about Hans’s passing. Gordon had known Hans even longer than he did, and Ted knew Gordon looked at Hans like a father.

After watching Lucy’s mite practice, he drove them home, where Bella was cooking dinner; from the smell of it, she was making her cornbread-chili casserole, Lucy’s favorite. After greeting his wife with a light kiss on the forehead, he picked up the phone and dialed Gordon’s number.

He listened as the phone rang on the other end until finally, his old friend picked up. The phone grew sweaty in his palm as he tightened his grip around it, trying to swallow the lump out of his throat.

“Hi, Ted, what’s up?”

“Gordon, you’ve gotta come home,” he whispered. “Hans . . . Hans passed away.”

“What?” He could hear the disbelief in Gordon’s voice. “How? When?”

“Saturday, I think, maybe early Sunday morning . . . I really don’t know,” Ted said, hearing his voice break with tears for what had to be the umpteenth time that day. “And there’s something else, Gordon. It’s Conway . . . I don’t know if you’ve been speaking with his mother lately, but he quit the team.”

Silence followed. The only thing he could hear on the other end was Gordon’s hitched breathing as he registered what Ted said about the boy Gordon loved and adored like a son. He could almost see Gordon’s face fall in disappointment, even though he was calling him halfway across the country.

“Are you kidding me?” Gordon’s voice deadpanned.

“No, I’m not. That’s why you have to come home as soon as you can. He needs you. The team needs you. Because every time I try reaching Conway, it’s like he just pulls further away. I don’t know what else I can do.”

“I’ll see what day I can be there; I’ll try and get back to Minnesota by Thursday, hopefully earlier,” Gordon promised tightly. “I’ve got a lot of paperwork they bombarded me with.”

The kids were in the middle of their practice on Thursday afternoon when Gordon arrived at the rink. Upon seeing their former coach, the kids screamed his name and raced over, tackling him in fierce hugs as they started crying. Ted watched with a lump in his throat as Gordon hugged each and every one of them, kissing Connie and Julie each on the forehead and ruffling Guy, Averman, and Wu’s hair. Seeing him with them, Gordon made it seem so effortless; Ted saw on each one of the kids’ faces that they loved him and missed him terribly. He saw how Fulton, Connie, and Averman seemed to squeeze onto Gordon even harder.

“We’re glad you came back,” Connie sniffled as Gordon brushed at some loose strands of her hair that had fallen from her braid.

Gordon nodded. “I’m glad I did, too.” He looked around at them all before saying, “Get back to practicing, guys.”

The kids all nodded, resuming practice. A half-hour later, Ted let them off the hook to shower so they could do their homework. Once all of the kids disappeared into the locker room, he greeted his old friend and roommate with a tight hug.

“It’s good to see you,” he mumbled, his voice muffled by Gordon’s shoulder.

“Good to see you, too, Ted. Though I wish it were under happier circumstances.”

Ted nodded in agreement, pulling away. “I’m gonna miss him.”

“Were you the one who found him?” Gordon’s eyes filled at the thought.

Ted nodded painfully. “Yeah.”

“Jesus.” Gordon ran his fingers through his hair. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s been rough,” Ted admitted. “We lost four-to-two to the Cardinals.”

“Yeah, and Hans told me you tied with the Bears.”

“When he quit, he called me a washed-up pro,” Ted whispered, referring to the exact person whom they knew Gordon was partially in town for.

Gordon visibly winced at that. “He had no right to say that to you.”

“But he’s right about one thing; if I wanted to, I could’ve returned to hockey.”

“Don’t second-guess your decision. You did the right thing, choosing Lucy over hockey, Ted. Charlie hasn’t got a clue how much you sacrificed.”

“And I don’t regret it,” said Ted emotionally. “But still . . .”

“You need him.”

“More than I ever realized.”

Gordon nodded sympathetically. “Don’t worry. I’ll talk to him, Ted. I’ll see if I can get him to apologize to you. If he does, would you take him back?”

“In a heartbeat,” Ted replied. “Because you were right about him; he is the heart of the team. They haven’t been the same without him. And we’re gonna need him when we face Minnetonka.”

“I’ll do what I can, Ted. I promise. But when’s the funeral?”

“Tomorrow morning. Jan is still not back yet; last I heard, he’s stuck at an airport in New York. He probably won’t be home until tomorrow night. He told me he’s thinking about getting on a Greyhound instead.”

Gordon nodded. “As long as he’s coming back home, that’s all that matters. Someone needs to take care of the skate shop and protect the District Five Ice Rink because that’s their investment. I’d hate to see the rink shut down. Otherwise, the District Five Ducks will be without a pond.”

“I don’t know if this will help or anything, but I’m planning on bringing Lucy to the rink Saturday morning for some Daddy-daughter time,” Ted whispered. “I need some time with her before our Panthers game.”

Gordon nodded. “Say no more, Ted.”

The week went by too slowly, and even though Ted had been the one to arrange the funeral, he couldn’t bring himself to go and stand with the Ducks; he hadn’t even attended the wake or the church service. Call him selfish, but he hated funerals. He’d watched both his father’s parents be buried. Funerals were just a way of giving someone false comfort because who knew if there actually was an afterlife where the dead rested in peace? It was an empty goodbye, something he’d never found comforting. Bella had gone in his place after dropping Lucy off at school. Lucy wanted to go, but Bella insisted she did not miss a day of school.

He knew the kids had all gone to the funeral, and Gordon had also gone. Before the funeral, Adam Banks had come by with his Ducks jersey, asking Ted to hold onto it for him. Ted added the jersey to the pile in his office before sitting there for a good hour, unable to bring himself to go to the church for the service. But he did come for the burial later that morning.

Ted hung back away from the flock, watching from an oak in the distance as Gordon placed the Ducks jersey with Hans’s name on it onto the casket, quietly telling the kids that every time they touched the ice, they remembered that Hans taught them to fly. But Ted watched as Conway stormed off in tears, weeping silently. Ted watched as neither Casey nor Gordon followed the boy, but he did; he kept a safe distance away as he saw Conway near a tombstone that read:

Robert Joseph Galloway

March 24^th, 1964 – June 9^th, 1992

Ted couldn’t quite discern the meaning behind the name on that tombstone but could soon hear Charlie sobbing out, “You son of a bitch! What did I do so wrong that made you leave? Huh? I wanna know, what did I do?”

Ted’s heart sank, realizing this grave belonged to the kid’s father, a father he never knew he had, who died before Conway could even find him. He desperately wanted to go over to the kid and say something comforting, but he didn’t know what to say. Besides, he was sure Conway didn’t want any pity or sympathy from him. He was also certain that Conway wouldn’t take it well: the guy he deemed the enemy for the past few weeks suddenly feeling bad for him. But watching the kid cry over the grave of the man who’d dumped him like a sack of trash, Ted saw a window into the kid’s life, one that made him realize Conway wasn’t just some spoiled baby upset about Bombay leaving the team in Ted’s hands. He remembered Banks yelling at the kid, telling him to “get over” not having a dad, but you didn’t just “get over” that. Ted felt a lump form in his throat as he watched the kid’s mother approach him, and he had to turn away as he heard Charlie asking her, “Why?” He didn’t think he’d be able to bear seeing the look on the boy’s face.

The following morning, Ted rose early with Lucy. Entering the cold of the ice rink, it felt nice to be in the peace of everything and skate around with his little girl, who giggled as he pushed her along in her wheelchair, spinning her around. As he did so, he overheard a whispered conversation; he didn’t need to look up into the stands to know who it was.

“That’s his daughter. She was injured in a car accident five years ago. He was driving, and they got sideswiped.”

“So, that’s why he gave up playing pros?”

“When the North Stars left Minnesota, he stayed. He didn’t want to disrupt her recovery. Her doctors and her friends were here.”

“We all just thought he was some washed-up bully who couldn’t hack it.”

“He can hack it, Charlie. He just simply made a choice. I don’t think he’s ever regretted it for a minute.”

Ted chuckled lightly as he got low onto the ice, pushing Lucy’s legs and moving her backward in the chair as she giggled.

“Faster, Daddy! Faster!”

“I can’t make you go faster. But you wanna hold my hand?”

“Yeah!” Lucy grabbed his hand as he skated along. She pushed her chair against the ice to keep up with him; he soon felt her hand slipping out of his as she giggled at him teasingly.

“What? I’m insulted! You don’t wanna hold Daddy’s hand anymore?” Ted teased.

“No!”

“Fine, be like that. I’ll let Mommy know you love her more than me.” But as he said that, Lucy soon nearly rolled over him with her wheelchair; luckily, years of playing defense taught him good reflexes because he dodged her attempt to knock him over and caught the handle on her wheelchair, spinning her around. They were so caught up in their own little world that neither noticed Gordon nor Conway leaving. However, Ted knew that Conway now knew the real him, and he hoped that that would be enough for Conway to want to come back now that the boy understood his reason for pushing the Ducks so hard; he demanded more out of them because he knew they could do it, just like how he knew Lucy could get through anything if she just put her mind to it. When they finally noticed they were alone, Lucy turned to him.

“Daddy?” she asked.

“Mmhm?” he hummed, pushing her along, circling her.

“Was that Charlie with Uncle Gordy?”

“Yeah. You know that, baby.”

“He didn’t know?”

“Nobody knew. At least until I introduced you to the Ducks. The Ducks were the first ones besides Uncle Gordy, Uncle Basil, Uncle Mikey, and the other North Stars to know.”

“Why?”

That was the question: Why? Because he didn’t like pity? Because he kept his personal life personal? Because he wanted to protect his family from the public scrutiny?

“Daddy, maybe I should’ve met him sooner,” Lucy said.

“Why do you say that?” he asked.

“Remember what Hans said? You’re a person, too. Act like it,” she said seriously, crossing her arms over her chest.

Ted smiled at her. “Yeah, you’re right about that. What do you say we get out of here and go to Mickey’s for some breakfast?”

“Can I get chocolate chip pancakes?” Lucy asked hopefully.

“You can get whatever pancakes you want. I’ll even let you get a milkshake with breakfast; just don’t tell Mommy.”

“Yay!”

Chapter Text

Chapter 15 – The Heart Returns

“Daddy? Do you think Conway’s gonna come back to the team?” Lucy asked him as they ate breakfast together at the table in Mickey’s Dining Car. She was making leeway on the giant pile of chocolate chip silver dollar pancakes, and Ted wasn’t about to tell his wife that he let her get a strawberry milkshake with breakfast; he’d told Casey Conway not to mention anything to Bella, and Casey smiled at him reassuringly, telling him she could keep a secret.

“I think so,” Ted said to his daughter gently as he polished off his egg-white-feta-vegetable omelet and hashbrowns. “You know Uncle Gordy, honey. I have a feeling he’ll be the one to bridge the gap.”

“I hope so. I don’t like seeing you come home from work upset all the time. But do you wanna know what I think?”

“What do you think?”

“I think he gave you a hard time because he was hurting, and he needs a hug.”

Ted felt his eyes sting upon hearing that. Sometimes, it took the perspective of a six-year-old child to realize the littlest things. But he supposed part of that was because she had the same heart Bella had – she was so compassionate for the littlest things and purely loving. Granted, Basil McRae might’ve thought she took after Ted – and in many ways, she did; she was hard and tough, could take a hit on the ice, didn’t take any nonsense from anyone, and hated playing with Barbies and dollhouses, but she was also very soft and full of love to give and full of empathy. And he knew she was right; seeing Conway at the funeral, watching him visit his dead biological father’s grave, Ted supposed that he’d been too harsh on the kid, that maybe he’d been unfair in thinking that Conway was acting out because he didn’t like that someone who wasn’t Bombay was coaching.

Sighing, he said, “Yeah, honey, I think you’re right about that. Since when did you get so smart?”

“I don’t know. I just am,” Lucy shrugged.

“You’re a good kid, you know that, right?”

“I know.”

“And when we play the Varsity next week, you’ll be my eyes out there, right?”

“Yes, Coach.”

“That’s my girl.” Ted winked at her, and they continued eating breakfast, even as Casey came over with two to-go boxes and a cup, no doubt containing what his wife requested he bring home: sweet potato fries topped with melted marshmallows, Nutella, and bacon bits, fried pickle chips, as well as a peanut butter milkshake – his wife would no doubt be dipping the fried pickles into the milkshake, disgusting, but understandable. Whenever she hit the eight-month mark, her cravings got weirder and weirder. He recalled when she’d been pregnant with Lucy, and she started craving chicken wings covered in peanut butter and grape jelly.

“Thanks, Casey,” he said, taking the to-go stuff from her.

“Let me guess? For your wife?” she asked him.

“How’d you know?” Ted asked her.

“I remember how it was being pregnant,” Casey said, smiling. “I ate pizza practically every day. Maybe that’s where my son gets his obsession from.”

Ted chuckled. “You’ve got that right.”

“Do you want to-go bags for anything?” She eyed the very full plate in front of Lucy, who’d managed to scarf down three pancakes and two pieces of bacon.

“No, we’re still eating here. But thanks.” He reached into his pocket for his wallet and pulled out a fifty-dollar bill. “Here, take the tip in advance.”

“Coach Orion –” Casey began protesting, her cheeks coloring significantly.

“Take it,” he insisted. “Trust me. I know how it is to go through a hard time with money. It doesn’t hurt to accept some help once in a while.”

Casey sighed, taking the dollar bill from him and tucking it into her apron. “Thank you.”

“Don’t worry about it. You just keep working hard here. Will you be at the game later?”

“No, I’m here until closing.”

“I was hoping you would come, especially if your son chooses to come back.”

“I think he will,” Casey assured him. “Gordon will talk some sense into him.”

“I think he already has,” Ted smiled, patting her hand gently.

When Ted drove Lucy home from the diner that morning, his thoughts were confirmed. He passed the basketball court near the local park, noticing all the Ducks playing schoolyard hockey with Gordon. Among the flock were Adam and Charlie. He noticed the broad smiles on the kids’ faces as they stuffed Gordon into the trashcan, and he saw Adam and Charlie tangled in a makeup hug.

He smiled. He didn’t just feel it. He knew it. Conway was back.

It was later that afternoon before they needed to leave for the game in Stillwater. Quite a few students were still milling around, either heading back to their dorms from the library or going to the dining hall for dinner. When he arrived at the bus stop, he saw his team waiting outside the bus. He checked off each player’s name, taking roll calls to make sure everyone was accounted for.

He just hoped that Gordon’s conversation with Conway that morning would help things sink in for Charlie.

“Wu,” he checked off. “Mendoza. Fulton.” But when he briefly glanced from his roster sheet, he saw a face he’d hoped to see. “Conway?”

Charlie stared at him silently for a moment, and Ted could see the regret in the kid’s face as he said, “I want to be on the team, Coach. I want to play two-way hockey.”

Ted studied him critically for a moment, feeling a smile making its way onto his face as he contemplated. The kid sounded sincere; he knew part of it was because Bombay had shown Charlie what an ass he was lately, but he hoped that it went beyond that and that the boy was actually willing to try things his way and learn.

“Can I come back?” Charlie asked.

“Take a seat,” Ted told him, smiling a little wider. “We’re running late. Let’s go! We’ve got a game to catch.” He listened as the driver revved up the bus engine, and Conway took his seat near Tyler while the other members of J.V. slapped him high-fives all around. Ted could hear Tyler teasing Conway with fake tears, but before the driver could pull away from the parking space, Dean Buckley arrived, wearing what Ted thought to be a look of concern on his face.

“I almost missed you.” Buckley turned to Ted, saying, “Coach, you mind if I have a word with your boys?”

“And girls,” added Gaffney, not allowing Buckley to forget that there were girls on the team, too.

“Yes, of course,” Buckley said, pointing out Julie, “and girls.”

“If you can make it quick, Dean, we’re running late as it is,” Ted said, not at all wanting to waste valuable time; they were predicted to hit heavy traffic on their way to Stillwater, which was heavier than usual for a Saturday, and he wanted to make sure the kids had ample time to get changed into their gear.

“I’m afraid this is important,” said Dean Buckley. “We have a board meeting scheduled for tomorrow, and . . . well, you are all on the agenda. We have to think long-term here. What’s in your best interest, hard as it is for me personally . . . because you kids have been a breath of fresh air around here, the board is going to approve the withdrawal of your scholarships.”

Ted closed his eyes. No, this couldn’t be happening, not when they had another away game tomorrow night, not when they were so close to facing the Varsity team next week, and they had a shot to prove themselves. He felt his irritation with Dean Buckley spike once again, this time feeling angrier than he did when Buckley told him that if the Ducks didn’t start winning some games, they’d lose their scholarships, which was ridiculous. Gaffney, Averman, and Wu were A students, Tyler had an aptitude for history, Conway, as far as he knew, had returned to attending his classes at the insistence of his mother this week, and Ted reviewed Conway’s marks as he secretly hoped for the boy to return – despite some incompletes, he was well within the C average needed to compete, even Fulton despite the kid needing some extra help here and there, but they were performing well academically. And because these kids were in jeopardy of losing their scholarships, Banks was, too, but if it came to that, Banks would be fine – he came from money; his parents could afford to send him to Eden Hall as long as they wanted, but he was part of the roster of kids originally selected for J.V., which meant Banks was getting screwed, too, even though the Varsity team was winning games and Banks had the top marks required. As far as Ted was concerned, the board had no good reason to kick them out. Hearing Buckley telling these kids he’d be dumping them, he felt sick to his stomach that these kids were being used, and so was he.

“Now, you’ll be welcome to stay through the end of the semester, but after that, it will be necessary for you to enjoy other educational opportunities,” Dean Buckley said grimly.

“Dean, I need a word with you,” Ted demanded, not even trying to disguise his anger at his former biology teacher being a lapdog for the alumni. Years ago, he’d always respected Dean Roger Buckley for being a fair teacher, for being one of the few teachers who noticed the bullying the upperclassmen were doing to the freshman; to see him kissing the asses of the alumni and the hockey booster club, Ted was positively pissed that the man he’d had so much respect for years ago was so weak and acting like a coward.

“I think I’ve said all I need to say,” Buckley countered.

“No,” Ted insisted. “Now!” He led the way off the bus angrily, gesturing for the dean to follow him. “So, that’s it?” he demanded. “You’re dumping ‘em, just like that?”

“Coach, I’m sorry,” his boss said, though he didn’t sound very sorry at all. “Your team isn’t performing, and I’ve been under enormous pressure.”

“From whom?” Ted snapped. “The alumni group? A bunch of aging pep clubbers?” He had a whole list of other things he could add to that, which included old, rich, white folks because it was true; there hadn’t been a single black, Hispanic, or Asian member of the alumni association in over twenty years, which perfectly represented what the board consisted of and displayed their narrow viewpoint toward not just people who looked different but were from a different financial class. Ted could feel his whole body grow hot with rage at the thought of his kids being discriminated against because they didn’t come from money.

This is bullshit, was all he could think.

“Ted,” Buckley said, “I’m trying to do you a favor. With those kids gone, you’ll get to pick your own team. Let’s face it, the Ducks are drowning.”

Ted knew every single one of those kids was on that bus watching him, wondering if he’d give up on them, too. But if there was one thing that Ted had promised himself from the start, it was that he’d never give up on those kids, even if they didn’t like playing under his leadership, and that he’d fight for them to stay at this school so that they could have a chance in life. He remembered being in their position: his dad coming home from work one day announcing he was laid off, his mom crying in bed for weeks because she needed to figure out where to go to work, Ted and his brother suddenly needing to find part-time jobs to help put food on the table, surviving off food stamps and canned food for a time, one time having someone come to shut off their electricity, even at one point being forced to stay in a motel room with all of them living in one room because they lost their house. He’d been lucky to attend Eden Hall on a full scholarship and to live in the dorms with Gordon. By the time his dad found a better-paying job to support the family, Ted had been well into his more senior years at Eden Hall. Still, he didn’t forget what it was like not having money and being looked down upon because you wore the same clothes repeatedly from places like Walmart and Kmart. He saw a mirror of his younger self whenever he looked at those kids.

Fueled by his compassion for the kids and utter disgust with Tom Riley, Ted ground out, “I got my team. Either they stay, or I go!”

Dean Buckley looked at him as though he thought this was a terrible idea but patted him on the shoulder, saying, “We’ll miss you, Ted,” before walking away. Ted could hear the kids grumbling under their breaths in contempt, shocked and angry that this was happening, that they were being given up on, and that they were essentially being told they didn’t matter.

Averman rambled off with, “We’re just pawns, puppets for the stage show, jesters to entertain the king, barnacles at the bottom of the . . .”

He was cut off by Tyler yelling, “SHUT UP!”

Goldberg cut in with, “Coach, is this legal? I mean, don’t we have contracts or something?”

“I don’t know what it is,” Ted growled out, even though he knew exactly what it was. “All I know is, we’re gonna fight it.” Turning to the kids, he said, “But we still have a game to play. So, when you do play tonight, make it count, and give them one good reason why you should stay. Because after that board meeting tomorrow, we play against Minnetonka, which means you’ve got to get out there and do it again. And then we’ll see who’s laughing when we play in the J.V.-Varsity showdown next Friday.”

The kids nodded in fierce agreement.

“We’re up for it, Coach,” said Moreau.

“Good,” Ted said fiercely. “Now, come on! Let’s get moving before we’re late.”

“Conway’s on the breakaway! He passes it to Moreau. Moreau shoots; SHE SCORES! And there’s the buzzer! The Eden Hall Warriors take home the victory of two-to-one!”

“THAT’S IT! THAT’S HOW YOU DO IT! WAY TO SHOW ‘EM!” Ted roared proudly as the kids celebrated their much-deserved win. He felt a smile split onto his face as he watched his team shake hands with the Panthers before they jovially went off to the locker room to continue their celebration. But before he could enter the locker room, he was stopped by Conway, who stood before him sheepishly, still basked in sweat after wrapping up the third period.

“Conway,” he said. Charlie opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, but no words came out as he stood there, looking down at his skates.

“I’ve only got one question,” Ted told him. “Why’d you come back?”

Charlie seemed to be fighting an internal battle with himself. Ted knew the kid had witnessed him with Lucy earlier; that the boy now knew he’d been wrong, but it had been because Gordon showed him how wrong he was, and now that he stood here before his J.V. coach, the kid looked downright embarrassed that he’d ever disrespected or thought Ted to be a washed-up pro who couldn’t hack it, even though Ted could admit that Charlie was slightly correct – if he chose to, he could return to playing pro; he was only thirty-one going on thirty-two; if he wanted to join a team like Toronto’s Maple Leafs, he could, but that would mean needing to sacrifice his family, something that meant more to him than winning a Stanley Cup.

Finally, Charlie blurted out, “You know why.”

“Bombay,” answered Ted.

Charlie nodded, his cheeks flushing with color. “He told me you saved his life that one time,” he said lowly.

Ted nodded, knowing what the boy was referring to. “I did. Had I not gotten to his house in time that night, he would’ve died.”

“Thank you.”

Ted had not expected to hear that from Conway – no, Charlie. He could only breathe out, “You’re welcome,” in response, and more silence followed between them.

“Look, son, let’s say we win this fight. You know things can’t return to how they were,” Ted said gently.

“I know. I wouldn’t expect it to,” Charlie said. “But what if we can’t convince them? What if . . .?”

“I’m getting Gordon involved,” Ted cut in. “I’ve been keeping an eye on your grades. You kids are all in the average needed to play hockey. They have no reason to strip your scholarships because they have no cause. They just want to make an example out of you because they think none of you are good enough . . . well, except maybe Banks, but that doesn’t negate that he’ll lose his scholarship, too. I say over my dead body, you kids aren’t good enough; they’re being ridiculous. They can't kick you kids out if they can keep Bradley Cole here at nineteen-and-a-half and have him stay on the Varsity team learning absolutely nothing. Trust me.”

“So, they awarded us those scholarships because we’re a joke to them?” Ted could see the hurt flashing in the kid’s eyes, and he winced at that.

“I’m not surprised,” Ted said bluntly. “I know their kind. But we’re not gonna let them stop us. Because you kids earned those scholarships, you worked your tails off for them, and I’m not gonna stand back and let you all return to public school and not have a shot at a good education. Trust me. Gordon’s gonna find a way to convince them, and he’ll give them an offer they can’t refuse.”

Charlie nodded, biting at his lower lip. “Um, I think the Ducks and I . . . we’d want to dedicate the J.V.-Varsity match to Hans if that’s okay with you.”

Ted nodded in return. “Yeah, it is.”

Charlie managed a weak smile in his direction, but as weak as it was, it was genuine, and Ted could see that slight spark come to the boy’s eyes, even though it was dim. Still, underneath that spark, Ted could still see the hints of self-loathing and anger that the kid had been carrying around for weeks. He knew, at some point, he’d have to talk to Conway about his self-destructive behavior, but it couldn’t be right now, not when they had to head back to the school and prepare for the fight of their lives because, truth be told, everything was on the line now, and Ted wasn’t sure the win against Stillwater would be enough to convince Tom Riley and his staff of over-privileged, old pep-clubbers whose brains were stuck in 1965. Still, he had to try, do anything to make sure that these kids didn’t get thrown out like trash.

“I’m also moving Banks back to J.V.,” Ted said.

Charlie glanced at him, confused. “Why?”

“I heard what you two said to each other.” He watched as Charlie’s face dropped; he looked rightfully ashamed for what he’d said to Adam. “He feels terrible about that fight.”

“I know. He already apologized earlier.”

“I also found out the Varsity team hasn’t stopped their tradition of hazing their newer players,” Ted explained, and he watched as the confusion returned to Charlie’s face. “He’d be safer with you guys. And if I can be honest? He misses you.”

“So do we.”

He watched Conway remove one of his gloves, noticing bruised skin on the kid’s knuckles. But before he could address anything, Charlie was already going into the locker room to shower and change into regular clothes. Still, Ted winced, just thinking about the bruising on Charlie’s right hand. It made him wonder what the kid had been doing to himself for weeks, how long it had been happening, when it started, and whether he’d need to stage some intervention for the kid because whatever it was happening, the kid needed help.

Lucy was right.

Conway was hurting. All he needed was for someone to show that they cared.

Before the kids could start showering, though, he wandered in, disrupting their celebration at the win.

“All right, settle down!” he called, leaning his knee against the bench and smiling at them all. “Good work out there. Really. You all did amazing out there; words can’t express how proud I am of you all. If you keep it up like that, the board will have no reason to get rid of you. I don’t know what will change their mind if this doesn’t. But even if we do win our case tomorrow morning, don’t think you still don’t have to work hard, because you do, because Minnetonka Prep’s team is no joke; they were one of the teams in the running for the state championship last season; that means they’ll be bringing all the stops tomorrow night. And Conway?”

All eyes turned to Charlie, who stared back at him with a slight smile.

“Great work out there.”

The kids all cheered loudly. Connie and Julie kissed Charlie on the cheek while Russ, Mendoza, and Germaine rubbed his hair and patted his shoulders. Now that the heart had returned, it was like the team was again glued together.

“All right, hit the showers and clean this locker room,” Ted ordered. “We’ve got a long bus ride to catch back home. And you all need to get some rest before tomorrow morning.”

After returning to Eden Hall, the kids who were residents in the dorms went back to the dormitories while the in-state kids caught the bus back home. When Ted walked into his office at the ice rink, though, he was surprised to see Conway’s Ducks jersey folded up on his desk, along with a note that read, Take good care of them for us, please.

Ted gingerly picked the jersey up and placed it in the cardboard box where the other Duck jerseys were. He knew that at some point this next week, those kids would be getting those back because those kids were not Warriors.

They were a flock of Ducks.

He smiled gently at the pile of Duck jerseys, closing the flaps on the box before pocketing his keys. He locked up his office, locked up the rink, and headed out to his Land Rover to drive back home.

On the drive home, he thought back to the game against Stillwater. The kids all persevered and played amazing defense, but Conway was the standout, doing as Ted told him to. When the kid took the time to listen, he did great. And his performance out there proved to be stellar. Yes, it wasn’t a high-ranking win, but a two-to-one victory was better than no victory. It was a win. Wasn’t that what those board members wanted? Wins? They gave them a reason not to throw the Ducks out of Eden Hall. But Ted also knew Tom Riley was extremely pig-headed and wanted to see those kids gone. His son was just as determined to get those kids tossed because his little brother, Corbin, had lost his spot on J.V. when the Ducks accepted their scholarship, not that Corbin was the most fabulous player, either – Corbin was just as cocky and just as arrogant as his brother, and an even bigger brat than Rick; if Ted had needed to coach him, he would’ve considered an early retirement from coaching high school hockey.

He pulled up in front of his house and honked his horn a couple of times to let his daughter know Daddy was home. Once he entered the house, Lucy came rolling up to him, beaming, her blue eyes bright.

“Daddy! Daddy! We won! We won!”

“Yeah, we did!” He bent down and picked her up from her wheelchair, throwing her onto his shoulders as she squealed loudly. He deposited her back into her chair, spinning her in a circle. He leaned down and kissed her forehead before gesturing for her to return to her room as Bella came up to him, smiling broadly.

“We were listening to it on the radio. Congratulations!” She leaned in and kissed him lovingly, only pulling away when she noticed him looking grave over something. “What’s wrong?”

“Dean Buckley told the kids that there’s a board meeting tomorrow morning,” he said. “The board wants to withdraw the kids’ scholarships.”

“What?” Bella gasped. “But . . . But they can’t do that, can they?”

“They can’t. Losing one game and tying in another isn’t a reasonable cause,” Ted said. “They’re just looking to make things into a huge spectacle; they want a show, but we’re not gonna give it to them. Dean Buckley even told me that if they leave, I can pick my own team.”

“Well, what are you gonna do?”

“I told him either they stay, or I go.”

Bella looked at him incredulously. “Ted, are you kidding me?”

“No, I’m not. They are my team. I promised Gordon I’d take care of them, and I won’t let those kids down.”

“But you’ve worked so hard to get to where you are,” Bella said. “You can’t lose this job. I can’t be the only one working, not with the baby coming in November!”

“I won’t lose my job,” Ted assured her. “We’ll make it work. We always do. Okay, honey? Besides, I’m calling Gordon; he’ll sort this out.”

Bella nodded. “Do that. You know he’ll fight for you guys.”

Ted nodded in agreement, walked over to the phone, and dialed Gordon’s home number. The phone rang several times before his friend picked up.

“Ted?”

“Gordon, the kids and I need you,” he said grimly. “The board wants to get rid of the Ducks and revoke their scholarships because they weren’t winning games.”

“What? You’re kidding!”

“I’m not,” Ted said, hearing the heat in his voice.

“Well, how are their grades? Are they within average to compete?”

“Yes, even Conway, surprisingly. And we just beat Stillwater High School, too.”

“Then they have no cause,” Gordon said firmly. “I’ve got copies of their contracts. Just leave everything to me. I’ll sort this out for you guys tomorrow. I promise.”

“I know you will. Just make sure you give them hell tomorrow.”

“I will.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 16 – All on the Line

“Here we go,” he heard Charlie muttering under his breath as they walked into the board room.

The kids were all dressed in their best, a necessity, given that they were on trial for their scholarships and everything was on the line for them. Almost every one of the Ducks’ parents were there, at least the in-state Ducks. He picked out Casey Conway as one of them. He also saw some kids from the student council who’d been trying to get a petition signed to change the school mascot's name. The Varsity team was also there, wearing smug looks on their faces. The Ducks, on the other hand, looked scared, as they should be: this was something that would determine their entire future. Should they lose this case, they’d have to settle for a public high school education, which would be okay but wouldn’t set them up for success in life. Not that Ted would allow such a thing to hinder him, though – sure, the paychecks from Eden Hall Academy provided a very stable, comfortable life, but if he had to follow the Minnesota Ducks to public school and coach them there, he would.

Among them was Banks. After talking to Coach Wilson last night, he got Banks back – it wasn’t even a question on Wilson’s part. Apparently, Banks had been begging Wilson to let him switch all week, and to top it all off, nobody on the Varsity team was begging for Banks to stick around, either. Ted noticed the look on Banks’s face as he walked with them; he looked relieved and happy to be back with his friends, and Gaffney and Conway looked more than happy to take him back. In fact, he caught Conway and Banks meeting in a hug the moment they arrived outside the school, with Banks asking Conway whether they were really all right.

Conway’s response of, “Always, cake-eater,” proved that things between them were really okay; in fact, Banks and Conway were walking in together, with Conway’s arm draped over Banks’s shoulders and Gaffney holding Banks’s hand as they passed the Varsity team, who leered at them in contempt, snickering something about Banks being a “pansy” crawling back to his old little Ducks, which caused Gaffney to lean in even closer to Banks and kiss him on the cheek, murmuring something that sounded like, “Ignore them, Adam.”

Standing before the board members, Ted watched as his kids all lined up, with Conway standing beside him; even though the boy hadn’t earned his “C” back yet, he was already acting like a captain and standing like a leader.

“All right,” said Dean Buckley. “You all know why we’re here.” He turned his glance to Tom Riley and nodded at him to begin.

“As you know,” Tom said, “when these scholarships were drawn up for the freshmen hockey team, there were expectations. One of our expectations is for Coach Orion to give us a team of winners – a team that could bring us another state championship title. However, after having seen two games: the game against Blake Academy, which they should have won, and the game against Coon Rapids High School, myself and the rest of the board have carefully discussed the option to revoke their scholarships.”

“Ted?” Dean Buckley asked. “Do you have anything you wish to say?”

“Yes, I do,” Ted said firmly. “Because, and excuse my language, but that is a bucket load of crap.” He glowered at Tom Riley, who stared back at him in shock. “The J.V. team has lost games in the past, and you didn’t throw anyone out. And Dennis –” He turned to Dennis Cole, who glowered at him in contempt, “– the last time I checked your son’s records, his grades left a lot to be desired. He’s still a senior, and he’s nineteen-going-on-twenty. How is it acceptable for him to continue playing hockey, much less for the Varsity team, with grades like that?”

“He’s just . . . he’s very gifted,” stammered Dennis Cole, looking about as brick-headed and dumb as his son, who just stood there blinking stupidly.

“‘Gifted,’” Ted scoffed. “If he weren’t your son, and you weren’t pooling thousands of dollars into this institution year after year after year, he wouldn’t be on Varsity, and he’d be on academic probation, or worse, expelled, because his grades aren’t good enough to get him into Notre Dame, much less a community college.”

“Look, Coach, the fact of the matter is that most Ivy League colleges are gonna be looking at kids who come from someplace more well-off,” shrugged Gabriel Darrow.

“So, it’s elitism, is what you’re telling us. That hard work has absolutely nothing to do with it,” Ted heard Conway saying coldly. Ted instantly leaned a hand on Conway’s arm, squeezing gently.

“Look, it would be one thing if these kids didn’t have the grade point average to compete,” Ted argued reasonably. “Gaffney’s an ‘A’ student and is being considered for the honor roll. Conway may have ditched some classes, and he may have some incompletes, but this past week, his average has jumped from a ‘C’ to a ‘B minus,’ well within the range that you require for a student-athlete. Banks here is one of the top students and is in advanced classes.”

“That doesn’t negate their behavioral issues,” commented Hadley Hart stuffily.

“Most of which was in response to the Varsity team bullying them first,” Ted said firmly, “something that none of you have bothered to fix around here since I’d been in school.”

“But Bradley wouldn’t hurt a fly,” weakly insisted Tara Cole.

Ted narrowed his eyes at Tara and Dennis Cole; they were hilariously stupid about their son. If he recalled correctly, Dennis Cole had been the one to flush Simon Gibby’s glasses down the toilet on the first day of Simon’s freshman year. Ted could still taste urine in his mouth from the time Dennis had forced him and Basil into drinking it as part of initiation onto the Varsity team when he was fourteen. And Tom Riley used to have a name for every scholarship student who walked through the door. Based on how Dennis was raising his son to be a spoiled bully, he hadn’t changed a bit.

“You didn’t see what I saw, Mrs. Cole,” he said firmly. “He was sure capable of hurting more than a fly when he gave Adam Banks a black eye all because Banks snuck away to pay half a dinner check that he knew the other freshmen couldn’t afford.” He caught Allyson Banks’s horrified expression – obviously, her son hadn’t told her and Phillip about the extensiveness of the bullying. She looked as though she wanted to start something, but Ted held his hand up to stop her; if she lost her temper now, it could compromise their whole case.

“I’m sure it was just an accident,” Tara Cole said, putting on the fake tears as though to try and gain sympathy, something that didn’t work in Casey Conway’s book, as Conway’s mother glowered at her in disgust. She seemed to be fighting her hardest not to say something to these board members; in fact, she looked as though she’d like to give Tom Riley, Janet Darrow, Tara Cole, and everyone else there a piece of her mind, but she was only halted by her son shaking his head at her, pleading with her not to say anything that could put them in jeopardy.

“There was no ‘accident,’” Ted said coolly. “If it were, I’m sure it was one big ‘accident’ when your husband forced me and Basil McRae to drink urine once, huh? Don’t you remember, Dennis? When was that? Shortly after we won our first game together?”

He hadn’t intended to say anything about high school, but for some reason, he felt he had to; the words spilled out of him like vomit. These people needed to know that the hazing and harassment had happened back then, and it was only getting worse now as the Varsity team carried on traditions to haze and humiliate anybody they deemed unwelcome at Eden Hall.

As soon as he said this, he caught the horrified expressions on the Ducks’ faces; he also saw Dean Buckley’s eyes widening significantly. Even some of the parents looked shocked, especially Charlie’s mother, but Allyson Banks didn’t look surprised – she had to have heard of something happening when she and Phillip had gone to Eden with him; it was no lie among people who’d been on the Varsity team that Phillip Banks had done a few stupid things when he’d been on the team, probably because it was easy for all the Varsity players to feed off each other, the bystander effect: it was the assumption that because everyone was doing it or standing around watching it and cheering it on, that that made it okay. But even Ted knew back then that it was not okay; he could’ve spoken up when it had been done to him, but he didn’t. That made him just as much of an accomplice in the hazing as those who’d done it to him, and he felt sick over it because the Ducks had been the ones to suffer the most as a result; Gordon had made him promise that he’d take care of each and every one of those kids, and he felt that if he didn’t make it a point to speak up now about the bullying, it meant he failed.

“That was a stupid joke,” scoffed Dennis, rolling his eyes. “And I don’t see how that’s relevant now. Why are you bringing up something that happened almost twenty years ago? You went along with it, last I checked.”

“It wasn’t funny back then,” Ted replied, feeling his anger flare up more that Dennis didn’t have any remorse for forcing him into drinking a whole water bottle of urine; he recalled the sensation of it burning down his throat, warm and flaring, his esophagus on fire as the Varsity team taunted him into drinking all of it. He could still hear the jeers and taunts to this day. He remembered racing to the bathroom afterward with Basil to throw up and how his parents arrived at the hospital due to the school nurse calling for an ambulance. His mother and father had asked him what had happened, but he didn’t tell them anything; he couldn’t; his mother would’ve thrown a fit over it. He’d wanted to prove to those people on the Varsity team that he was cool, that he could take it, that he wasn’t weak or a pussy or whatever else they had to say about the people they picked on.

“And it is relevant,” he continued, fighting to control his anger. “Because that was allowed back then, it’s continuing now. Rick, Bradley –” He turned on them, and they glowered at him, “– you two, your parents may have threatened me into moving you boys back to the Varsity team two years ago, but I still think you two do not deserve to be on it. If it were up to me, you two wouldn’t be playing at all because of the way you act and what you do, with that attitude you two have where you don’t respect authority –”

“No, we do respect authority,” Rick snapped back at him.

“If you respected authority, you wouldn’t have left the J.V. team with the check for the Minnesota Club dinner; you wouldn’t have spat in my face when I told you to quit bullying Banks; you wouldn’t have dared the J.V. team into challenging you to that scrimmage at the crack of dawn a week ago –”

“We were joking! It was a joke!” Rick said, speaking over him. “Get your panties out of a wad and get over it!”

“Rick, shut up!” Scooter snapped, smacking Riley in the chest and glowering at him.

“No, it’s not a joke! You boys, being upperclassmen, have a responsibility; there’s a level of maturity you need to be on a team like yours, and I knew two years ago you didn’t have it. All that you’ve done to the J.V. team these past three weeks shows you do not respect the position; you do not respect authority, and you do not respect me,” Ted continued, keeping his tone as level as possible, but Cole and Riley kept looking back at him with those smug expressions of entitlement; it was enough to make him wish he’d skipped breakfast that morning because it made him physically nauseous.

“Why didn’t you say anything when that happened to you back then?” Dean Buckley asked him, looking particularly remorseful and shocked at Ted’s revelation about the harassment.  

“Basil and I were too chicken, that’s why. We didn’t want to rat anyone out and cause trouble,” Ted said regretfully. “If I’d said something back then, it would’ve prevented this.” He turned to the Ducks, who continued looking back at him in sympathy. “For that, I owe you kids an apology. Because it means that I’m partially responsible for what’s been happening these past few weeks.”

“But what about the fire ants released into their dormitories?” demanded Sara Hart shrilly. Of course, she had to turn this around and make the Varsity team the victims.

“That was after that sham of a dinner party where they were set up to pay a check they could not afford. Had they not stayed up until the late hours of the night to work off that dinner check, it would’ve resulted in them getting arrested for theft,” Ted said. “It wasn’t just an embarrassment; it cost them everything. This essentially means your sons might as well have stolen over eight hundred dollars from the Minnesota Club that night, which is a far bigger offense than fire ants. Because when you get bitten by fire ants, those bites heal.”

“Preposterous!” snapped Tom Riley. “How dare you accuse –?”

Turning to Dean Buckley, Ted cut Tom Riley off with, “Dean, they have no case here. The J.V. team is performing up to standard academically, and they would’ve behaved themselves had the Varsity team left them alone first. They won their game against Stillwater High School; they’ve got a chance against Minnetonka Preparatory tonight. I don’t see any reasonable cause to kick them out. Every single reason the board is listing is something that their own sons have gotten away with for too long here.”

Dean Buckley sighed, glancing at Ted before looking around at the board members; he seemed torn up about it, trying to decide between fighting for the kids for whom he signed the scholarships, and the alumni, all of whom had the power to overthrow him.

“Do I have a motion for reconsideration?” he asked the board members, who looked reluctant to reinstate the scholarships. When they were only greeted with silent headshakes, Ted watched as the kids’ faces fell. Conway looked down at the ground as Dean Buckley said, “I’m sorry, Coach, but unless there is a motion from a board member and a second, the decision must stand.”

Ted felt his own anxiety spike as he looked around at the smirking faces of the Varsity team. He could see Robertson, Tyler, Gaffney, and Goldberg looking at him with nervousness in their eyes, the fear palpable as they realized they were this close to having their futures ruined. He’d never seen them more afraid in their lives. Yes, he’d warned them after the tie with the Bears. But now, it was becoming a reality, and they really didn’t want this to happen. A swell of fatherly protectiveness flooded him as he yearned to take their fear away; he hadn’t intended for it to happen, but in the past few weeks, he’d grown to have a father’s love for these kids despite swearing he wouldn’t, that his job was to be their coach and not their friend.

Sighing, he said, “You leave us no choice but to bring in our attorney.” As soon as he said that, Gordon entered the room, dressed like he was ready to go to court, and Ted guessed he technically was: they were all on trial and would need a lawyer’s perspective to defend and fight for them.

“Dean Buckley,” said Gordon, carrying his briefcase, “members of the board, as council for Coach Orion and the freshmen hockey team –” He stopped to smile at Charlie on the way up to the podium, who grinned back at him. “–I’m here to set forth your legal options, so that you may make the best possible decision for all parties concerned.”

“Um, Mr. Bombay, this isn’t a legal proceeding,” Dean Buckley said, looking rightfully nervous – for Gordon to be in this room acting as the defense attorney in their scenario, everyone in the room knew the board members were in trouble, considering they made the monster Gordon Bombay was today because they created him through a great education at Eden Hall. It was because of Eden Hall that Gordon went on to study law in the first place, and he eventually became known as one of the most formidable defense attorneys in Minneapolis, even if it meant fighting dirty. In this case, Gordon was fighting to win again, but this time from the goodness of his heart for the kids he’d grown to love like they were his own children.

“Not yet,” Gordon said firmly, “but I can assure you that it will be.” He opened up his briefcase and pulled out copies of the contracts before handing his briefcase over to Buckley. “Do you mind?”

Everyone watched as Dean Buckley took the briefcase from Gordon, who proceeded to show the envelopes containing the contract agreements the Ducks signed when they accepted their scholarships: the contracts included player contracts, the Code of Ethics, standards for their GPA, and what the scholarships would cover, including the meal plan and room and board for those who chose to stay on campus. The Code of Ethics included a strict guideline against physical assault and severe harassment of teammates, and any violation of those ethics could result in the kids getting either benched from playing, an out-of-school or in-school suspension, detention, and other punishments that the Varsity team had slipped out of. Despite releasing fire ants on the Varsity team, those fire ant bites healed; what the J.V. team did hadn’t caused any permanent damage compared to what Riley and Cole had done to Adam Banks when they physically assaulted him.

“These scholarships,” Gordon said, holding up the paperwork to show the board members, “an offer . . . became a binding contract upon the signatures of the recipients and acceptance by the Ducks. They cannot be voided except for cause, which, I guarantee you, you have none.”

Ted caught the looks on the board member’s faces as they realized they really were screwed now, and Ted felt some satisfaction soar through him. He knew Gordon was really good. But Gordon hadn’t practiced law in a couple of years; for him to still have it, Ted knew they’d win this one.

Gordon continued, “Should you decide to pursue their cancellation, I will slap you with an injunction.”

Upon hearing that, the board members looked like a deer caught in the headlights. If they weren’t afraid before, they were now, as they should.

“I will tie this matter up in court for years, until long after these kids have gone onto college. And I will collect damages,” Gordon threatened. “I will win because I am very, very good. You know why I’m so good? Because I had a good education. You gave it to me. And you’re gonna give it to these kids.”

“He is good,” Ted commented quietly to Conway – no, Charlie.

“He’s just getting started,” Charlie said, grinning.

“Now, some of you may be snobbish enough to believe that these Ducks don’t belong at Eden Hall. Let me tell you,” Gordon said, this time addressing everyone on the Varsity team, “you are dead wrong. These are remarkable young people. You give them their fair shot, and I promise they will succeed, not only on the ice but in the classrooms, as well.”

Looking at each of the kids, he could see the soft smiles gracing their faces, the gratitude in their eyes at Gordon’s compliment.

“These people are my friends,” Gordon said firmly. “And I know what they can do. Accordingly, I demand that you reinstate their scholarships for their benefit and for your own.”

Several tense moments of silence went by. Finally, Tara Cole sighed, knowing that this was a fight she would not be able to win, as Gordon shook Ted’s hand, smiling.

“I move that the scholarships . . . be reinstated.” She didn’t look happy about it, but she did it because she knew she had no choice but to comply. And it didn’t take long for other board members to reluctantly raise their own hands, resigning after Dean Buckley asked if there was a second vote. Ted could feel his smile growing wider across his face as he looked at the Ducks, who grinned back at him; Connie and Julie looked as though they might cry. Kenny and Fulton looked especially relieved. Charlie looked happier than Ted had ever seen him.

“Scholarships reinstated,” Buckley announced happily, and the cheers that erupted from the kids seemed to brighten the otherwise dully-lit room. Gordon met Ted in an embrace before hugging Charlie and murmuring something that, to Ted, sounded like, “For Hans, Charlie.”

As Charlie and Gordon embraced, Ted could see the palpable love emanating from them. Charlie’s face went into Gordon’s shoulder, and Gordon pulled back slightly to press a fatherly kiss on the kid’s forehead. There was no denying the connection the two shared; Ted thought he’d seen it when Charlie played in Peewees; he even thought he saw it after Team USA won gold or when Gordon called Charlie the real Minnesota Miracle Man. But seeing it in the flesh, up close, one could see and feel the pure, unadulterated love that a father had for a son. He could even hear the kid murmur back what sounded like, “I love you.”

They hold on longer than Ted thought Gordon would hold onto a child. But then again, Gordon didn’t start liking kids until he met the Ducks, specifically Charlie. This was the boy who changed Gordon’s whole world, who gave him a life and a family, and Ted could feel a lump forming in his throat as he watched the two, happiness combining with envy overlapping with a slight sadness; he hadn’t realized, up until now, that he’d been secretly yearning for approval from Gordon’s golden boy, only to be continuously fought against over and over every time he tried to show Charlie a different path, but looking at the boy, he knew Charlie had secretly felt the same way, wanting Ted’s approval but not having a clue on how to earn it, resulting in a strong bitterness that led to the two of them wandering further apart, unable to look past their own misjudgments of one another.

Now, he could see it clearly, the window into Charlie’s life suddenly defogging further than it had when he’d seen the kid at the cemetery.

He watched as Gordon and Charlie finally pulled away, giving Gordon room to hug the rest of the kids before he led them out of the board room, staying glued to Charlie’s side the whole time.

“I’ve got some business back in Chicago, but I’ll be back soon,” Gordon promised as they walked out together. “If you need anything, give me a call.”

“All right,” Charlie said.

“Okay? I mean it,” Gordon told him sincerely.

“Yeah, thanks again, Coach,” Charlie said, shaking Gordon’s hand goodbye as Ted patted Charlie on the shoulder before departing with Gordon.

“See you later,” he said, reminding Charlie they had a game to catch at five thirty in Minnetonka Beach.

“See you,” Charlie said, and Ted led Gordon off to his office in the ice rink. Once they were inside the rink, Ted grinned at his old friend.

“You still got it, don’t you?”

“Never lost it,” Gordon said, grinning, though his grin always looked like he was smirking – it was a longstanding joke among everyone in their class that Gordon’s lopsided smile made him look like he had a smug half a smirk on his face.

Ted chuckled. “Thanks for bringing Charlie back.”

“Well, don’t tell the kids anything, but I’m going to Chicago to see if I can get Portman back.”

Ted nodded; when he heard the word that Portman wouldn’t be coming to Eden Hall, he’d been let down. Yes, Portman wasn’t the best skater, but they needed his size, especially when they faced the Varsity team on Friday night. He was the Ducks’ protector along with Fulton; having both the Bash Brothers there would complete the team and boost the morale even more. Of course, bringing Banks back into the fold helped, but Dean Portman would be the icing on the cake. He would be their insurance policy to ensure that the others didn’t get bullied by some of the larger Varsity players, notably Cole.

“Continue taking care of them for me,” Gordon said. “Especially my son.”

“I will,” Ted promised. “Are you gonna be back in time for the game on Friday?”

“Yes, and hopefully, I’ll be there with Dean.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 17 – Bang in the Junk

Ted spent the whole morning watching the Varsity team’s tapes the next day. Even though the kids triumphed over the Minnetonka Preparatory Barbarians, that didn’t negate that the Varsity was going to be even tougher. The kids barely won that game; it nearly ended with the Barbarians shutting them out, but Banks and Conway together racked up their offense and got them tied up with a score of two to two. Once in overtime, Moreau scored the final goal in the shootout, giving them the win with a three to two lead over the Barbarians.

Ted wouldn’t lie if he said he’d been holding his breath the whole time. But once he saw Moreau score in overtime during the shootout and watched Gaffney block every shot, he felt marginally better about the exhibition against the Varsity.

His eyes burned from the number of hours he sat in his office, watching the Varsity team’s tapes. From experience, he knew they didn’t get you on the first shot. They got you on the second and the third. But the team now was even more aggressive because a lot of those students were the ones he trained when they’d played on J.V., particularly Dallas Mullin, Scott Holland, Bruce Kabine, and Logan Brown. In a way, he kind of regretted teaching them everything he knew because they would use what he taught them against him. Some of them probably even had a grudge against him, as he knew Logan Brown’s little brother, Shane, was a Hawk who’d played with Adam Banks in Peewees. It was no secret that Logan Brown and his parents, Wyatt and Lylah, were secretly angry that Shane’s spot for J.V. got snatched away when the Ducks accepted their scholarships; Logan wasn’t going to let it go, ever.

That only drove him to want to beat them even more with his kids.

He knew the kids would have a much fairer advantage with Banks back on the team; there was no question that Banks would bring the much-needed offense. If Ted put Banks in with Conway and Robertson as his linemates and Tyler and Goldberg as their extra men for defense, they would no doubt be able to cause some serious pain.

But he also knew that Banks would have a target on his back.

Ted winced just thinking about it. He wondered if moving Banks back was the right decision. The Varsity team would be out for blood.

But then again, Banks was far safer on J.V. than he was on the Varsity team.

When practice time rolled around, he had the kids start immediately with warm-ups and decided that for this practice, they needed to blow off some steam and that they earned a little bit of fun; granted, he was still going to make them do drills until no tomorrow all week long, but this practice, he wanted to break the ice with something they no doubt would find enjoyable and would help get his message across. He’d use this at the end of each practice to let them have some fun. He blew his whistle and had the kids skate twenty laps immediately, and he watched as they all picked up the pace, yelling at them to keep it up.

Afterward, he had them jump grapevines over their hockey sticks for another workout, something that his coaches in the NHL had him do as part of his routine. He also planned on getting them to the weight room in the early hours of the morning so they could take advantage of the school’s supply of heavy bags and weights, knowing they’d need to keep up their agility if they had any hope of outskating the Varsity team, especially Rick Riley, who was one of the most aggressive skaters on the whole team.

Once the kids were done with grapevines, he had them all take a knee around him. He already had a trashcan filled with garbage near him; he recalled when he’d been taught this by his middle school hockey coach, Coach Gaudreau. Ted knew he’d be proud.

“All right,” he announced. “I’ve been doing my homework on the Varsity. I’m not gonna lie to you; they’re good.” He caught Adam’s expression; the boy knew better than he did how good they were, that the Varsity team wouldn’t play fair, and that they’d even be determined to cheat if they saw fit. “The way they wiped your faces in the dirt last time was no fluke. So if you want your pride back, you better be willing to work.”

“We’re up for it, Coach,” Charlie responded firmly.

Ted nodded in return. “There’s nothing glamorous about it. In the pros, we call it blue-collar hockey. Now, there’s one thing the Varsity does very well. They’re vultures around the net.” He reached into the trashcan and picked up an empty tuna fish can to make his next point, holding it up like a puck. “They pick up every piece of loose trash. That’s how they beat you. Not with the first shot, the second, and the third. They bang in the junk. So, if you wanna win –” He tipped the garbage can over, emptying it out onto the ice, “– you’re gonna have to pick up the trash.”

He watched the expressions on their faces, noticing all of them looking absolutely disgusted by the sight of the garbage. The smell alone was horrendous, and he wouldn’t lie about where he’d found most of it – a lot of it came from his own house, but instead of tossing it all out on garbage day, he decided he’d keep it for this practice. When he’d told Bella about it, she looked at him as though he were absolutely out of his mind, and she’d also looked as though she’d throw up; she was especially sensitive to horrible smells while pregnant; it tended to trigger a lot of her morning sickness, a lot of which hit her at different times of the day, not just the morning.

He watched Averman pick up a molding bagel, asking, “Got any cream cheese?”

“Shut up, Averman!” everyone yelled, covering their noses in disgust.

“Come on, let’s go. I wanna see this trash cleared from the net in the next twenty minutes!” he barked. “And once that’s done, we’re scrimmaging. I want to record it so I can review it with you all tomorrow and see what needs to get fixed.”

“Yes, Coach!”

“All right, come on! Let’s go! Julie the Cat, get in the net!” he barked, watching as Gaffney took her position in front of the net, and all of the kids gathered up around her as he hit the trash in all directions at them with his stick, watching as they finally seemed to get what he’d been saying.

“Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go!” he yelled as he watched them work to clear the trash away, but just as quickly as they cleared the net, he went back in with even more trash. They threw themselves in front of the net, determined to keep the garbage out.

“Come on, clear the bagel out!” he yelled as he heard the kids communicating with each other. “Who’s there? Who’s there?” He sent a crushed water bottle toward the net, which Julie swiftly caught inside her glove. “Julie the Cat! Nice save! Here we go!” Watching them clear the ice, he could see from the smiles on their faces that they were having fun and enjoying this, and he was glad to have thought to bring this training tactic in.

“Come on! Clear it away! Keep moving, let’s go!” he yelled as he watched Julie make another save. “Nice save, Julie! Way to show ‘em! Good girl! That’s it, that’s how you do it . . . tighten up, good, Conway! That was good! Nice reflexes, Banks . . . Atta girl, Connie . . .! . . . All right, five more minutes, push it, come on!”

By the time they finished the garbage drill, the kids were all panting hard, but Ted was determined not to let them get comfortable yet. After allowing them to sip some water while he cleared the garbage off the ice, he skated off to his office and grabbed his camcorder so he could record their scrimmage.

“All right! Let’s scrimmage! Team A is Banks, Conway, Robertson versus Team B: Germaine, Moreau, and Mendoza!” he yelled. “Each of you gets one defense; Fulton, you’re with Banks; Goldberg, you’re with Germaine. Julie, get in the net; you’re on Banks’s side. Germaine, Moreau, Mendoza, you’re open net. Now let’s go!” He blew his whistle shrilly and turned the camcorder on before dropping the puck down at center ice, and Adam and Guy were in the face-off. Adam naturally won the face-off and skated hard toward Guy’s open net, only for him to get fiercely checked by Goldberg.

“Nice, Goldberg!” Ted yelled as he watched Goldberg clear the puck out of the zone and pass it off to Mendoza, who sped over to the goalpost the Cat was covering. Still, Conway and Robertson threw themselves in front of the net before Mendoza could get his shot in, but just as quickly as the puck was cleared, it was caught by Moreau, who weaved hard and fast into Charlie’s zone; Fulton checked her hard, sending her crashing into the ice and clearing the puck away, and Charlie raced after it, triple deking before taking his shot at the opening. The puck sailed into the net. Score one for team A.

“All right! Nice, Conway! Nice shot! All right, Kenny, Russ, get in there; you’re the extra defense. Russ, team A, Kenny, you’re team B, let’s go!”

He watched the rest of the practice critically; yes, they were skating a lot better as one and they were doing far better with defense, but there were many weaknesses that they needed to tighten up on. Kenny still needed to defend himself better, and Connie was still vulnerable. But he’d be able to point out even more weaknesses when he rewatched the tape later that night after his daughter’s hockey practice was over.

He finally cut them loose, blowing his whistle. “Take a knee!” he yelled.

The entire team skated over to him, panting, several of them choking as they tried straightening their postures to let a full breath get in.

“Excellent job out there today!” he said. “But we’ve gotta continue this tomorrow. So, tomorrow morning, five a.m., meet me outside the rink. If you own rollerblades and regular helmets, bring them; if you don’t, borrow them from someone. Now, hit the showers. I’ll see you all in the morning. We’ve also got practice tomorrow afternoon after Varsity finishes theirs. So be prepared to work tomorrow. Are we clear?”

“Yes, Coach Orion!” the kids chorused.

“Well, what do you think, baby?” Ted asked his daughter as they watched the recording of the J.V. practice together that night after dinner. As he expected, Lucy intently watched the footage, her little eyes trained on the TV as she watched critically, providing her own input and commenting at random, reminding him to “take notes,” which he did dutifully. He had to admit he trusted his daughter’s opinion the most; even though she was six, she was a know-it-all when it came to hockey, having grown up going to his games from the time she was seven months old, and she watched Dallas Stars games religiously. He trusted her eye better than his own.

“Well, it was a good call putting Tyler and Goldberg in there together,” said Lucy. “But Wu is no defensive player; he’s still weak.”

“He’s not weak; he just needs some more work, that’s all,” Ted said.

“Yeah, well, you’re not gonna win defensively if he keeps being afraid of getting hurt,” Lucy pointed out.

“Then what do you suggest, honey? Run him over with your wheelchair until he learns not to run away?”

Lucy smiled mischievously.

“Don’t get any ideas,” Ted scolded gently.

“All right, you two, enough with the hockey,” Bella called as she scrubbed the dishes by hand. “Lucy, did you finish your homework?”

“I did it in aftercare, Mommy.”

“All of it?” Bella raised an eyebrow at their little girl.

Lucy sighed, “I did most of it.”

“Well, how did you do on your spelling test?” Bella asked, scrubbing a pot.

“I did all right. I got a C plus.”

Ted sighed, shaking his head. “All right, that’s it. We’re turning this off for the night.” He reached for the remote and turned the television off. “Honey, a C plus is average. There’s nothing average about you. And don’t you have a science test tomorrow?”

“Yes, I studied for it, Daddy.”

“Then study some more,” Ted said sternly. “I know you love hockey, but you’ve got to focus on your school work, too. I can’t let any of my players slack off, and I won’t do the same with you. Because when you get older, that won’t be acceptable. You understand?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“All right, go finish your homework. And I want to double-check everything before you go to bed tonight. You hear me?”

“Yes, Coach.”

Ted smiled and nodded, patting his little girl on the shoulder before beckoning her back to her bedroom. “All right, get to it, Lucy.”

Lucy nodded obediently, rolling off to her room to finish all of her homework. Ted watched her roll away with a smile, chuckling lightly as Bella wrapped her arm around his waist.

“You made that,” she reminded him.

“You did, too,” he replied, kissing her forehead.

“Then God help us both when our son becomes old enough to play; my doctor says he’s already pretty big for me, being eight months pregnant, bigger than average. He’s going to be as tall as you.” Bella rubbed her bulging belly, which made her look like she was eleven months pregnant rather than eight going on nine, given how small she was compared to him. Come Friday night, she would officially be eight and a half months along, given she was due to give birth in mid-October at the earliest and early November at the latest.

“I think you’re right,” Ted agreed. “You want me to run you a bath?”

“Please.”

“Bubbles or no bubbles?”

“Bubbles.”

“Okay, it’ll be ready for you after Lucy finishes her homework and goes to bed.”

As promised, the next morning at five a.m. sharp, Ted was outside the rink, waiting on the kids wearing his own rollerblades and carrying a garbage bin. On the dot, Charlie arrived, skating on his rollerblades and dressed in pads and a helmet. He arrived when the rest of the kids showed up, dressed in their J.V. jerseys and skates.

“Why’d you need us on rollerblades, Coach?” asked Russ, quirking an eyebrow at him.

Ted grinned at him. “We’re taking a little field trip downtown. Remember how I said you need to pick up the trash? We’re doing that this morning.”

The kids looked at him, bewildered. Admittedly, this was not something his coaches had him do when he’d been in the NHL. However, he knew that for the kids, this would be the sort of fun they’d been wanting. Additionally, they’d be getting agility training in for a good hour, and they’d be cleaning up the environment, freeing the streets of littering. So, they’d be doing the city a favor; Ted couldn’t count the number of people he’d seen throw trash out the window of their cars as they drove through downtown Minneapolis.

Soon, their expressions shifted into smiles as they realized why Ted had them do this.

“All right, let’s get to work!” Ted barked at them, and he led the way downtown, skating ahead of them all until they were out on the streets, with Ted skating along the shoulder of the road and the kids on the sidewalk, bending down to pick up the garbage and toss it into the trashcan.

“That’s it! Get down, guys, all right!” Ted yelled, watching as several of them got low to the ground, skating lower to pick up any loose trash they could see.

“Come on! Throw that garbage in there!”

He watched as they skated around the fire hydrants and telephone polls, and he could see from the looks on their faces that while this was an even harder workout than what he’d had them do the other night, they were enjoying themselves and having fun. He watched keenly as Averman and Charlie backchecked along the sidewalk, narrowly dodging an old lady walking her dog, who stopped to scream at them, asking what they were doing.

“Community service!” answered Goldberg cheekily to the older woman, who glowered at Ted in disapproval before walking off.

“Pick up the pace!” Ted yelled, watching as Fulton bent his knees lower to pick up an empty Styrofoam cup, throwing it into the trashcan. “Good work, Fulton! All right, let’s keep this up until we get back to the school!”

The kids whooped loudly, and Ted couldn’t help smiling as he watched them. Their smiles were contagious, especially Charlie’s; the kid’s smile looked brighter than Ted had seen it in weeks, but he also knew he’d have to have a serious conversation with the boy, one that he wasn’t looking forward to having, but it was necessary if he was going to get the kid to trust him even further.

They returned to Eden Hall in time for the kids to shower and prepare for their day of classes. As they stopped outside the rink, he turned to address them.

“Take a knee,” he said. “Good work this morning. But tonight’s practice is gonna be a little different. We’ll be going to the library tonight to review the recording of yesterday’s practice, so bring a notebook and pencil because I expect you all to take some notes. We’ll also meet at the rink tomorrow morning, at five a.m. again; we’ll get more drill time in. For now, hit the showers and get to class.”

The kids all nodded, grinning. Some of them looked winded, but otherwise, they looked determined to do their best in following practices before Friday.

Hours later that afternoon, Ted had them in one of the private rooms in the library where the TVs and VCRs were. When the kids arrived bearing notebooks and pencils, he ordered them all to sit down as he plugged a tape into the VCR, this one being of last year’s J.V.-Varsity showdown.

“Now, I’ll admit, part of why the Varsity is so good is because I trained a lot of them when they first came here,” he said, pointing out J.V. members who’d gotten promoted to Varsity this year; among them included Dallas Mullin, Scooter, Logan Brown, Bruce Kabine, A.J. Cooke, Jed Avery, and Tye Tucker.

“So, you created the monster,” remarked Averman.

“Yes,” Ted said. “I may have taught them everything, but I also taught you all everything. And last year, my J.V. team lost in the J.V.-Varsity showdown – that’s part of why you all got brought in because J.V. failed to not only beat the Varsity, but we didn’t even make it through the playoffs. The hockey booster club was hoping for an improvement from last time, but I think I know why my J.V. team lost at the playoffs last season: they were on a hot streak, winning almost every game except the J.V.-Varsity showdown up until that point. Any time you’re undefeated, you have little room to think about where you can improve. You learn a hell of a lot more from losing than from winning.” He pointed to the footage from J.V.’s previous season, their playoff game against the Minnetonka Preparatory Barbarians, where they plummeted them. “We beat Minnetonka the first and the second time. But once we met them in the playoffs, they stepped their game up. And suddenly, they had us in a shutout of two to nothing. We were out during the first round of the playoffs.” He paused the footage right where Dallas Mullin made the mistake of shooting the goal into his own goalpost, handing the Barbarians a score on a silver platter. “Can anyone see what went wrong here?”

“One of your guys helped the other team score the goal,” said Connie.

“Exactly,” Ted said. “Now, let that sink in and think about it. Why do you think that happened?”

“Because he was too careless,” guessed Dwayne.

Ted nodded. “Not a wrong answer. Anyone else?”

“Because they grew so comfortable winning, they thought they had no weaknesses?” asked Guy.

“Bingo,” Ted said. He paused the tape and extracted it from the VCR before plugging in J.V.’s practice recording from the day before. “Now, onto yours.”

They spent the whole night reviewing the tapes, looking for any weaknesses that needed to be fixed. The kids could point out where they were weakest defensively, particularly with Kenny, who still needed a confidence boost if he had any hope of playing good defense in addition to the offense. He watched as they took notes and made their own suggestions on what they thought could be fixed tomorrow morning, and Ted showed them a layout of who he was going to put in first for the beginning of the game; he displayed it on the chalkboard in the room, having them write everything down vigilantly.

They were reviewing for over two hours until the kids were rubbing at their eyes tiredly. Finally, he cut them loose at five thirty, freeing them up to either go home or head to the dining hall for dinner. He knew that while this hadn’t been much of a practice for them, it was a substantial review that they needed if they had any hope of beating the Varsity team on Friday. And he could see in their eyes that many of them were finally starting to understand what it was that he’d been talking about all along.  

He saw it in them when they practiced the following day. Kenny, Connie, and Guy were getting better at protecting themselves, and Guy seemed much more focused on the game rather than constantly worrying about Connie. Even Charlie and Adam showed immense improvement with defense, and Goldberg’s skating was getting far better than before.  

However, one thing that didn’t cease to cross his mind was Charlie. Even though the boy seemed happier, Ted couldn’t help the concern that ate at him; if he weren’t mistaken, it appeared Charlie had lost weight in the recent weeks, and the bruising he’d seen on the kid’s hand a couple of days ago was also another reason for him to worry. He didn’t quite know how he would approach Charlie about the matter, but he knew that he had to sooner or later.

He just wasn’t sure how Charlie would take him asking something so personal. He knew from experience that when Charlie got emotional, it tended to escape in explosive ways that led to shrapnel going everywhere; it led to Charlie calling him a “washed-up pro” and accusing him of breaking up the best thing the Ducks ever had. So, who was to say that the boy wouldn’t take it personally when Ted asked him about something the kid was clearly keeping locked inside so close to him? He was reminded of when Charlie stood there before him with his arms crossed over his chest, defensively, determined to hold everything inside as he struggled not to explode.

He winced at the thought. But he knew it had to happen. He’d promised Gordon he’d take care of all the kids, and that especially meant Charlie, and he swore to himself that he wouldn’t let Gordon down, and he’d never let anything happen to Gordon’s son.

Chapter Text

Chapter 18 – The Heart of the Matter

That night’s practice went even better than the morning practice. Like always, Ted observed them all individually and how they all worked together. He noticed Adam had switched to playing with his left wrist rather than his right – either Rick and Cole were still harassing him and threatening him, or he hadn’t followed Ted’s advice about keeping that wrist wrapped up. Ted made a mental note to confront him about that tomorrow morning and to remind him to wrap that wrist up because the kid would not heal properly if he didn’t do as he was told.

But then again, Charlie told him Adam was resilient regarding injuries. And very stubborn. He hid his stress fracture during the Goodwill Games for days until Bombay finally pulled his head out of his ass.

He also observed Adam and Charlie working together, helping Goldberg and Fulton with some agility drills. That was good. Fulton and Goldberg needed that; they were still nervous skaters, and Charlie and Adam sensed that. Perhaps Banks would make a good alternate captain should Ted promote Charlie and give him back that “C.”

However, while Charlie helped Fulton, who kept looking at him for approval, Ted watched Charlie. He noticed the boy looked significantly thinner, and while the smile was there, it didn’t quite reach his eyes. In fact, Ted recalled the last beaming smile he’d seen on Charlie’s face had been after Gordon convinced the board to reinstate the team’s scholarships.

If that had been the last time he’d seen the kid look genuinely happy over something, Ted had his reasons for concern. He could still remember how the kid cried in the cemetery over the father he never knew, a father who was never coming back.

Even during the scrimmage, while everyone was having fun, Charlie’s heart didn’t seem in it. Yes, he was focused. But that was about it.

That was why Ted barred Charlie from going to the locker room with the others. He held his arm up in front of the gate before closing it.

“Coach, what –?”

“Laps,” Ted said simply.

“How many?”

“I don’t recall saying.”

Charlie shot him a dirty look but otherwise did it. Ted set the pace, skating right alongside him slowly, trying to think of the best question to start with, all the while observing Charlie even closer. Yes, weight loss was noticeable, but then he recalled the kid’s bruised knuckle; it made him wonder if Charlie was wailing on a heavy bag without any protective covering like gloves or hand wraps, and that was what he’d been doing instead of attending his classes during the time he’d been ditching.

Ted was no stranger to that; he’d done just that shortly after learning his daughter would potentially never walk again. He’d hit the gym and take his anger and hurt out on the heavy bag until his knuckles were raw and bleeding and bruised, which was no better than going out and getting drunk at bars and coming home wasted. He still remembered how upset Bella had been when she’d seen his bruised knuckles, how she’d cleaned them up herself and sternly told him to start wrapping his hands, that punishing himself for the accident wouldn’t make their little girl walk again.

Just like how Charlie hurting himself wouldn’t bring his father back.

They remained quiet for the first lap until, finally, Ted asked, “Your dad teach you how to skate?”

He knew this question would provoke the kid, but he needed to start somewhere. He watched as Charlie’s face darkened considerably, his blue eyes dimming as his expression shifted into something unreadable: the kid was clearly trying to hold back his anger and upset, but his voice sounded strained when he answered. To Ted, the kid was like a volcano on the verge of eruption – Charlie was filled with so much rage, umbrage, anguish, and desolation that Ted was surprised the boy hadn’t blown up much sooner; he supposed the worst he’d seen of it had been when Charlie called him a washed-up pro, or when the kid broke his stick against the goalpost, feeling vexed over that ref’s horrible call after that Blake Bears player tripped him.

“He’s dead,” Charlie finally said after several painfully silent moments.

Ted nodded.

“I didn’t know,” Charlie whispered, and Ted could hear how the kid’s voice wavered slightly, wobbling with repressed emotion that he’d been holding in. “I found out the day before we were given our scholarships.” He laughed mirthlessly. “Some birthday gift that was.”

Ted winced at the bitterness in the boy’s voice; it came out so roughly, cuttingly. He couldn’t bear to imagine it: the kid finding out the father he never knew was dead, finding that out on his birthday, and then suddenly Gordon announcing he’d be leaving for California. There was no mystery why Charlie was carrying such a massive chip on his shoulder, but instead of using that to step his game up, he was using it to fuel his anger and took it out on anyone who tried critiquing him.

“It’s whatever,” the kid continued, trying to sound nonchalant, but even Ted could hear that the boy was near tears. “I don’t care. Mom taught me anyway. At least until Coach did.”

“That must’ve been tough, you and your mom being on your own,” Ted commented.

“I said I don’t care,” Charlie gritted out, anger flashing on his face, but Ted could see the boy’s eyes brimming with tears. He looked down, suddenly interested in what the ice looked like underneath his skates. “But Mom remarried at one point.”

Ted nodded gently, listening as Charlie whispered, “But he bailed . . . Or rather, Mom dumped him. It was before I received my scholarship to Eden Hall.” He sniffled slightly, and Ted saw the tears rolling down the boy’s face. “I begged Mom to wait for Coach, that she’d be better off marrying him, but she remarried when he was playing for the minors . . . After only three months; when she falls for people, she falls fast, too fast.” He laughed slightly, though Ted thought it sounded more like a sob. “I guess she and I both have that in common. And Mom . . . sometime after she left my stepdad, she . . .” He squeezed his eyes tightly shut, tears leaking from behind them. “She found out she’s pregnant. And she decided that she’d keep the baby. So, my baby brother or sister is gonna grow up not knowing their dad.”

So, that was the reason for the kid’s volatility. Ted didn’t know how he hadn’t seen it before; Casey Conway didn’t look noticeably pregnant. Ted had to guess she was probably a month or two along, and her stomach remained hidden underneath her diner uniform. And Charlie might say he didn’t care. But Ted could see that was what the kid was trying to convince himself, though he wasn’t doing a very good job at it. He watched as Charlie stopped to lean against the wall, his gloved hands gripping tightly over it, determined to keep his back turned, but Ted moved until he was alongside him again, staring straight ahead, knowing Charlie wouldn’t want anyone to see him cry. He was like Ted in that way. They both hated feeling weak, even in the face of something so devastating. They instead chose to hold everything in.

“And then I find out the day after I found my dad that Bombay would be packing up and leaving, that he’d be dumping us all in this stupid school!” Charlie’s fist punched harshly at the dividing wall, smacking down so hard that it would only add further discoloration to his bruised knuckles. Ted watched as the boy threw his gloves down, and he could see the distinct discoloration that he’d failed to notice for weeks, probably because he’d been so caught up in his own disdain toward Charlie’s attitude that he didn’t see what should’ve been so noticeable.

He watched as Charlie moved to punch at the wall again, but his hand shot out to grip his fist, holding him back from doing so. But Charlie still wouldn’t look at him.

“He didn’t dump you anywhere,” Ted said finally, causing Charlie to glance sharply at him as he let go of his hand. “And if you didn’t want to be here, you didn’t have to sign your contract. You had a choice.”

“I couldn’t leave the others behind,” Charlie argued roughly. “Bombay may’ve left them, but I couldn’t. And he fought so hard to get us those scholarships. Everything I’d done for the past four years was for him. So, without him around, who was I playing for? The alumni? The booster club?”  

“I understand that. Yet, you left the team,” Ted pointed out. “So, in turn, you did to them what your dad did to you because you felt Bombay was leaving you behind. You were making them all feel how you were made to feel by all the people who left you high and dry.”

He could see the pure shame on Charlie’s face as he glanced down, his face wet with tears at this point.

“I know you didn’t mean it that way. And I’m not saying that to make you feel worse,” Ted added quickly before saying, “But I won’t lie to you either. I’ve been where you are before.”

Charlie glanced up again, this time open-mouthed, confusion painted plainly on his face, but Ted held a hand up to refrain him from saying anything.

“You know the first thing I did after the accident?” he asked bluntly, knowing Charlie knew the reason why he left the North Stars – Charlie had seen his reason and why he did all that he did that morning after Hans’s funeral. “I went out and got drunk. So drunk that I stumbled into a cab and made my way home. But when I came home, my wife screamed at me, asking me what I was thinking. I don’t remember much, but I do remember her yelling something about how drinking wasn’t going to fix anything. So, I stopped – I didn’t stop drinking entirely, I didn’t do it to run away again, but I did do something very stupid, and yeah, it may have made me feel better while I was doing it, but afterward? I was doing more damage than the guy who side-swept my family and me that night.” He gestured to Charlie’s knuckles to prove his point: varying shades of purple, blue, and green, some fading to yellow.

“What made you stop?” Charlie asked roughly.

“It was Jan,” Ted said. “He gave me a blank check and told me I had to choose, that if I feared failure, the inevitable would happen. He told me I could either make it worse or better, that I never let a hurdle stop me from playing defense, so why should my family’s situation be any different?”

Charlie nodded, tears streaming down his face. He finally seemed to get it.

“I also learned something else. Anger is exhausting. I’m not saying you’re not allowed to feel mad over what’s happened. But when you hold it in, others become collateral damage,” he continued seriously. He gestured with his eyes toward Charlie’s knuckles, the bruises standing out even darker to him now that he could see them clearly. “It does you no good, burning bridges. It also doesn’t help seeing things one way because, like I said, you’ve got choices. And you can choose to control a lot of things even when you don’t have control over your circumstances: you can control your attitude. You can choose to be happy. Or you can choose to be miserable. It’s what you make of it. ‘Cause remember what I said: It’s not just about hockey. It’s about real life, too. The question is: What are you going to choose to do?”

Charlie nodded quietly, swiping his hands over his cheeks to dry his tears away.

“And I know you said you don’t care about your dad,” Ted added. “But I don’t buy that. Because part of you will always care about and wonder what he would’ve thought.”

“I don’t.” The anger was there again, that defensiveness that Ted now recognized. Charlie was trying to deny that he cared. However, Ted knew deep down what it was like to both want someone’s approval and resent the hell out of them, and he knew Charlie was so confused by this that he couldn’t begin to understand how that was a possibility. The kid was fighting an internal war within himself as he processed this. The glare etching across Charlie’s face as he stubbornly crossed his arms over his chest protectively instantly took Ted back to that early-morning scrimmage the Ducks had done to challenge the Varsity, how Charlie stood there holding on tightly to his emotions to keep them from exploding, and Ted could see that the kid was fighting so hard to contain his rage.

“You do. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have been looking to me, or Bombay, or Hans, or even Jan for our approval – you’re still seeking approval from others whether you realize it or not because you’ve never had anyone show you what it means to be a man until Bombay and Hans. And now you have a baby brother or sister to worry about because that baby is gonna end up down the same path as you, and you’re scared of that,” Ted said firmly.

Charlie glared at him, tears filling his eyes until the realization finally sank in. His shoulders seemed to sink with him as he slowly sat down on the ice at Ted’s feet, slumped against the boards. Ted followed suit, sitting next to him.

“Don’t seek his approval,” Ted advised. “Because you don’t need it. He left you. Not because of anything you did wrong. It was him. You weren’t put on this earth to be punished. You do not owe anyone, especially him, anything. He made a choice. Whatever it was that put him in the grave, he chose that over you.”

“Why?” It was the question Charlie had asked in the cemetery, though Ted wasn’t about to tell him that he’d been eavesdropping on him. And he also couldn’t answer that question because he didn’t know why, either.

“I can’t say because I don’t know. But what I do know is if your old man were alive, you shouldn’t be seeking approval from him; he should be kissing your ass because I can tell you’ve done a lot, taking care of your mom the way you’ve been all this time, and you’re gonna have to step up and help your mom take care of the baby, because it won’t be easy on her being a single mom and having two kids she’ll need to feed and provide a life for. But I also know that Gordon still loves you. A lot. He called you the real Minnesota Miracle Man, you know.”

“I know.” Charlie dug the heel of his hand against his cheeks to wipe his tears away. “He told me that. There isn’t much we don’t talk about.” A slight smile curved its way up onto his lips, his face softening considerably.

“I gathered that when he talked to me about taking over,” Ted said gently, smiling. “And truthfully, I’ve always seen it.”

“What do you mean?” Charlie looked at him inquisitively, quirking an eyebrow as he dried up his tears.

“I’ve watched you and the Ducks play since Peewees.” Ted watched as Charlie’s expression shifted into shock, and he smiled a little wider. “Who do you think left behind those presents for you kids in the locker room after the championship? And I watched you all during the Goodwill Games – I saw everything.”

Charlie could only gape at him, opening and closing his mouth several times.

“I only did everything I’d done these past few weeks because, if I didn’t think you could handle it, I would’ve sent you kids right back to the Peewees,” he continued firmly. “Gordon knew you were ready for it, too, and he knew you needed someone to help you kids grow up; he knew he couldn’t be that for you kids. Otherwise, why do you think he convinced Dean Buckley and the board to give you kids those scholarships?”

Charlie finally nodded. “Yeah, I see that now,” he mumbled.

“For what it’s worth, if you and your mom need any help with anything, don’t hesitate to ask,” Ted told him.

“Hans and Jan have given us enough blank checks; they can’t keep giving us money,” Charlie argued.

“I’m not talking about money,” Ted said firmly. “Though a few extra dollars go a long way. I’m saying if you ever need anything, if you’re unable to pick the kid up from daycare, if you need a last-minute babysitter, if you need help with dinner, grocery shopping, whatever it is, I’m a phone call away. Really. ‘Cause if there’s one thing Jan taught me years ago after the accident, it’s that people are willing to help if you let them, and not just where money is concerned.”

Charlie only gaped back at him, unable to form words, but the fresh tears forming in his eyes communicated a silent gratitude. Ted watched as the kid’s words caught in his throat; the only noise coming from him was a quiet choke as he closed his mouth, swallowing hard.

“You’re welcome.” Ted winked at him and patted him on the shoulder, and Charlie grinned, the first genuine smile Ted had seen on his face in days.

“However,” Ted continued, his voice switching to something sterner. “These next few practices aren’t gonna be easy on any of you. I’m going to be very picky, especially with you, because if we’re gonna step our game up, it starts with you. You’re their leader. They need you to do that for them with or without that ‘C.’ You understand me?”

“Hans told me something similar to that before he died,” Charlie mumbled.

“And he was right.” Ted smiled a little wider at the boy, and Charlie’s grin widened. “All right. Get outta here, son.”

Watching as Charlie skated off to the locker room to shower and change, he knew that tomorrow morning would be when he gave the kids a little something back that was missing.

Because these kids weren’t Warriors.

Early the next morning, the kids were doing his garbage clean-up drill. Already, the ice was looking cleaner since they were clearing the trash away and banging in the junk, just as he taught them to. However, watching them skate around in their red and white Warriors jerseys a day before the big showdown sparked something in him as he blew his whistle shrilly; he knew that those jerseys were not them and that if they were going to play tomorrow, they needed to play under a banner that represented them, something that made them stick out far more differently from the Varsity team.

And if the school’s mascot name was going to change tomorrow after they won (he knew they were going to win), they might as well dress for it. When Gordon and Jan gave them those famous Mighty Ducks of Anaheim jerseys (the same jerseys the NHL team named after them in honor wore loudly and proudly), it represented them uniting as a team because the motto of the Mighty Ducks of Anaheim was theirs: Ducks fly together.

He knew that once he did what he did, those kids wouldn’t just fly. They were going to soar higher and higher because nothing could stop them at this point.

His whistle brought all the kids to a stop as he yelled, “Let’s go! GET OVER HERE!” He watched as all the kids took a knee around him, petrified, thinking they must’ve done something to displease him, but he had the cardboard box propped up atop the trashcan, having broken away from them to grab it from his office.

Looking around at their now-paling faces, he said, “You guys are not skating like Warriors!” He watched, amused, as they flinched, not realizing he was just messing with them. His face softened into a smile as he said, “You look like something else.” He opened up the flaps on the box, caught Charlie’s eye, and knew that the boy knew what he was doing. “You look like Ducks.” He reached into the box and yanked out the first jersey, displaying it so that they could see the glaring number 7 and Dwayne’s last name.

“Robertson!” he said, tossing the jersey at Dwayne, who caught it eagerly.

He smiled wider, watching as they leaped to their feet, smiling wider than he’d ever seen. But the happiest ones were Charlie and Adam, the two who’d been hurt the most during this transition. Adam looked so delighted that he seemed near tears as Ted tossed the jerseys at them all, watching as they reached their hands out eagerly like small children jumping up and down to catch candy falling from a pinata.

“ALL RIGHT!” Goldberg cried, hooting loudly.

“CHECK IT OUT!” Ted shouted, watching their hands go straight for the box to claim which one was theirs. Seeing Charlie and Adam reclaim theirs, he could see the pure joy emanating from them as they cheered, snatching the jerseys up and fanning them out. And even though Charlie’s “C” patch wasn’t present, none of that seemed to matter to anybody. He could see that they were just elated to have their stuff back, and the kids spent the rest of practice quacking happily, the quacks echoing off the walls as they skated in a circle before they all met in a massive hug, ripping the Warriors jerseys off after dropping their gloves and sticks to the ice. They tossed the red and white jerseys down to the ground and swapped them for the Duck ones, wearing their old colors proudly.

Ted let them continue their quacking until the very end, and he wouldn’t lie; he quietly quacked along, too, until he finally blew his whistle again, officially calling the end of practice.

“All right, Ducks,” he said, grinning. “You all did very well all week, so I decided I’m going to give you kids tonight and tomorrow morning off; I want you all well-rested before tomorrow night. Remember, warm-ups start at four-thirty tomorrow, so make sure you eat lunch tomorrow. Do not do anything differently than you would normally do. And then, Saturday afternoon, we’ve got an away game in Duluth; that means if you kids win tomorrow night, don’t stay up too late celebrating; we’ll need to be on the bus by ten-thirty a.m. Saturday. Are we clear?”

“YES, COACH ORION!” the kids shouted.

“All right, hit the showers and go get some breakfast,” Ted ordered, watching as they skated away, quacking all the way to the locker room.

Later that night, Ted put his daughter to bed, though she couldn’t bring herself to fall asleep. Even though she’d won her game against the Hawks that night, she was still hyped up for tomorrow and worried about what was going to happen.

“What happens if you don’t win tomorrow night, Daddy?” she asked him.

Ted stroked her hair back. “There’s nothing to worry about. Daddy still has a job. Besides, we’ve been through tougher times together than me coaching the Ducks. And the Ducks can’t get kicked out anyway; Uncle Gordy made sure of that. They’ve got to stay in school because they were given those scholarships to play hockey, not win at hockey, honey. There are more important things than winning and losing.”

Lucy nodded, clutching her favorite stuffed teddy doll closer to her. “I want them to win tomorrow. ‘Cause they’re not Warriors. They’re Ducks. I’m a Duck.”

Ted grinned at her. “And I’m proud to be a Duck, too, sweetheart. And we will win. I promise. I’ve already filled in a big order with Goldberg’s Delicatessen, so we kind of have to.” He leaned down and pecked her on the forehead, thinking about the huge catering request (turkey burger sliders, salmon burger sliders, beef ribs, coleslaw, pasta salad, Matzo ball soup, latkes, knish, duck liver pate, stuffed peppers, jelly doughnuts, and halva) he put in with Goldberg’s parents to celebrate that win with the kids; perhaps he was growing a bit overconfident, but he felt it in his gut that they were going to win this one. “Now get to sleep, baby. You’ve got school tomorrow. And you and Mommy will be watching the Ducks play the Varsity tomorrow night, so if you stay up to celebrate the win with us, you’ve gotta get lots of sleep!”

“Could you read to me? Please?”

“I’ve read you a story already,” Ted frowned, pointing to his wife’s battered copy of The Secret of the Old Clock; he’d read her two chapters that night after tucking her in.

“One more story?” Lucy asked; that wasn’t a surprise. She was always asking him to read to her. He couldn’t wait until she could start reading her own books at night. But then again, he reminded himself he’d miss this time when she would always beg him for one more story before bed. In a lot of ways, he was grateful his daughter loved books so much and that she had little patience for TV and even less patience and attention span for a movie; it meant she’d be away from electronics and be a great example for her baby brother.

“Which story do you want to hear?” Ted wandered over to her collection of books, which rested on her bookshelf.

“Stinky Cheese Man,” Lucy insisted. “Start with The Really Ugly Duckling. Please!”

Ted smiled; for some reason, that collection of twisted, stupid fairytales was Lucy’s favorite one, probably because she knew what it was like to stand out and be “different” from others. She had a natural empathy for others who were different, and The Ugly Duckling was one of her favorite classics to begin with. Plus, the stupid fairytale collection never failed to make her laugh, and he wouldn’t lie that he found those parodies amusing, also. He grabbed the book and sat back on the bed, taking in the oil pastel-styled illustration of the Stinky Cheese Man.

Opening the book to the story she wanted to hear first, he cleared his throat, saying, “‘Once upon a time, there was a mother duck and a father duck who had seven baby ducklings. Six of them were regular-looking ducklings. The seventh one was a really ugly duckling . . . The really ugly duckling heard these people, but he didn’t care . . . would probably grow up to be a swan . . . Well, as it turned out, he was just a really ugly duckling. And . . .  just a really ugly duck. The end.’” He flipped the book around to show Lucy the picture of the really ugly duck with its strange-looking eyes, long tongue, long neck, and abnormally crooked feet.

She burst into giggles at the illustration, encouraging him to keep reading the rest of the fairytales in the book until finally, he heard her drift off to sleep, her little face smoothing over as he set the book down on her bedside table, keeping it open to the page that had the really ugly duckling displayed; looking at the wacky, almost Picasso-styled ugly duck on the page as he turned the light out, it made him think of the Ducks, how they started off rough and tumble and just didn’t fit in like that very ugly duckling, yet, they persevered and were so tough as a result, how they continued to walk into Eden Hall with their heads held high.

He couldn’t have felt prouder of them as he blinked, suddenly not seeing the really ugly duckling illustration, but rather, a group of ten, eleven, and twelve-year-olds wearing green, yellow, and purple jerseys with some cheap-looking cartoon duck decal on the front of them (designed by Hans), proudly wearing them as they won their very first state championship title. He smiled gently as he closed the bedroom door behind him, feeling a strong surge of confidence rush through him, knowing deep down that those kids were going to win tomorrow.

No question.

Chapter Text

Chapter 19 – The Ducks Fly

Ted slept badly that night, almost as badly as Bella. Bella kept staying up the whole night with Braxton-Hicks contractions, something that concerned him greatly. She was nearing the end of her eighth month, and would hit her ninth month in about two weeks or so. Of course, Braxton-Hicks contractions weren’t an indicator of her being ready, but it worried him so much that he insisted she call out of work tomorrow so she could stay home and rest, because the last thing they needed was the baby coming early. Bella begrudgingly agreed; she was just as bull-headed as he was.

So, between worrying over the J.V.-Varsity showdown and making himself sick to his stomach over Bella’s pregnancy, he only got three hours of sleep and woke the next morning to his alarm, dragging his feet, yawning heavily. He made a strong shot of espresso and took it quickly, feeling the caffeine reenergizing him instantly, but it caused his heart to race and his stomach to get sicker even more, so he forced himself to eat some eggs and toast before dropping Lucy off to school for the day.

Once assured that Lucy was at school, he drove to Eden Hall Academy, his hands shaking and his heart pounding from a lot more than the espresso shot. He honestly felt like he’d throw up. But he swallowed the urge back; he was nervous over more than just the game and Bella’s pregnancy. He’d been in constant contact with Gordon, who told him that he was working out a way to get Portman back in time, that it was taking longer than he anticipated (something about Portman, Portman’s older sister Dina, his little brother David, and his sister’s kid, Jack – apparently, Portman’s mom and dad weren’t anywhere in sight, leaving Portman and his older sister as the sole guardians of his nephew and little brother along with Portman’s maternal grandparents; Gordon had a lot of deals that he needed to work out with someone who owed him a favor). Ted just hoped that Portman would come back in time. They needed his size. They needed his aggressiveness. Otherwise, the Ducks would get trampled out there. He didn’t want to picture the Varsity team cheating and harassing the Ducks during the game. But he anticipated it was going to happen.

He stayed in his office all day, unable to bring himself to eat the lunch Bella had packed for him. Every time he tried eating, his stomach cramped. He’d never been more nervous in his life. He didn’t know if it was because this game was happening so shortly after the kids’ scholarships had been on the line or if it was because Bella’s pregnancy was nearing the end. She was supposed to expect his son by next month. Still, there was a strong possibility that the baby could come even sooner than anticipated, meaning there were risks of developmental issues like autism, attention deficiency, dyslexia, and other health issues like asthma – up until the car accident, Lucy hadn’t had any health issues. Thank God, other than being paralyzed from the waist down, she was healthy, and he need not worry about her because he knew no matter what, she’d be okay. But his son . . . if anything were to ever happen to his son . . . his second chance to do things right . . .

By the time four o’clock came around, he was in the locker room waiting for the kids. Charlie and Adam were the first to arrive, along with Connie and Julie. They wasted no time in changing into their pads, but on their way to the bathroom area to get dressed, Connie and Julie paused in front of him.

“You okay, Coach?” Julie asked.

Ted sighed. “Nervous. I didn’t sleep. At all. Neither did my wife.”

“Why?” asked Connie.

“You’ll find out,” he told them, ushering the girls off to the bathroom area to get changed.

The rest of the flock came crowding in, wasting no time at all. Ted left them to have some privacy, but just as quickly as he stepped out to step behind the bench, Charlie followed him.

“Is something wrong?” he asked.

“My wife didn’t sleep all night,” Ted sighed, remembering Hans’s advice about letting the kids in. That started with Charlie. “She’s eight months along; she claims she just has Braxton-Hicks, but I don’t know. I made her stay home from work. She wasn’t happy.”

“Boy or girl?” Charlie asked, understanding that his mother would be going through that in about a year. 

“Boy.” Ted smiled tightly. “We decided we’re naming him Hans.”

Charlie’s eyes misted at the mention of that. He nodded, giving him a tight smile. “Hans would’ve liked that.”

“Yeah, he would’ve.”

“Is she coming tonight?”

“Against my better judgment, yes.” Ted ran his hand through his hair. “In a way, I’m happy she is. Because I could use her and my daughter out there tonight.”

Charlie nodded, understanding.

“Get the team ready,” Ted said. “You’ve got warm-ups in a half-hour, and the arena officially opens at five ‘cause we start at five fifteen.”

Charlie nodded. “You know I will.”

Ted patted him on the shoulder, smiling gently before stepping behind the bench. Sitting there, he let out a nervous breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding in as he stared at the ice, knowing that in an hour, the kids would be playing their hearts out there for Hans and that everything was on the line tonight. They couldn’t lose this. This was Ted’s chance to prove to those board members that he could coach a winning team and redeem himself after last season’s fiasco.

He was brought out of his anxious thoughts when he heard the doors to the rink opening, but before he could get up to see who was entering, he saw Bella and Lucy coming in, with Lucy clutching what appeared to be a handful of colorful construction paper pieces in her little hands.

“What are you two doing here so early?” he asked, touching Bella’s stomach briefly and feeling his baby boy kick fiercely against the walls inside her belly.

“I wanted to give the Ducks these.” Lucy lifted up one of the pieces of construction paper. It had her handwriting on it, large and reading: DUCKS FLY TOGETHER! Ted picked up the pieces of paper; there were other slogans written there:

GO, DADDY, GO!

WE WILL, WE WILL QUACK YOU!

PLAY LIKE A GIRL, CONNIE!

GO GOLDBERG!

GO, CONWAY, GO!

YOU’RE NO LADY! YOU’RE A DUCK, JULIE!

KICK BUTT, BASH BROTHER!

RUFFLE FEATHERS TONIGHT!

QUACK, QUACK, QUACK!

IT’S KNUCKLEPUCK TIME, RUSS!

Ted felt his breath hitch in his throat at the sight of the homemade posters. She obviously had some help from her art teacher with the spelling, but seeing what she did, drawing various hearts, stars, and other little designs on the posters, he knew the kids were going to love seeing those.

“Sadie, Seth, and I made these today,” Lucy said. “They were the best drawings in our class.”

“I’m sure they’ll absolutely love them,” Ted said warmly. “They’re getting ready for warm-ups right now, but you can go and give them those now if you want.”

Lucy nodded, beaming, and Ted kissed his wife gently. “Go take your seat, honey.”

Bella nodded, moving slowly and carefully along the ice until she sat in one of the lower levels of the stands. Ted gently pushed Lucy along until they were outside the J.V. locker room. As they entered, he pushed the door open for her, seeing the kids still getting their jerseys on. Averman, Julie, and Guy first noticed her entering the locker room.

“Hey!” Julie said.

“Hey, Coach, what are you doing here?” Connie asked, referring to Lucy – the Ducks who’d met her during the Cardinals game had started calling her “Coach” because, in many ways, she had an even better eye than Ted did.

“My friends and I made these for you.” Lucy held up the homemade posters in her hands to show the Ducks, who stared at her, wide-eyed with surprise, looking as shocked as Ted felt when he first saw her little art project.

Charlie stepped forward, beaming at her before kneeling at her feet. He took the one that was addressed to him. “Thank you,” he said.

Lucy cocked her head to the side as she looked at Charlie before saying, “You’re Charlie Conway, right? Daddy talks about you all the time.”

“Good things, I hope?” Charlie teased.

Lucy giggled; Ted knew she heard his complaints about Charlie to his wife, but she didn’t say anything he’d said, a lot of which he now regretted, knowing what he knew now. Instead, Lucy just nodded, her blonde curls bouncing up and down.

“When you go out there, fly like Ducks,” Lucy said, giving them the thumbs-up as she handed the posters out to them.

“We will,” Luis assured her.

Charlie smiled at her. “You’ll be our eyes out there tonight, right?”

Lucy nodded. “Yeah.”

“All right, go find Mommy and take your seat, okay?” Ted ushered Lucy out of the locker room, and she waved goodbye to the team, smiling sweetly at them. Turning back to the kids, he could see Connie and Julie had tears in their eyes as they tucked the posters into their lockers.

“You all get to take those home with you later,” he told them.

“Thanks, Coach,” Guy said, grinning as he examined his poster, which read: GO GET ‘EM, GUY!

The kids finished warmups before the stadium started filling up. As it neared game time, Ted saw the kids all huddled together in a group hug, and he heard Charlie whispering to them.

“For Hans.”

“For Hans,” the others replied. That was Ted’s cue to step out as he heard Adam Banks reciting the Our Father and then the Hail Mary before Goldberg recited a prayer in fluent Hebrew. He stepped behind the bench, looking out into the crowd for Bombay – he wasn’t back yet; he hoped that Gordon wasn’t going to be too late, that there was still a chance.

He spotted his wife and daughter sitting in their seats not far from the benches. He also spotted Casey Conway taking her seat. He also heard Josh, the commentator, warming up the crowd. He watched as they skated circularly on the ice, kneeling down to touch it for Hans, and Ted felt his throat tighten up considerably as he thought of Hans, his baby boy’s namesake; tears nearly misted in his eyes as he thought of Hans, of how proud he’d be of these kids, the team that he helped make four years ago.

Once the Ducks finished their circle around their goalpost, Ted could overhear Coach Wilson telling the Varsity Warriors that the Ducks didn’t belong in their school. He knew Coach Wilson had been part of the effort to revoke the kids’ scholarships. He shoved his anger toward his old Varsity coach aside as he addressed his kids, who gathered around him, helmets off.

“All right,” he said, “let’s go hunting for goose eggs, huh?”

The kids all nodded.

“Come on, hands in,” he grinned, putting his hand in. “On three . . . ‘Quack.’”

Their grins widened even more, especially Adam’s. He seemed more than happy to start quacking again.

“One, two, three. Quack, quack, quack, quack, quack, quack . . .!”

Soon, not only were the Ducks joining in along with him, but everyone in the crowd was quacking, too. It was contagious.

“Quack . . . Quack . . . Quack . . . Quack . . . Quack!”

He didn’t know how many “Quacks” they chanted until they finally roared, “GOOOOOO DUCKS!” but he didn’t care. Looking at the pure joy on their faces, he felt his own smile widen even more. They finished the cheer by throwing their hands in the air, and the crowd erupted into a loud roar.

“COME ON NOW!” Ted yelled, ushering his first-line picks out there: Adam as the center, Charlie as the right wing, and Robertson on the left. Russ was the right-side defense while Goldberg took his place on the left, and Julie got in the goalpost, smacking her stick against the metal bars of the post to warm up.

Ted watched with pursed lips, knowing this would be a rough one, especially for Adam. With Adam going up against Riley, he could only imagine what Riley was saying to Adam right now. But once the puck was dropped, Ted winced as Adam was knocked hard on the ice. He watched nervously as the kids dove onto the ice, trying to stop the Varsity from heading to their goalpost, but it was fruitless. The Varsity was just too fast for them to even keep up with, and Ted bit on his lower lip, feeling the sickness return to his stomach all over again as he watched, hating that these kids were being put through this.

His stomach tightened as someone on the Varsity took his shot against Julie, but she swiftly caught it. He exhaled a sigh of relief.

“Thank God,” he whispered, knowing it would’ve gone off to a bad start if these guys could score against the Cat. But just as quickly, the Varsity wrapped around the post and went to take another shot, but the kids crowded in front of the goalpost, with Goldberg making a toe save. He held his breath as Varsity tried to crowd in front of Julie, but the Ducks swarmed in front of her, protecting her just as he taught them to.

“Fulton!” Ted barked. “Change it!” He watched as Russ hopped over the bench, and he heard Connie crying out, “All right! Go, Julie!” He watched as his kids swapped around, this time with Charlie taking center ice to face off against Riley.

“Come on, Charlie,” he whispered as the puck was dropped again. He grinned as Charlie got the retaliation for Adam getting knocked around; Charlie shouldered his way past Rick and passed the puck off to Dwayne, who got hold of it.

“Go! Go!” Ted yelled, but he winced as Robertson was sent crashing into the boards by the Varsity. Fulton raced in to protect the cowboy, only for the Varsity to dogpile on top of Fulton, which led to Varsity getting the puck again. They took their shot, only for Julie to save it again. Charlie wrapped around to get the puck out of the zone, but Ted winced as Charlie was rammed into the glass by Rick, giving Varsity another opening again. But no matter how many times Varsity took their shot, they couldn’t get past Julie and Goldberg; at one point, Ted had to change things by sending Guy out there instead of Adam, who was breathing heavily and needed a break. Luckily, Charlie got the rebound at one point and iced the puck into the Varsity zone, but Ted could even see that Charlie was getting tired. Even Julie looked exhausted as she took a swig of water.

At one point, Ted had the combination of Kenny, Charlie, and Averman out there, but even with that combination, Varsity kept overpowering them. Despite nobody scoring anything yet, Ted knew they couldn’t get comfortable now, not when they were nearing the end of the first period. Watching them clear the puck away from the goalpost, Ted applauded them.

“Good get!” he shouted.

At one point, Adam had the shot on the Varsity, but Scooter blocked it off. Ted sighed, shaking his head.

They began the second period with Charlie, Averman, and Kenny, but that combination proved to be fruitless. No matter what combo they tried, the Varsity team started with cheap shots. Ted watched with a wince as Rick Riley viciously tripped Charlie and then slammed him into the glass. He watched Charlie’s mother stand up, screaming for the ref to call something. He could also hear his daughter yelling angrily.

“COME ON, REF! DIDN’T YOU SEE THAT? COME ON! THAT WAS SUCH A BAD CALL!” Lucy screamed from where she sat, shaking her head.

At one point, Connie was flipped over and landed on her neck. Ted, knowing full and well how painful it was to sprain your neck, yelled at the ref to call something, as that was a clear intent to injure Connie.

“COME ON!” he yelled, slamming his folder down. “REF! CALL SOMETHING FOR GOD’S SAKE! THAT’S NOT A NECKLACE YOU’RE WEARING! HE SPRAINED HER NECK FOR CRYING OUT LOUD! SHE’S A GIRL!” He shook his head, watching as the kids all collapsed in front of the net, trying so hard to protect it. He smacked his hand against the glass divider between him and Coach Wilson, who turned to look at him smugly.

“What?” he asked.

Ted glowered at him. “Keep your boys on a leash!” he spat as Connie skated over, rubbing her neck, tears in her eyes.

“You’re okay, Moreau. Shake it off,” he said firmly.

Connie shook her head, crying, “It . . . It hurts so bad!”

“It’s okay. You’re all right,” he said. “Look at me, breathe. Okay? Enough with the dramatics. Shake it off and breathe. Come on, honey, arms over your head, back straight, deep breaths in and out. You’re gonna be okay.”

Connie nodded, gulping in air as Ted helped her get her helmet off, and Guy stayed glued to her side dutifully, grabbing her hand in his as Ted helped her hop over the wall, placing an icepack onto her neck. But even though Connie’s neck was sprained, the refs still didn’t penalize Varsity for that. Ted shook his head in disgust. Even the refs were being bribed! What the hell?

At one point, Riley and somebody else had Averman slammed against the boards; Ted cringed, watching as Averman’s head was impacted badly, smacking into the glass behind him, and he went down as Riley’s winger slammed into him again, this time smacking him with a nut shot right to the face. Ted shook his head angrily as Fulton and Dwayne helped him off the ice toward the bench.

Averman smiled upward, dazed. “Ah, it’s so pretty up there.” Averman looked straight at him, still grinning, completely disoriented and out of it. He definitely had a concussion and would be out for the rest of the game, no question, unless the medics gave them the okay to put him back in.

“Way to stand strong, buddy,” Ted said gently.

“Hi, Coach,” Averman laughed.

“Come on, son,” Ted said soothingly. “Come on, take a seat.” He patted Averman on the shoulder as he got the boy sitting down, knowing he was going to be out until the medics cleared him. He watched nervously as the medic shone a flashlight into Averman’s eyes. But as he got Averman sitting down, he listened as Wilson demanded his boys keep hitting them.

“Watch yourselves, Ducks. They’re head-hunting, huh?” Ted warned them.

This continued for the whole period, and they weren’t going to get a single break; he sent Fulton and Goldberg out there to change things up a bit at one point. By that point, they were open net as Julie fought to clear the puck, but she made a tremendous catch in her glove before the Varsity could score anything.

“Good job, Gaffney! Good girl! Way to show ‘em, darling!” Ted yelled, applauding her effort.

At another point late into the second period, he had Guy, Dwayne, and Fulton out there as linemates. But even that did no good. In fact, Guy was wrapping around and getting the rebound when one of the Varsity players lined him up against the boards, and the glass connected with the boy’s shoulder harshly.

“COME ON!” Ted shouted at the ref. “WELL BLOW SOMETHING! COME ON!”

“COME ON, REF! ARE YOU BLIND? IS THE SUN IN YOUR EYES? WHERE’S THE CALL?” Lucy screamed from the stands.

He watched nervously as the refs and the trainer began gently helping Guy up, fighting their way through the flock of Ducks surrounding the injured boy. Ted could see Connie’s face paling significantly as she worried sick over her ex-boyfriend, who was lying there in pain, gripping his shoulder. Ted shook his head as Wilson turned to him and said, “That’s hockey!” No, this wasn’t hockey. This was a circus! Guy was led off the ice and toward their bench, still moaning painfully.

“Come on, son,” Ted said. “You’re gonna be okay. Tell me what hurts.”

“Shoulder,” Guy gritted out.

“Sit down, bud. We’ll get that taken care of in a minute, okay?” Ted assured him, and together, he and Connie helped Guy sit down so the medic could take a look at him. Glancing at the clock, they had seconds left into the second period and still hadn’t scored a thing. But they were playing the strongest defense they’d ever played.

The second period ended with zero to zero, even though Charlie at one point had the breakaway; if only he’d had enough time, he could’ve gotten the shot! And as Ted led the kids to the locker room, he heard Josh having a brief intermission session with Paul Kariya, the captain of the Mighty Ducks of Anaheim, who’d flown out to act as a surprise to the Ducks – no doubt, there would be time for photos and autographs between the Ducks and the NHL Mighty Ducks of Anaheim captain much later on.

Once inside the locker room, Ted wasted no time making sure Averman and Guy got checked out by the medics. Guy was getting his shoulder popped back into place, and they all winced, listening as he cried out in pain. Connie held his hand tightly while another medic shone a light into Averman’s eyes again.

“He’s cleared!” the medic announced before moving to check on Connie, having her move her neck from side to side.

“Thanks,” Ted said before addressing the kids, who were all sweating profusely and panting furiously. Charlie needed to take some puffs through an inhaler, as the harshness of this game and the number of times he’d been sent out there triggered an asthmatic reaction (that part he hadn’t known about; apparently, Charlie hadn’t had any issues with asthma in a long time, and Casey had to rush back to the locker room to make sure he got his inhaler); he coughed harshly as he breathed into the inhaler, catching his breath.

“You all right?” Ted asked Charlie softly.

Charlie nodded, panting. “I’m okay,” he whispered back. “I just . . . I haven’t had that in years.”

“Okay, you’re all right,” Ted assured him before addressing everyone else. “You’re playing hard,” he told them, patting Russ on the shoulder. “I’m proud of you guys.”

“They’re cheap-shotting us to death, Coach,” said Luis.

“I know they are. I know they are,” Ted assured them.

“It’s gonna take a miracle for us to hold on,” said Averman, shaking his head. But just as Averman noted that, the door to the locker room opened, and in came the second Bash Brother, Dean Portman.

“‘Dean Portman is awarded a full athletic and academic scholarship to the Eden Hall Academy,’” he read off his contract, grinning. “I had this lying around the house in Chicago. My attorney thought I should sign it. I agreed. It’s official, boys! I’m back!”

Ted grinned, watching as the kids jumped up and hugged Dean tightly, but Charlie hung back from celebrating the reunion with their second Bash Brother, simply saying, “Bombay.” Ted grinned in return, patting Charlie on the shoulder and beckoning him to welcome Dean back onto the team. Ted went into the mess of the kids, shaking Dean’s hand and beckoning him to go and get changed.

“I’m glad you came, Portman. Varsity’s been kicking our ass,” he said. “Go get dressed, son.”

Portman grinned at him as the kids cheered loudly, breaking away from them to get changed. But Lucy entered the locker room before they could continue celebrating the Bash Brother’s return. Bella followed closely behind, rubbing her massive belly as she fought through the line of sweaty hockey players.

“Coach!” she said, which got everyone silenced. “Coach, you’ve gotta get more power plays! They’re killing you out there! You’ll all be stuck in overtime if it keeps going like this!”

“You know scoring comes secondary, sweetie,” Ted told her, kneeling down at her feet.

“I know! But I’m sick of watching the Ducks get roasted out there!” Lucy said, addressing the Ducks as Portman came around the corner in his jersey, pads, and skates.

“Well, what do you suggest?” Charlie asked her.

Lucy turned to Fulton and Portman, sizing them up. “Sic the Bash Brothers on them. And put Banksy in at center ice. Have Charlie and Dwayne out there, too.”

Dean grinned. “I like the sound of that, little lady.”

“Thank you, Dean, but I am no lady. I’m a Duck!” Lucy shouted, turning around in her wheelchair. Ted helped her stand up so they could see her Ducks jersey number and name: ORION, number 4.

Connie and Julie grinned at each other. “We could use her on the team, Coach,” Julie laughed.

“Yeah, I love her attitude,” grinned Adam. “She’d be good for us. Imagine her paired with Dean or Fulton. She’d be a menace!”

“We’ll talk about that when she’s older.” Ted set his little girl back down into her chair. “Go back out there and sit down, okay, sweetie?”

“We’ll see you later.” Bella leaned in and kissed him goodbye, which led to Luis, Averman, Dean, and Goldberg hooting; Dean said something that sounded like, “Ooh, give me some sugar!” Ted glowered at them, shaking his head at their immaturity before leaning in and kissing his wife again and ushering her out of the locker room, telling Lucy to follow.

“All right, kids, let’s get back out there and do it again!”

They started up the third and final period with Lucy's suggested lineup. And it proved to bring forth just the morale boost they needed because Cole tried rushing Dean within seconds, but Portman acted instinctively and lowered himself down, sending Cole flipping over and flying into the glass; Cole landed in the crowd, dazed. He was so dazed that he couldn’t get back up without falling over, and Ted laughed. He felt that that was a true poetic justice considering all the cheap shots Varsity had delivered to J.V. all night. With the Bash Brothers out there, the Ducks were thoroughly protected and weren’t going down without a fight. He even, at one point, took out one of their wingers and had three Bash Brothers out there: Portman, Fulton, and Goldberg.

It was almost too good to be true. He caught Bombay’s gaze from where Gordon sat in the stands, and Gordon beamed at him widely, giving him the thumbs-up.

Almost.

Because it didn’t take long for the Varsity to get a penalty shot when the refs declared that Dean had hooked somebody, he would be out for the rest of the two minutes of the game.

“COME ON REF!” Ted yelled angrily; after the ref’s made such shitty calls all night long, they got Dean for that?

“What kind of call was that?” he heard Dean yelling at the refs. “Give me a break. I didn’t do anything. That’s a dive! Come on, ref!”

Ted shook his head as Dean was put in the box. This wasn’t good for them at all, losing their best Bash Brother. Apparently, Dean was so pissed off that he declared mutiny and started stripping his jersey off, followed by his pads and undershirt, until he was shirtless and dancing in the penalty box.

He heard Averman crying for Dean to “shake it up” and laughed harder, watching Dean dance along to “Born to be Wild.” Ted called for another line change, but then another penalty was called against them because Kenny got a little too eager and hopped over when it wasn’t his turn: too many men on the ice.

“All right!” Ted yelled at the refs. “Time out! Time out!” He knew this meant they would be two men down; they would only have to rely on three players plus Julie. As he gathered the kids over to him, he tried to think of what Lucy would suggest and what she would say at that moment. She would recommend putting Charlie in center ice with Adam as the right wing, but they’d need a heavy defenseman in for the left side to help counterbalance their lack of defense on the ice. And he knew exactly who he wanted since Dean was in the box and Fulton was overworked, to begin with. Catching Lucy’s eye from where she sat, he saw her holding up one of her notebooks for school; she’d scrawled across the blank page: GOLDBERG, DADDY! He nodded back at her, winking and mouthing to her, “Good looking out, kiddo,” as Charlie took a couple more puffs through his inhaler, breathing hard.

Turning to his kids, he said, “Come on, bring it in.” He looked around at every single one of them, holding their gaze with his own. “Now, listen to me. The pressure is all on them. All we gotta do is hold our ground. Okay, Conway, Banks . . . and Goldberg, I’m going with you.”

Goldberg glanced back at him, bewildered. “Me, Coach?”

“You, Goldberg. You earned your spot out there,” he assured the fourth, unofficial Bash Brother. “Okay, Ducks? Here we go! Come on!”

The kids cheered loudly, moving to take their spots on the ice, but Ted stopped Charlie before he could go any further, knowing he needed a word in with Gordon’s boy. “Hey, Charlie, we’re really backed into a corner here. We hold them off for two minutes, we got ourselves a tie.”

“We’re up to it, Coach,” Charlie replied.  

“I know you are,” Ted said firmly. “But you deserve to win. Not careless, but not too careful, either. If you see your shot, take it. Make sure it counts.” He then pulled out something from his jacket pocket that he’d been keeping with him the whole game and patted it onto Charlie’s chest. Charlie glanced down at his “C” and beamed at him. “Go get ‘em, Captain,” he added, patting the boy on the shoulder, and Charlie’s smile somehow widened even more before he skated off to take center ice. He caught Lucy’s gaze in the crowd and winked at her as Charlie took the face-off against Riley. Riley, unfortunately, ended up winning the face-off, but Julie made another massive save as the Varsity rebounded. But they were open-net again.

Luckily, Adam threw himself in front of the net and caught the puck right in the chest, saving it. Goldberg got hold of the puck and cleared it out of the zone. Julie scrambled back to her feet, and it was Goldberg, Charlie, and Adam skating along as Goldberg cleared it across the way. It went back into the Varsity zone, but the kids were backchecking, holding Riley and his goons off.

“Make him make the first move, Conway,” Ted yelled from the bench, watching everything closely with a tight chest, his stomach twisting nervously as he kept his eyes trained on his newly minted captain, and suddenly, Charlie swooped down low, getting underneath Riley and flipping him over, regaining control of the puck!

“THAT’S WHAT I’M TALKING ABOUT!” Ted yelled proudly. That was when Charlie had the breakaway with a minute left.

Come on, come on, Ted thought, his heart pounding fiercely against his ribcage as his palms grew sweaty with nerves. He watched as Goldberg and Adam hauled ass behind him, and Charlie neared the goalpost to take his shot against Scooter. Charlie did his triple deke and took his shot . . . no . . . he was faking it, and he passed the puck over to . . .

“SHOOT GOLDBERG! SHOOT GOLDBERG!” Ted and the other Ducks shouted, yelling for him to take it. Goldberg took it . . . and the puck sailed into the open side of the net within seconds! It was one to nothing! They won!

Ted roared proudly, punching his fist into the air. He grinned, watching as his kids raced over and hugged one another. He laughed as he jumped over the bench to go to them, only to be stopped by Coach Wilson, who looked surprisingly humbled by the loss.

“Good game,” Coach Wilson said, shaking his hand.

“Hey, thanks,” Ted said, watching Charlie break away from the others to skate over to him.

“We’ll get you next time,” Wilson said, and Ted thanked him just as Charlie came barreling toward him. Ted caught the captain in a tight embrace, laughing gently and patting him on the back, lifting him off the ice slightly as he hugged him, feeling Charlie hugging him back, an arm around his neck. He didn’t care that Charlie was drenched in sweat or that the sweat was getting all over his sports coat. Standing there hugging the boy, they were a lot further along than where they’d been weeks ago during their first meeting.

“Hell of a pass, Captain,” he praised, keeping his arms wrapped around the boy, who smiled back at him so widely that Ted thought the boy’s face would break.

“Thanks, Coach.”

Ted grinned wider and walked over to the kids. The Bash Brothers grabbed him into a hug, lifting him up onto their shoulders in celebration. They were so caught up in the moment that they barely heard Charlie calling for them to take a look at the scoreboard. The Warriors’ Indian chief mascot was replaced with the Ducks logo!

“HEY! Look what Bombay did!” bellowed Dean, pointing it to everyone. Ted grinned widely as he watched Charlie share a kiss with some girl, Linda, he believed, who was on the student council and had been trying for weeks to get the mascot’s name changed to something less racist and offensive. It was just as promised: The Warriors die, and the Ducks fly. Ted laughed at the thought of Riley and the others needing to play under the title of Duck for the rest of the season. And soon, the entire crowd quacked as Ted caught Gordon’s smile, and Gordon winked at him, applauding as he walked off. Ted felt a slight hint of sadness, knowing Bombay couldn’t stay long and that he had only another day or so left in Minnesota before returning to LA. But he understood. And Bombay trusted him, knowing his kids were in good hands.

Ted grinned, leading the kids back to the locker room, but he hung back to fall into step with Charlie, who watched in slight despondence as Gordon walked away.

“He’s gotta go again?” He could hear the hurt in the boy’s voice that Gordon didn’t stay to say goodbye.

“Don’t worry,” Ted assured him gently, wrapping an arm around Charlie. “You’ll see him again.”

Tears misted in Charlie’s eyes, threatening to spill. “I know. But . . . I wish he didn’t have to go.”

Ted smiled at him comfortingly. “It’s okay.” He wasn’t going to reveal to the kids that Bombay wasn’t leaving just yet and that there would be a surprise back at his house for them. “But I’m glad you came back, kid.”

“I’m glad I came back, too,” Charlie said.

“Really, son, it wasn’t the same without you. And I’d been given a second chance because of you kids. I thought that after I retired, I’d never be able to continue with this. Sure, I liked coaching, but you kids . . . you guys have made me love it. You made it well worth it.”

Charlie’s tears suddenly spilled as he smiled at Ted brokenly. “Thank you.”

“Come on, after you guys clean up, we’re all going to my house. I may or may not have put in a huge order from Goldberg’s family’s deli, anticipating we’d win,” Ted said sheepishly.

“And if we lost?” asked Charlie.

“Then I would have better hoped that Isaac and Hannah would’ve let me get a refund on over four hundred dollars worth of food,” he joked. “I was just lucky they offered me the friends and family discount price since I coach their son. It also probably helps that my wife and I are two of their best customers.”

Charlie laughed, but they were cut off when they heard Bella screaming for Ted as they walked back to the locker room together, Ted’s arm still draped around Charlie’s shoulders.

“Ted! Ted!”

Turning around, he saw Bella standing behind him with Lucy at her heels, looking wide-eyed and alarmed.

“Belles, what –?”

Bella clutched her hands around her stomach, and Ted could see a wet spot forming underneath her. That only meant one thing . . .

“Crap,” he whispered.

“My water just broke."

Chapter Text

Chapter 20 – The Flock Expands

Within seconds, everything flashed before his eyes. Ted wasted no time gathering his wife and daughter up, ushering them outside to the parking lot.

“Charlie, I hate to leave you kids like this, but –”

“We’ll be all right. Get to the hospital,” Charlie said.

Ted nodded, fishing around his pockets before pulling out a copy of his keys to the rink. “Lock up the changing room for me.”

“Me?”

“Yes. When you’re done, leave it in my office, okay?”

Charlie nodded, clutching his hand tightly around Ted’s keys before rushing to the locker room, and Ted quickly led Bella and Lucy out to the car. After getting Lucy out of the wheelchair and into her car seat, he helped Bella climb onto the passenger side. She gasped in pain, tears flooding her eyes, and he quickly yanked the driver’s side door open. He slammed it shut and put his seatbelt on before putting his key into the ignition. He barely checked his mirrors and didn’t even use his blinker, but he didn’t care. He put his foot on the gas and pulled out of the lot, but not before paging Gordon, telling him to meet him at the hospital and to also stop by Goldberg’s Delicatessen to inform Isaac Goldberg that there had been a change of plans, that the catering order was still on for the Ducks, but that he’d need to drop it off at the hospital, and if any doctors tried to give him any issues, Bella was a nurse; she could get them clearance with no problem. Besides, she was probably dying for a salmon burger slider and a cup of matzo ball soup right about now, anyway. And nothing could ever get between her and food.

He drove toward Hennepin County Medical, his heart racing fiercely in his chest, his mind on only one thing: getting his wife to the hospital so he could meet his son. He suddenly had tunnel vision, fighting against his anxiousness as they got caught in a crawl of heavy traffic on the way there.

“Oh, God, oh, God!” Bella groaned. “Ted, hurry, already!”

“I’m trying! I can’t drive through them all, Belles!” Ted yelled.

Bella shook her head, sucking in deep breaths as Ted crawled through the traffic until, finally, they made it. He barely pulled into a spot in the parking lot; he didn’t care that he was parked illegally, either. He’d get a ticket for all he cared. He was sure Averman’s uncle, a lieutenant on the police force, would let it slide since he didn’t have a history of traffic violations. He parked, got out, and went to get Lucy out of the car and into her wheelchair. He then helped Bella limp her way into the emergency room.

“She’s in labor!” Ted yelled, flagging down one of the nurses who he had just learned worked in the maternity ward.

“Isn’t she only eight months along?” the nurse, Shelly, asked as she helped Bella get into a wheelchair.

“We were at the game at Eden Hall,” Ted explained, walking alongside his wife and holding her hand while one of her co-workers, Miranda, took Lucy away to sit with her in the waiting room.

“Okay.” Shelly turned to another nurse, Chloe. “Chloe, alert Dr. Shepherd. We’ll need to administer an epidural and possibly prepare for an emergency C-section. The baby being born during the eight months, there’s no telling what’s gonna happen.”

Bella’s face paled at this. Lucy had been born without any emergency C-section. Ted squeezed her hand tightly as they got into the hospital room, and once they were in, the nurses whisked Bella away to get changed into a hospital gown.

“She’s almost fully dilated,” Shelly explained as she helped Bella up and onto the bed. “We’ll get Dr. Shepherd, a nurse anesthetist, and the anesthesiologist here. We’ve got to do an ultrasound and see where the baby is positioned; if he’s on his side or feet first, we’ll have to go in. There would be no other choice.”

“Just make sure my son comes out of her all right,” Ted said tightly as he squeezed his wife’s hand tightly, her fingers cutting off his circulation.

It seemed like hours later, but in reality, it had only been a few minutes when the team of doctors finally arrived. He watched as Bella’s OBGYN, Dr. Shepherd, applied the gel to Bella’s massive belly and ran the scanners over her.

“Positioned on his side,” Dr. Shepherd said. “Okay, Cassie. Administer twenty milliliters of epidural; we’ve got to do this now because the baby is trying to push out, but he can’t.”

“On it, Dr. Shepherd.”

Ted stood there, watching with a held breath as Bella sat upright, and he squeezed both her hands tightly as a spot on her lower back was cleaned with rubbing alcohol.

“No, no!” He knew from experience that Bella wasn’t good with needles. Even when she had to draw blood from a patient, it made her light-headed. She hated blood and anything foreign going into her, and he knew that she’d hated it when she got an epidural for Lucy’s birth. It made him wonder why she chose nursing as her profession when she had such a sensitivity to needles and blood.

“Shhh, you’re okay,” Ted whispered. “It’ll be all right.”

“I hate this part!”

“I know, baby, I know.”

“Owww!” She let out a shriek as the nurse anesthetist put the needle into her spine while Ted wiped his thumb under her eyes, catching her tears. “Ow, ow, oh, God!”

“You’re okay, honey. Just take a nice deep breath,” Dr. Shepherd whispered, rubbing Bella’s back gently, but Ted could imagine that even with the epidural, she was going to be in a lot of pain and discomfort; she’d been in so much pain delivering Lucy the other way. To be cut open from your . . . your . . . to your abdomen? He couldn’t begin to picture it as he squeezed at her hands, watching as she sniffled, panting after the medicine was administered. Even though it would numb her, she was still going to feel some of it, he was sure, and she was going to be in so much pain after getting sewn up; he wished that there was anything else that he could do other than just standing there feeling so useless. But he remembered what he told the kids all those weeks ago.

Confidence.

That’s how you attack life even when you think you don’t have any control.

He needed to have confidence now. This was the same. This was like what the Ducks did back at Eden Hall at the beginning of the season. And he knew he needed to be an example of that for them right now and show them what it meant to be a real husband and father.

Shakily, he kept squeezing Bella’s hands as the nurses rolled her back onto the bed, laying her down and putting the screen up to hide what it was they were about to do. Nonetheless, Bella kept her eyes tightly shut as she breathed heavily through her mouth and nose, moaning and whimpering in between breaths as they hooked her up to an IV.

“I can’t do this!” Bella sobbed, sweat breaking out on her forehead and neck. Ted reached for a washcloth and wiped her face gently.

“Yes, you can,” Ted whispered. “You and I raised our daughter after the accident. You took care of her while I was on the road all the time for away games. You’re the strongest woman I’ve ever met in my life. You can do anything. I know you can.”

“Keep talking to her, Ted. Keep her as relaxed as you can,” Dr. Shepherd said as she prepared the tools needed. Ted winced as he noticed the array of needles and other tools needed, knowing his wife was about to get cut open. “Okay, Bella, I’m going to make the incisions now, all right? You can keep your eyes closed if it helps.”

Bella nodded, squeezing her eyes shut as Dr. Shepherd cut the entryway. Ted had to close his own eyes as well, unable to watch it as he kept holding his wife’s hand. As the incision was made, he heard his wife scream loudly, her voice shrill and piercing in his ear as his eyes shot open, and he watched, feeling sick as Dr. Shepherd and the nurses worked to turn the baby until his head started to crown. Bella’s eyes shot open as she watched; even though she couldn’t see everything, she knew what was happening, could feel it happening, and she screamed even louder as the doctor and the nurses gently pulled their son out of her. They could hear the sharp, piercing cries of the baby as he was slowly pulled out, and Ted gasped, looking at the mangled little body, the baby’s head so tiny; he was covered in blood and other fluids and cried piercingly as he left his mommy’s belly, but otherwise looked okay despite being so small, a little peanut, probably about two or three pounds at least.

Tears flooded his eyes as he watched the nurses snip the umbilical cord, and he kept holding his wife’s hand the whole time as they stitched her up and ushered their boy away to get bathed and see if he needed to be on any assisted oxygen. Ted watched as the doctor finished Bella’s stitches around her belly, and while he knew it would leave a permanent scar, it was the sign that their little boy had been born.

He smiled, leaning down and kissing her repetitively. “You did it. We did it, baby.”

Bella sniffled, gasping as the nurses returned with baby Hans, swaddled in a light blue blanket. Shelly handed the baby to Bella, who took Hans into her arms and sniffled.

“Oh, my God, you’re so beautiful! I . . . I love you!” she sobbed.

“Hey, little man,” Ted chuckled. “Hey, I’m your daddy.”

“Yeah,” Bella laughed, though it sounded like a cross between a sob. “Yeah, Daddy’s been waiting for you for a long, long time. Are you Daddy’s little boy?”

The baby briefly opened his eyes, and Ted could see a hint of Bella there, as his eyes were green, but the patch of hair on his head was a light strawberry blond, a mix between his and Bella’s hair color; even his face looked like Ted’s from the baby photos Ted had seen of himself.

“Wow,” Bella sobbed out. “He looks like you.”

“He looks like you, too. He has your eyes,” Ted whispered as Hans sneezed slightly. “Oh, God bless you.”

Bella giggled, laying back in the bed and resting their boy on her chest. “Go tell the Ducks.”

Ted nodded, kissed her on the forehead, and left the room, venturing down the hall until he was outside in the hospital waiting room, where the entire J.V. team sat with Gordon, Casey, Jan, and Lucy, who anxiously waited to hear the news. He could see on Charlie’s face that the boy was shocked that Gordon had stayed behind so he could celebrate the win with them and even more shocked that Gordon had helped Isaac Goldberg with getting all of the food into the hospital, which, from what Ted was being told, was being set up in the hospital break room so that the kids could help themselves to whatever they wanted while also being able to have access to visit Bella if they wanted to. Not that Ted doubted the kids would like to be anywhere else. While it wasn’t pizza at Twin City Slice, he had intended to host the afterparty at his home and have Gordon be there to surprise them before he had to leave for LA.

He supposed that for them, this would suffice.

Gordon and Charlie were the first ones to jump from their seats. “How is she?” Gordon demanded.

“Bella’s doing okay. She had to have an emergency C-section, but she did great.”

“How’s the baby doing?” asked Charlie.

“He’s great, better than great. He’s a real champ. Doesn’t even need assistance with breathing.” Ted grinned at Gordon weakly. Then, his eyes shifted to Charlie, who held a stuffed mallard duck in his hand. Ted quirked an eyebrow at the toy, and Charlie grinned sheepishly.

“It would’ve been stupid if it were a teddy bear,” Charlie explained.

Ted smiled, letting out a quiet laugh. “Yeah, I think you’re right about that,” he said, taking the stuffed duck from Charlie as Lucy rolled up to him. “Hey, honey, you wanna go meet your baby brother?”

Lucy nodded and grabbed his hand, and Ted gestured for Gordon and Charlie to follow him.

“Really?” Charlie asked.

“Yes,” Ted said seriously before turning to the rest of the Ducks. “The rest of you can come in and see him soon, too. In the meantime, find the break room and get some food. There’s plenty of it.”  

The Ducks nodded, smiling weakly at him as he led Lucy, Gordon, and Charlie out of the waiting room to down the hallway into the maternity ward, finding Bella’s hospital room with relative ease, as it was the same room she’d stayed in when giving birth to Lucy six years ago.

He wrenched the door open slowly, pushing Lucy into the room, and Charlie and Gordon hung back slightly as they watched Lucy roll up to the bed to get a view of her baby brother. Ted set the stuffed mallard on the bed, and Bella chuckled at seeing it.

“Hi,” whispered Bella. “Lucy, meet your baby brother. This is Hans. You wanna hold him?”

Lucy nodded eagerly, extending her arms forward, and Ted gently scooped his son up before placing the baby in Lucy’s arms. Watching her, she took to it like it was natural, cradling his little head against her shoulder.

“Hi,” she whispered. “Hi, Hansy.”

Ted smiled as he watched his little girl hold her baby brother close. He gestured for Gordon and Charlie to come closer. When Gordon looked at the baby, tears suddenly glassed in his eyes, and his whole face turned softer than Ted had ever seen.

“Oh, my gosh, he’s so perfect,” Gordon whispered, looking as though he really wanted his turn, but he didn’t have the heart to separate Lucy from her baby brother just yet.

“Lucy, give Gordon a turn at that,” Ted whispered, watching as Lucy extended her arms toward Gordon, who gently took the baby from her as he sat on the edge of the bed. Within moments, Hans’s eyes opened as he stared up at his “uncle,” looking contented, yawning between the blinks of his beautiful green eyes.

“Bella, he looks like you,” Gordon whispered, tears shining on his cheeks as he kept looking down; Ted never thought he’d see the day that Gordon Bombay would coo over the sight of a little baby. He recalled how long it had taken Gordon to hold Lucy after she was born because he’d still been in that phase of “hating kids.” It was hard to believe that Gordon, at one point, hated children. Looking at him now, it was like watching a completely different person; the Ducks had melted the ice around Gordon’s heart and broken down all the erect walls he’d put up to protect himself after he lost his father. And Ted wouldn’t lie, either, when he said that the Ducks had helped change him for the better, too; they made him realize that if he were to get them to trust him, he needed to let them in and show them that they were now part of his family, too.

“He really does,” Charlie whispered, pulling up a chair to sit down in, watching Gordon bounce the baby up and down slightly, causing Hans to let out tiny little coughs that Ted assumed were giggles.

“So, Gordon,” Bella whispered. “How does it feel to hold your godson?”

Gordon glanced up, unable to say anything at first. He could only open and close his mouth a few times until he finally formed words. “Are you kidding me?” he whispered.

“No, we want you to be his godfather,” Ted said.

Gordon nodded. “I’d be honored.” He smiled weakly before returning to baby Hans, who fell back asleep quietly, his little head lolling onto the crook of Gordon’s elbow as he started to drool in his sleep.

“Still hate kids?” Charlie teased, and Ted could see the boy’s eyes were misty as he moved to sit next to Gordon on the bed.

Gordon chuckled, handing the baby over to Charlie before wrapping an arm around him, pulling him closer until the kid’s head rested on his chest, and then he leaned down and kissed the Ducks’ captain on the forehead. “Never.”

Charlie grinned, glancing down at baby Hans, who slept soundlessly in his arms, drooling; he was clearly thinking this would be practice for when his baby sibling was born nine or ten months from now, and Ted could see that Charlie would be a natural at taking care of the new baby.

“Hey, buddy,” Charlie whispered. “You’re part of the flock now.”

Ted grinned weakly. Looking at the pair, where this all started, he knew that he hadn’t just gained a team; he’d gained an even bigger family, one that he hadn’t anticipated would come along at such an imperative time in his life. He watched as baby Hans’s eyes opened again, this time staring up at Charlie’s face; he brought one little hand up curiously, making a grab for Charlie’s face, his tiny fingers pulling slightly at the Duck captain’s hair, but Charlie didn’t even try to stop the baby from doing so. In fact, he even seemed to like it.

“I think someone likes you,” Bella laughed, watching Hans tug at Charlie’s hair.

“All right, Hansy, cut that out.” Ted gently pried his son’s fingers off Charlie, but the baby returned for more, his little hand running over Charlie’s face.

Charlie chuckled. “I love this kid.”

“Well, you’ll get there in a year. You’ll love this part of it,” Ted said shrewdly. “Just wait till you’ve got your baby brother or sister waking you up in the middle of the night, and you and your mom will be fighting over whose helping with diaper duty.”

“You wanted another one. You both chose this. So, no, you don’t get my sympathy,” Charlie laughed.

Ted glowered at him. “Not funny, Conway. Because this will be your life in ten months after your mother gives birth.”

“He was way cuter when he was ten,” commented Gordon, rolling his eyes.

“I’m sure he was.”

“He’s sitting right here!” Charlie complained, and everyone laughed, including baby Hans, who erupted into a giggling fit once more.

Chapter Text

Epilogue – A New Flock

“Are you sure that this is a good idea?”

“Conway, if what Adam says is true, then he needs us both. It sucks that he did what he did. But we need to trust Adam, Connie, Guy, Fulton, and Ken’s word.”

“Yeah, but he wouldn’t be the first dad who disappeared on us.”

“Gabby, just listen and give him the benefit of the doubt.”

Ted watched as Charlie Conway heaved a deep sigh. Beside him stood a young woman of twenty-four years old, her long dark hair matching Charlie’s, but her hazel eyes came from elsewhere. The one resemblance they shared was the bitterness reflected in their eyes, the sure signs that they were carrying a massive chip on their shoulders – and with good reason.

Walking through the halls of the Ice Palace, the place resembled Gordon Bombay’s life – it was in shambles. The roof desperately needed repairs, and several exposed wires could be seen through the broken ceiling tiles. Even the floors needed a good wash. And with all the lights turned off, Ted was shocked that the front doors were even still open at this God-forsaken hour.

One thing Ted had heard, though, was about that Spirit of the Ducks gala – the one Gordon Bombay had conveniently “forgotten” to be invited to; Connie, Guy, Kenny, Fulton, and Averman all informed him that Bombay had been completely discarded and disregarded by Hendrix and the people in charge of that gala, and that was why he initially wasn’t going to go, not because he didn’t want to be there, but because he felt unwanted.

Ted, Charlie, Gabrielle, Lucy, and Hansy had all been asked, but they had little to no interest in attending some fancy gala honoring “the best of the Ducks.” Instead, Charlie stayed home with his children, but when they heard the news from Connie, Guy, and Adam about how Bombay had supposedly changed and that the team he was coaching, The Don’t Bothers, had a grudge match coming up against the cake-eating Ducks coached by Daryl Tingman, Ted decided it was time he, Charlie, and Gabby pay a visit to Gordon. Still, Hans and Lucy outright refused – they said if Gordon wanted to apologize and talk to them, he should come by Ted’s house personally, that they shouldn’t go hunting him down.

To a certain extent, Ted agreed. It hurt when Gordon cut off communication with Ted, Bella, and the kids, especially since he’d officially made Gordon part of the family by naming him Hans’s godfather. It stung far worse than when Charlie had called him a “washed-up pro” all those years ago, especially when Ted and Bella had been going through their separation, knowing Gordon wasn’t around for that.

They slowly trudged up the stairs toward Gordon’s office near the concession area, with Charlie holding the cardboard box containing something the Don’t Bothers were definitely going to need for their grudge match tomorrow; the weight of the box seemed heavier underneath his arm as he carried it up the stairs. From the smell of things, Gordon had cooked dinner recently – the flat top was stained with burger grease, and the frier smelled like French fries, and that fed into Ted’s suspicions that this was where Gordon had been living ever since he lost that position at St. Paul State.

He felt a sharp pang of pity, but anger soon replaced it. He’d told Gordon years ago that they were family, that no matter what, Ted and his family would always be there, and that he could turn to them for anything. But that anger just as quickly melted away – he hadn’t kept true to his word about always being there because if he did, he would’ve reached out far more, and he would’ve fought for Gordon like he did when the man had been in that downward spiral. He couldn’t be mad at Gordon when some of that responsibility landed on his shoulders, such as not fighting for Gordon to RSVP to Hans’s high school or community college graduations; he guessed part of him hadn’t done that because he’d thought Gordon had stopped caring, so as a result, he stopped caring. He’d expressed this to Hans and Lucy. But neither was willing to listen to excuses.

Swallowing the lump from his throat, he, Charlie, and Gabby approached Gordon’s office and stepped inside, seeing Gordon’s back turned to them. The office consisted of photos that Gordon clearly recently put up – pictures of the Ducks, pictures of his godson and Lucy, pictures of him and his father, pictures of Hans and Jan, pictures of him and Ted as boys, and there were also pictures of his new team, the Don’t Bothers – Ted could pick out the apparent captain, that boy by the name of Evan Morrow.

Looking at Gordon, who stood there dressed in an old flannel, he looked homeless, as though those were his only clothes. Glancing at Charlie, he saw the boy – no, Charlie was no longer a boy; he was a thirty-eight-year-old man, a widowed father of two, an English teacher at the local public middle school in St. Paul. It never ceased to amaze Ted how Charlie could suddenly resemble the fourteen-year-old boy he’d met all those years ago. Charlie’s face softened considerably as he realized this was where Gordon had been living all this time and that up until he started to coach Evan’s team, Gordon had been alone because he’d pushed all the Ducks away. And Gabby’s face seemed to soften just as much – Ted could see she was sick of feeling angry with not only her dad, who’d left Charlie and Casey before she was born, but also Gordon, the man who’d stepped in for her even though he lived so many miles away in California.

“Wow, Banksy was right,” Charlie commented shrewdly. “You really are a mess, aren’t you?”

Gordon swiftly turned around, and when he saw them, his eyes widened in surprise. Ted watched as his jaw dropped open, words unable to be formed. Finally, Gordon managed to say, “Charlie? Gabby?”

“Hey, Coach,” Gabby whispered, stepping forward; Ted could see the tears glazing in her eyes. “It’s been a long time. How long has it been? Nine years?”

The color drained from Gordon’s face, and his eyes seemed to widen more. He seemed unable to move an inch, his feet glued to the floor as he stared back at Charlie and Gabby. Shame was evident in his gaze as he struggled to look them in the eyes. Their eyes were like daggers, staring right at him piercingly.

Finally, Gordon managed quietly, “I know,” before adding, “And there’s no excuse for any of it.” He finally seemed able to move, and he dug his hand into his pocket, pulling out what Ted recognized as a sobriety chip with the number six on it.

“How bad did it get without us there?” Charlie asked, suddenly forgetting the chip he’d been carrying on his shoulder.

“Bad,” Gordon admitted. “I was lucky Jan found me and talked some sense into me. He got me into rehab before he passed.”

Charlie nodded. “We would’ve been there for you had you asked.”

“None of you bothered reaching out, last I checked,” Gordon shot back.

“We did. You never responded. You missed all the good things: the weddings, the kids, the graduations . . . Connie and Guy, they named their son after you, you know,” replied Gabby softly.

Gordon somehow managed to look even more shocked at this revelation, his eyes widening so much that his eyebrows seemed to disappear up into his hairline. “Really?”

Charlie nodded. “They have three of them: two boys and a girl. Adam and Jules have a little boy who plays goalie just like his mom, and they’ve got a baby girl on the way; she’s due any day now. And you missed my wedding and the birth of both of my kids.”

“You’re a dad now?” Gordon whispered, stunned.

Charlie nodded, setting the cardboard box down before grabbing his phone. He unlocked it and went into his gallery, showing Gordon a photograph of two little ones: eight-year-old Teddi and five-year-old Henry, dressed in Minnesota Wild jerseys, grinning toothily at the camera. Henry looked just like Charlie but had a pair of light brown eyes that came from somewhere else, and Teddi looked exactly like her mother: cream-colored skin and chestnut hair, but her eyes . . .

“She has your eyes,” Gordon commented tightly, his eyes looking suspiciously misty.

“I’ve been told,” Charlie said. “Teddi may look like her mom, but her personality is all mine.”

“Teddi?”

“He named her after me,” Ted explained gently. Charlie naming his daughter after Ted only furthered the distance between Charlie and Gordon.

Gordon’s tears spilled over as he whispered, “God, Charlie . . . I’m so sorry.”

Charlie nodded. “I wish you could’ve gotten to know Cheryl before the accident last year.”

“I heard about that,” Gordon said, wiping his eyes. “I’m sorry I didn’t visit you guys in the hospital. I just . . . I thought you wouldn’t want to see me there since I hadn’t bothered coming around all this time.”

“Of all the dumbest things you could’ve said,” scoffed Gabby, shaking her head. “You should’ve been there.”

“And we should’ve not given up, either,” argued Ted. “It is partially on us. I only heard somewhat about what happened.”

“And what did you hear?” Gordon asked, more tears glazing his eyes.

“That you did a good thing for someone else; you stuck your neck out for a kid who couldn’t afford good equipment, and it bit you in the ass,” Ted said bluntly. “You did nothing differently for that kid than what you did for the Ducks when you first started coaching.” He nodded toward the sobriety chip. “That’s nothing to punish yourself over.”

“Tell that to the NCAA. That was enough to cost me my job. I couldn’t face any of the Ducks, knowing you kids all looked up to me, and all of a sudden, I had nothing to fall back on; it wasn’t like I could go back to being a lawyer, and Hans and Jan left this place in my name, but the problem was, when I got here, it was already falling apart, to begin with. I didn’t want any of you to know I was living here,” Gordon stressed, looking down in embarrassment as he pocketed the chip.

“We would’ve helped you if you asked for it,” reminded Charlie.

“I didn’t want to put any of that on you guys. You kids have families of your own you need to worry about. Charlie, you don’t just have two kids you’ve got to feed. You also needed to work and help put your sister through college; you were pretty much raising her and being the dad in her life. You shouldn’t have to worry about me.”

“We’ll always worry about you,” Gabby argued, walking over and taking Gordon’s hand into hers.

A tense silence followed, and Ted watched as Gabby moved and hugged Gordon tightly; Gordon stiffened momentarily before wrapping his arms around her and kissing her on the forehead, murmuring, “I’m sorry,” and Gabby murmured back, “Yeah, I know,” before pulling away, smiling tightly.

“I told Hansy and Lucy I would be coming here tonight,” Ted said, and he watched as Gordon’s face dropped at the mentioning of his surrogate nephew and niece, two Ducks that he’d let down even more than he’d let Charlie down. “They said they weren’t up to coming here, that if you want to make things right with them, you need to come by the house and talk to them one-on-one. Hansy was hurt the most over the fact that his godfather stopped coming around for him. He was really upset that you missed his community college graduation.”

“Fair enough,” Gordon agreed, tears rolling down his face. “Tell Hans and Lucy I’ll make it up to them, and I’ll come by for dinner soon.” He walked around his desk and pulled something out of the drawer, handing it over to Ted – it was a card that read “CONGRATULATIONS, GRAD!” and inside it contained a brown leather bracelet attached to a cardboard card that read, “To my nephew.” “Give that to Hansy when you come home. I bought it for him intending to come but . . . but I didn’t think he’d want to see me, that it wasn’t appropriate to suddenly go when I hadn’t spoken to any of you in so long.”

Ted nodded, taking the card and bracelet from Gordon. “Thank you. I’ll make sure he gets it and let him know you’re coming by to talk.”  

“Well, that time might come sooner than you think,” said Charlie, putting his phone away into his pocket. “Since the Spirit of the Ducks gala was a total bust, the others and I decided we’d have a reunion of our own at the end of the month. We’ll get the kids together for pizza and watch the Anaheim Ducks game on television, and it’ll be at my house.”

“Give me the date and time,” Gordon said gently. “I’ll be there.”

Charlie smiled gently before kneeling down before the box that sat at his feet. He opened the flaps and pulled out a replica of a green, purple, and yellow jersey with a cartoon duck decal on the front. He turned it around and displayed Evan Morrow’s last name and number on the back.

“You guys have those still?” Gordon whispered.

“Adam got these custom-made,” Charlie explained. “He and the others decided that those Don’t Bothers should wear something that brands them as Ducks since you guys have got your underground scrimmage against those cake-eating Ducks tomorrow.”

“It’s just a friendly match with a little wager,” Gordon argued.

“It always is,” said Gabby, smiling. “But those kids aren’t Don’t Bothers; they’re Ducks. They always will be. They just need the feathers. Make sure they wear those proudly tomorrow, and show those other Ducks what it really means to fly.”

“I will.” Gordon smiled, taking the jersey from Charlie and fanning it out.

“And the Ducks send their own message to your kids,” Charlie said. “‘Quack.’”

“Quack,” agreed Gordon.

“Quack,” laughed Ted.