Another sweet couple. I’m happy for my friend that he’s found someone so great here in California. He went through some shitty relationships in college. It gives me a flicker of hope that there’s someone for everyone, but after what I went through, I don’t know how I’ll ever have the guts to take a chance again.
* * *
—
Monday afternoon I’m riding my bike to Prana when my phone rings in my backpack. I don’t stop to answer it. It’s most likely a call about SUP yoga class hours or fees, even though all the information is on my website.
At Prana, I lock up my bike outside on one of the racks. A lot of customers use bikes as transportation, so we accommodate that. I carry my backpack inside.
The studio is housed in an old building with exposed brick walls, high ceilings, and dark hardwood floors, but it’s been modernized with fresh coats of paint inside, new lighting, private showers, and cellphone lockers. The main floor has a small retail area with big windows looking onto the street, one studio, and the showers and lockers. A new open staircase leads to the second floor, where two more studios are located, as well as the teachers’ lounge, where I now head.
I drop my backpack onto a couch and sit beside it to pull my phone out. There’s a voicemail, so I tap the button to take me there and listen while I toe off my running shoes.
It’s from someone I don’t know and it confuses me a bit. The guy’s name is Gary Jones, and he works for the Condors. I don’t know what the Condors is. Are. They want someone to give private yoga classes for the team.
Is this a new kind of corporate team building? Surely they only want one class. I don’t really know how I’d make yoga a team-building exercise; that’s not my thing.
I listen to the message again, trying to make sense of it.
Oh, wait—the Condors. The hockey team. I do know what that is. Hockey’s a popular sport in North Dakota. I went to a lot of games at UND. I wasn’t so much into NHL games, but once some friends and I went up across the Canadian border to watch a Jets game in Winnipeg.
Okay, the Condors want their own yoga instructor.
Yoga for hockey players? I grin. That’s…crazy.
I don’t have time to deal with this right now since I’m teaching classes right away.
Later, when I’m home and Taj is there helping me make Mediterranean quinoa bowls, I tell him about the voicemail.
“Holy shit.” He pops a slice of cucumber into his mouth and chews. “That’s so amazing, Ari!”
“Is it? I guess it is. How on earth did they get my name?”
He shrugs. “Google?”
That seems doubtful to me. “I can’t do it. I don’t know anything about yoga for hockey players! And honestly, teaching a class in front of thirty big goons kind of scares the crap out of me. I don’t think I can do that.”
He nods slowly, eyes thoughtful. “I get it. But it sounds like a great opportunity. You want more work.”
I scrunch my face up. “I do.”
“Let me hear the message.”
I replay it on speakerphone so he can hear.
“I don’t know much about hockey, but sounds legit.” He rubs his stubbled chin. “It would be at least worthwhile talking to him about it.”
“It would be a waste of his time. I should just tell him no.”
“I know you’re scared.” He grabs my hand.
I meet his eyes.
“But you keep saying you need to take bigger steps. Take some risks. Why not try this? It’s a professional sports team.”
“Oh yeah, like professional athletes don’t have any issues of domestic abuse.”
He winces. “Okay, maybe there have been a few instances. But not every player is an asshole. And this is a class. A whole bunch of people.”
“I know.” I sigh. “This just seems way out of my comfort zone.”
“I get that. But you know how you grow and heal and get stronger, right?”
“Yes,” I mutter, then recite, “I love taking risks.”
He laughs. “That doesn’t sound convincing.”
It’s one of my fearless affirmations, and he’s right. “I am capable of anything,” I say aloud, sounding surer of myself.
“Yes, you are.” He pulls me in for a hug. “Do it.”
“I’ll think about it.”
We finish making dinner and eat in front of the TV, watching a local news show. After we’ve eaten, I get out my laptop and start googling. I’m curious about how yoga would help hockey players. I mean, I think yoga helps everyone, but how would it benefit specifically these athletes?
Stress reduction. Reducing inflammation. Breathing. Sleep. Okay, yeah. I can cover all that.
Flexibility. Mobility. Balance. I nod as I read.
I find a blog by a woman who teaches yoga to the Pittsburgh Penguins. Okay, this is a real thing. I read about hockey injuries and strength training. While yoga can build strength, I don’t see it as valuable for professional athletes for that; I’m sure they’re already strong. But I can certainly see that there would be great benefits from adding it to a strength-and-conditioning plan.
Groin and hip flexors…oh yeah. There are a number of poses that will help with that, opening up the hips and strengthening groins and adductors. Warrior 2 for balance. Absolutely. Balance must be incredibly important for hockey players. And strengthening shoulders for protecting them when they get checked into the boards.
I read about structural imbalances, stability, and range of motion.
I look away from my monitor and stare at the wall, imagining a class full of hockey players. It makes me nervous…but it also intrigues me. Being able to help athletes who are in top physical condition be even better…of course that appeals to me.
Wasn’t I just thinking the other day that life is good…but a little boring? I enjoy what I’m doing right now, but it’s not enough for forever. I’ve thought about expanding Makara into a full-time business, maybe hiring other instructors, offering different types of classes. And my goal in moving here to California and starting a new career was to expand my limits. To be brave and confident and in control of my life.
Can I do this?
I nibble my bottom lip.
“What are you thinking about?” Taj is kicked back on the couch, bare feet on the coffee table, still watching TV.
I wrinkle my nose. “Yoga for hockey players.”
He smiles. “Good.”
I pull air in through my nose and let it slowly out. I breathe in courage and breathe out doubt. If it doesn’t kill me, it makes me stronger.
I’ll call back Gary Jones in the morning. Aaaaah!
Chapter 4
Harrison
I’ve been playing in Santa Monica for two weeks now. Six games. I’m feeling pretty good. Working hard.
We’ve won five of those six games. I have four goals, four assists. Not too shabby.
And yet, I have a feeling I’m still not doing my best.
The first game I played after getting called up was against the Long Beach Golden Eagles, which is our big local rival. The fans get super worked up for every “Beach Barn Battle” against the Eagles. A lot of Eagles fans come too, so the atmosphere in the Coliseum is pretty crazy.
It was a big game for me. The two teams are adversaries because of more than just a local rivalry. My half brother Matthew owns the Eagles, and my other half brother Mark is the coach. This is a confusing, long story, but Matthew apparently bought the team after Dad fired Mark as coach of the Condors. He fired him because he was pissed that Mark and Matthew were suing him, accusing him of stealing money from them. It’s nuts, but we’re trying to sort out this crazy conflict.
So, a bunch of my family was at that game. My dad comes to every game, obviously, as the team owner, but my mom, Everly, and Ash were there too. An
d because it was the Eagles, Mark and Matthew were there, and I was playing against my nephew Jean Paul, known as JP.
We lost that game, which was disappointing. Personally, I felt good about how I played. I was still irritated about the little talk I’d had with Coach where he basically told me I was lazy and I needed to get off my ass. Maybe that lit a fire under said lazy butt, because I was determined to show him he was wrong.
You don’t get what you wish for, you get what you work for.
The loss just made me even more determined to do better. Hockey’s a team sport and it’s not about me showing off for my family, though I’ll admit I want to impress them; it’s about winning. We need to win.
I’ve been working with Stan on transitions. He got Bellsy to come and practice with us and he’s a damn good D-man, so it’s been great. He gets us doing one-on-one drills, making me backcheck then transition to offense, and a bunch of other drills.
There are only three weeks left in the regular season. We have a playoff spot locked up, but we still don’t know if we’ll have home-ice advantage, since we’ve been neck and neck with Vancouver in the points race. Every time we get ahead of them, they win and jump over us.
It’s Saturday. We practiced this morning, but we don’t have a game tonight. We just got back from a short road trip where we had back-to-back games in Denver and Phoenix.
It’s great having a Saturday night off, but I’m spending it with a bunch of family.
Not that I don’t love my family. I do. But we have a lot of, er, issues.
For this family meeting, I don’t have to come all the way from Pasadena. Asher and I drive together from our place on Pine Street to our nephew’s place in Marina del Rey.
Our dad had two kids with his first wife, our half brothers Matthew and Mark. Théo is Matthew’s son, so yeah, he’s our nephew, but he’s actually two years older than us.
“Hopefully this shit is getting fixed,” Asher mutters as he drives along Lincoln Boulevard.
“Yep.”
There’s been a black cloud over the family for years. Maybe I should say “clouds.” When my dad remarried, the family was pretty upset. His first wife had died only a couple of years before that, and our mom is twenty years younger than him. You can see why the family thought she was marrying him for his money and that Dad was blinded by her youth and good looks. Dad’s sons from his first marriage had a hard time dealing with Mom and Dad having kids while they were also having kids. So there were already some bad feelings when Mark and Matthew started pestering Dad about some money issues a few years ago, and now they’re freakin’ suing him. Not only that, Matthew bought the rival team and stole Mark away from Dad’s team.
A while back I suggested to Everly that we, meaning the younger Wynn family members, should try to figure out what’s going on with this lawsuit to see if we could end this family feud. We’ve had a couple of meetings and each of us has spoken to various older Wynn family members and reported back.
Then Everly lost her shit at a hockey game, that same first game I played at, which meant my great play didn’t even get noticed. Whatever.
This was not like Everly, and kind of shocking. She does not lose her shit. Ever. That was why I suggested she be the one to lead this plan. She likes to be in charge of everything. And I’m speaking as her little brother who she put makeup on, curled my hair, and dressed me in a flowered dress to have a tea party with her dolls.
Anyway, with Mom and Dad, Asher, and Matthew all in one room, she told Matthew our suspicions about Dad. Now it’s all out in the open.
We park and walk a block or so to Théo’s house, right on the beach. He and his wife, Lacey, have rented this place since Dad hired him as general manager last summer. He hasn’t even managed the team for a full season, but I think he’s doing amazing. It has to be challenging, though, working for Dad. Especially now.
It’s late afternoon, a sunny day with the ocean sparkling blue and gold in the distance, people walking and biking on the path and playing volleyball on the beach. I ring the doorbell and then open the door to step inside.
Lacey appears. “Hey, Harry! Hey, Ash.”
I roll my eyes at the nickname. It’s what my teammates have always called me, so I’m used to it, but it’s not my name. “Hey, Lace. How’s it going?”
“Good. Come on in. You guys want a beer?”
“Oh hell yeah,” I answer.
“Yep,” Ash replies.
She laughs and heads to the fridge while we turn in to the living room. Everly’s already here, along with JP, his girlfriend Taylor, and Théo, of course. My other brother Noah and our niece Riley drove up from San Diego. Only Jackson isn’t here. He lives in Chicago and lucky him, he’s missing out on all this shit.
We exchange greetings and take seats. Lacey hands Ash and me beers.
“Okay, we’re all here now,” Everly says. “So.” She looks around at us. “I guess you all know that I confronted Matthew and Dad at the game a couple of weeks ago.”
We all nod. “What’s up with that, Ev?” I ask, loosely holding my beer. “We had a plan.”
“I know.” She gives me a toothy grin. “Sorry about wrecking the plan. I…well, the truth is…” She pauses and I can see she’s getting emotional. Shit. “Well, I’ll just be blunt. If Dad is dying, this all seems so ridiculous.”
“He’s not dying,” I immediately object.
Everyone exchanges uncomfortable glances.
My gut cramps. “I mean, not right away.”
I don’t know much about different kinds of dementia, but I talked to one of my Pasadena Condors teammates about it once. His grandma has Alzheimer’s, and he makes it sound pretty goddamn terrifying.
“Maybe not,” Everly concedes. “But we don’t know for sure what’s going on with him. Mom’s taking him to the doctor next week. She’s going with him.”
“Maybe you should go too,” Ash suggests to Everly.
She shakes her head. “Mom can handle it.”
“Are you sure?” I ask. “I know she’s strong, but this is tough stuff.”
“I’d totally go if she wanted me to. But I think she’s got this. We’re all just happy he finally agreed to go.”
“It hasn’t happened yet,” Noah mutters.
“True.” Everly sighs.
We’ve had a hard time convincing Dad he needs to see a doctor. It would be easy to just take his word for it that he’s fine, but we all know he has to do it.
“I’ve discovered a few bad business decisions he made the last couple of years,” Théo says quietly. “This has been going on for longer than we realized, I think.”
“He’s damn good at covering it up,” JP puts in. His girlfriend reaches for his hand and squeezes it.
“He is,” Everly agrees. “Anyway, we’ll see what comes of that. But I kind of had a moment…Fighting over money is stupid. I basically told Matthew that family is more important than money.” She tips her head. “And I know it’s privileged to say that, because we all have more than enough money. But seriously, we don’t know how long Dad has left, or how long we’ll have him…” She makes air quotes with her fingers. “Because this disease is stealing him from us. I’m sure Mark and Matthew don’t want that to be how things end with their father.”
“I think you’re right,” JP says. “Dad wants to go to the doctor appointment next week too.” His dad, meaning, Matthew, Dad’s oldest son.
My eyes pop open wide. “Wow. Really?”
“Yeah.” JP winces. “But Chelsea won’t let him.”
“Well, that sucks,” Riley says. She’s Mark’s daughter. “He should be able to.”
“Do you blame her?” Everly challenges Riley. There’s always been tension between these two, since Riley’s dad has never liked our mom, and we’ve always tried to defend her. “Nobody trusted her f
or years. Why would she trust them?”
Riley purses her lips. “Fair, I guess.”
“Mark and Dad are going to sit down with Dad and Chelsea,” JP adds. “They’re waiting until after the appointment.”
“Okay.” Everly nods. “That’s good.”
“You were great that night,” Ash tells Everly, smiling. “I damn near died when you went off like that.”
Ash was at the game in the press box and had stopped by Dad’s box between periods when this all went down.
“Thanks.” Everly beams.
“And you’re right, Everly,” JP says. “About family and money.” He looks around. “Hopefully they can settle things. It really seems that Grandpa owes Dad and Uncle Mark money.”
We’ve learned that Dad didn’t steal money; he actually borrowed it from a trust fund that belonged to Mark and Matthew, which was their inheritance from their mom, with legal documents all drawn up. But he was supposed to pay it back, and he hasn’t, which is why they ended up suing him.
The media had a field day with that, holy shit. It’s died down from when the suit was first filed, but everyone knew it was going on and that there was bad blood between the King of Hockey and his sons.
I don’t know why he’s not paying them back, but that worries me too. Is it the Alzheimer’s? Is it because he has no money? Christ, I hope he hasn’t bankrupted the team. Or himself.
“Théo,” I say. “Can Dad afford to pay back the money? We all know that the Condors aren’t a big money-making team.”
Théo blows out a breath. “I don’t know. I know the finances of the team, but not his personal situation.”
“What if…” I hesitate. “What if he can’t pay it back? What then?”
Everyone trades uneasy glances again. Silence as heavy as a Zamboni falls over the room.
Everly speaks first. “We’ll deal with that when we come to it.”
We all nod.
“What else do we need to do?” Everly gazes around at us.
“Make sure Dad goes to the doctor,” I say.
For the Win Page 3
