“You were. Thanks. Talk to you later.”
After my phone call with Duncan, I walk down to the locker room, which is mostly empty now that practice is over and most of the guys have headed back to their places to get packed up. We're all supposed to meet back here at the stadium at seven in order to catch a eight o'clock charter flight to Vancouver, where we'll ironically land at eight fifteen local time.
I see Vince in the trainer's office, a sad thing compared to what I had at Western with Coach Taylor, but it's at least got the basics. Vince is using one of them now, an ad-hoc hot bath the team's set up that he's soaking his right hand in. “How's the hand?”
Vince looks up from the tablet he's been reading from, he’s is a voracious reader, and I can usually find him in his down time reading something. Normally he prefers paperbacks, but I guess when you're soaking your hand, you go with the one-handed option. “I'll be fine. Hey, I heard the rumors. A League offer.”
I nod, and take a seat on the training table next to his chair. “Yeah. Big money, multi-million dollar training facilities, no more worrying about potentially playing special teams . . . it could be nice.”
“Could?” Vince asks, raising an eyebrow. “You're thinking of not taking the offer?”
I nod. “Yeah, I'm thinking of taking the Fighters' counteroffer instead.”
Vince nods, and stirs his hand in the warm water. “You know if you turn them down, you might not get another chance. There's always some hotshot coming out of uni who can generate buzz for a team.”
“I know,” I reply. “I mean, for every Moon or Flutie, there's ten guys like DeAndre or Hawk who never go back down.”
I sit for a little while longer, thinking. “You've played a long time here in Canada, Vince. Did you ever get a shot down in the States?”
Vince nods. “Had a few teams come sniffing around in my first three years, and one more time when I'd been playing ten years. Training camp invites, and that last one was like what you've got now, an emergency fill in, but they were willing to pay me the veteran minimum for the time I would play for them.”
“You never took the offer?”
Vince shakes his head. “Never. Not without a few regrets. The first few times, I was arrogant, thinking that I deserved a guaranteed contract at least, a no-cut clause or something, and turned them down that way. The last one though, I'd already set down roots here. My son was four, and I knew the contract wouldn't be renewed. It made financial sense to play out the rest of my contract up here.”
“Do you ever regret it?”
Vince goes quiet for a moment, then shrugs. “Yes and no. Sure, it'd have been nice to really measure myself against the best in the world. There's a part of me that would love to have played in the Super Bowl. But I have played in three North Cups, and won one as a backup. I have the ring back at home, it sits on my mantle. And I've had a good career up here, with a slot coaching next year. In fact, if you stick around, I'll be coaching you officially, Coach Blanchard already told me that I'm to be the next OC for the Fighters. He wants to focus on the overall team, and need to give some more time to the defense after the shit storm that they've been this season. But yes, Tyler, if you're asking . . . there are going to be nights like tonight at the hotel in Vancouver where I'm going to be playing the what-if game with myself. I know I can't any longer, but what if? Could I have hung in there with the guys? Even if just for half a season, could I have lit up the scoreboard the way you are up here? I don't know, but sometimes, on the cold nights or the away games, I wonder.”
I nod, stroking my chin. “All right. Thanks for the talk, Vince. Listen, I'm going to head back to my apartment, get my stuff together. I'll see you back here for the airport bus.”
“See you there, Tyler. Good luck with your decision.”
Chapter 20
April
My mind is still spinning when I get to the hospital, and hasn't stopped since Mr. Larroquette told me I could take the rest of the day off. It wasn't until I was already past Hamilton that I realized I'd taken his Mustang, and sent him a quick text. I guess it isn't a problem, I mean he's going to be on a plane in a few hours, but still, that's not the sort of mistakes I make often.
I'm thankful when Tyler replies to my text. No problem, probably better anyway. Drive safe, and I'll see you in Vancouver. I love you.