Passing Through

Part Twenty Nine

Chapter Twenty Nine

Bo had watched Natasha walk away from him and groaned, another thing he was fucking up. But he was so angry, so frustrated, he just needed some time, some space, not a fix, he wasn't curable. Then she'd been there seeing the darkness in him, yet again, and he knew he'd retaliated, lashed out. But she was too close, and he couldn't deal with that. Not whilst this rage, this resentment was still so real in him,

He glanced out to the ice, to the kids gathered, they glanced at him occasionally, and he knew that as the only actual NHL player in the squad other than the coach, he should be out there, being a part of this team, part of the sport. Natasha was right about one thing, he was still involved in the game, he still got to pull pads and skates on regularly. But the gratitude at that didn't seem to levy against his regret at losing so much more.

Coop skated over to him, skidding to a stop and spraying ice on him, which made him roll his eyes.

"Cool now?" When he shrugged, Coop groaned, "get your ass out there and show the owners why they are paying you so much, yeah?"

When he scoffed at that comment, it was Coop's turn to roll his eyes, "so it's not the Blackhawks or the fucking Yankees, you have got to get over that, Pen. Get over it, or you'll blow all that you have left."

Coop had been honest with him since he had arrived, he was the only one who was, other than Natasha. But he'd never been this blunt. He gawped for a moment, taking it all in. Coop was studying him, waiting for a response.

"It's not that fucking easy. You don't know what it's like."

Laughing, Coop leaned over the bench, "yes I do. I walked away from the game, at the height of my career because my head was screwed, sorting that out, coming back...every game I play is a bonus, one I never thought I would have. That is the way I look at it, this is my second bite of the cherry, something I never thought I would have. My glass is half full."

Bo shook his head, "but you walked away, it was your choice. This isn't my choice."

Coop raised an eyebrow, then came around the boards to sit beside him. "And do you know why I walked away?" When Bo was silent, he sighed, "I didn't appreciate what I had, I took life for granted and by the time I realised that outside of the ice I had a lot to both be grateful for, it was too late. My obsession with hockey meant that I didn't protect my family, my son died..." Bo gasped, but Coop carried on, "I lost everything because I was so obsessed with being the best, with playing a fucking game. My girlfriend at the time killed our son, she was destroyed by post natal depression, but it was my fault for being so egocentric that I couldn't fucking see it."

"Fuck, Coop. That's horrendous."

He nodded, "and it took me years, and the love of a good woman to face up to it all. I didn't play for four years, sitting in my pity-fest life. This is a great game, at any level, but it is that, a game. I love every minute on the ice now, but if it ends tomorrow, then I'm good with it. I have a life, great friends, amazing kids and the best wife a man could ask for. And that, Holding, that is what makes this game great, coming home to them, loving my life and my sport. We are privileged to be able to make a living doing what we love. You're doing this Masters, you want to be an agent?"

"It will keep me in the sport..."

Coop clapped him on the back with his gloved hand, "so you'd rather arrange contracts and endorsements for the elite players than play yourself? Because you know you ain't getting back to the NHL. That means you want to be involved with the drama and craziness of the NHL more than you actually want to play ice hockey."