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Bitty stopped himself mid-sentence.
“I’m sorry, sweetpea, I shouldn’t be dumping all this on you now. You have a game tonight.”
“That’s okay,” Jack said. “You can talk to me about it. Any time.”
“But you should be napping,”
“I’m lying down.”
“Fine,” Bitty huffed. “It’s just, that interview I did with the Daily came out today.”
“Was it bad?” Jack said. “Did they twist everything you said until you didn’t recognize yourself?”
“Gosh, no,” Bitty said. “Lisa knows what she’s doing, and she … well, I’m sure she cleaned up my answers a bit from what she had taped because everything is a sentence and there aren’t too many tangents, but no, what she wrote is a fair account of what I said.”
“Then what’s the problem, bud?”
“I just sound so … I sound like I know what I’m talking about, and I’m strong, and this year hasn’t been hell on ice,” Bitty said. “Like I’m really a good captain.”
“Bits, you really are a good captain,” Jack said. “I see how hard you work to take care of your team, and motivate them, and set a good example. If you say this year has been hell, well, that team would walk through the gates of hell for you.”
“But they shouldn’t!” Bitty said. “They shouldn’t have to, at least. I mean, I acknowledged there’ve been some nasty comments and whatnot, but I didn’t talk about how unrelenting it is, and how the other guys have had to deal with it too, just because they’re on a team with me. And I know you’re getting it a thousand times worse, so I shouldn’t complain to you about it, and I know I can’t complain about it publicly, because I don’t want to discourage any of those kids who write to me, but what if we lose? Is everyone gonna say we lost because of me? Because we’re the gay team?”
“Bits, bud,” Jack said. “If you lose, it’ll be because Denver plays better for that one game. That’s all. Believe me. I’ve been there, and I have the therapy bills to prove it.”
“God, I’m sorry,” Bitty said. “I knew I shouldn’t be complaining to you about this. I almost wish the Daily left it alone until it was over, you know? So we’d know one way or another. Then if we lost, they wouldn’t have to do a story at all. They just did it now because they think we’re gonna lose and they wanted to run it while we’re still interesting.”
“Bits, stop it,” Jack said, with a shuffling noise on his end of the line that probably meant he was sitting up. “I know you don’t want to hear it now, but no team that makes it to the national championship game is a failure. That’s what everyone told me, and they were right.”
“I know,” Bitty said. “I just want to win so badly. I don’t want to let the boys down. I don’t want to let down all the kids who write and everything else. And here I am yammering at you, and your season has been so tough. But at least you won last year.”
“Yeah, well,” Jack said. “You know that doesn’t make losing any easier. But that’s the way it goes. No one wins every game, and no one wins every season. I know it’s corny, but all you can do is your best, and if you do that, you should be proud of it.”
Jack paused a beat.
“At least that’s what Papa keeps telling me. And you know what? He played on teams that had losing seasons too.”
“Thanks,” Bitty said, and hated that he knew his tone was grudging. “I know I’m working myself up over nothing. Why couldn’t they have put us in a Residence Inn or some hotel that would have an oven in the room? That would help.”
“I’m sure it would,” Jack said. “What are you doing tonight? Team dinner? Seeing your folks?”
“Team dinner,” Bitty said. “We’re not letting the guys loose in Chicago the night before a game. Too much deep dish pizza -- what is that really? A tomato sauce casserole? -- and they won’t be able to skate tomorrow. We have time after the game tomorrow before our flight so I’ll see Mama and Coach then either way.”
“I wish I could be there, bud,” Jack said.
“I know,” Bitty said.
“And you should know by now it’s not that much worse for me,” Jack said. “The officials are better about putting a stop to things, and guys don’t want to take too many penalties. There’s too much riding on the games. So don’t think you should be worried about me.”
“I’m not sure I believe you, but thanks,”
“And what I said, about your team walking into hell for you,” Jack said. “That’s not because they have to. And it’s not because they want to protect you either. Sure, they don’t want you to get hurt, because they care about you and because they think they need you to win. But it’s more because they want to be like you. They want to be confident enough to take over a sport they started seven years ago, strong enough to take whatever guys twice their size throw at them. Bits, they know you. They’ve been watching you since they got to Samwell, some of them before, maybe. And they know what you’re worth. That’s why they’ll follow you anywhere.”
Bitty sniffled.
“You shouldn’t say things like that,” he said. “You’re making me cry again.”
“Yes, I should,” Jack said. “I hope they’re good tears. And I hope they’re good tears after the game tomorrow. I know you guys can do it. Give the boys my best and tell them we’re all rooting for them.”
“I will.” Bitty said.
“Good,” Jack said. “Love you, bud. Make sure you get some rest tonight.”:
“Aye, aye, cap’n,” Bitty said. “Love you too.”