Page 110 of I'm Your Guy
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I’m in a melancholy mood when I reach the stadium. But at least I’m clutching a Christmas-themed soccer ball—because I remembered at the last minute that our backup goalie is a fan of elimination soccer—and a bag of jalapeño cheese puffs that I think should be regulated as a controlled substance. They’re that addictive.
In the dressing room, Stoney is wearing his Santa hat again. “Let’s do this, guys! Secret Santa time. Who’s gonna kick us off?”
“I’ll go,” Kapski says with the same dad energy that makes him a good captain.
“Awesome!” Stoney says, practically bouncing with anticipation. “Who’d you get?”
“You.” Kapski draws two gifts out of his duffel bag. “Here you go, Stoney.”
“Sweeeeet!” My teammate darts across the floor to take his prizes. “Let’s see, I got…” He rips the wrapping paper off a gift. “What the hell is a boot banana? I love it already.” He holds up a product that looks like two bananas.
“They go in your shoes to reduce odor,” Kapski says with a smug smile. “Thought you could use them.”
The whole room laughs.
Stoney beams, as if this were a compliment. Then he rips the paper off the second gift. “Ooh, beer. Always the right size and color, amirite?”
“Thought you could use that, too. And now it’s your turn.”
Stoney announces another player’s name, and the giving goes on. Meanwhile, I change out of my suit and into some warmup gear.
Eventually, Hessler calls my name. He gives me a case of my favorite sparkling water, which is nice, and… “Okay, I don’t know what this is?” I hold up some kind of plant cutting, with a ribbon around it.
More laughter. “That’s mistletoe,” Hessler says. “For your new house at Christmas. I thought about getting you some sage, yeah? To drive away the ghosts. But then I thought nah. What a man really needs is to get laid.”
“Good thought,” I say, and there’s another chuckle from the room. “Thanks, Hessler.”
“Not sure he needs the help,” Stoney says, pulling on his socks. “There’s a beat-up old Subaru parked all the time in his guest spot at Red Rock. And when’s the last time DiCosta came out with us for drinks after the game?”
Various comments of “oooh” and “busted” ripple through the room, and I can feel my ears turning red.
“Who’s the lucky girl?” someone calls out.
Shit. My pulse pounds in my ears, and I realize I could just open my mouth and explain exactly who I’ve been spending all my time with. Since you asked…
My heart glugs again. The moment stretches wide. I could do it.
Then I hear a competing voice in my head. Dutka jeering at me. They say you were eye-fucking guys in the shower.
And I flush with a lifetime of shame, and the certainty that nobody really wants to know me all that well.
“Whose name did you get, DiCosta?” Stoney prompts. “Let’s finish this up.”
“Um…” I swallow hard and drop back into my body. “I got something for Cockrell.”
“Where is that guy?” Kapski asks, looking around. “Dude is never late.”
“About that,” our coach says, striding into the room. His hands are jammed in his pockets, and his forehead is creased in troubled waves. “Management has decided to participate in a three-way trade involving Cockrell and a forward on our AHL team. Cockrell is getting on a plane tonight for Florida.”
The energy in the room changes as quickly as flipping a switch. Trades will do that. Most of the guys are probably saying a silent prayer of thanks that it wasn’t their turn to get traded.
“Who’d we get?” Kapski asks quietly. “It better be another goalie.”
“Yeah. He’s, uh, on his way in,” Coach says, eyeing the door.
We all turn at the same time to watch a guy stalk into the room. And mine is surely not the only jaw to drop at the sight of Jethro Hale, a goalie with three championship rings. He’s been making other teams cry for more than a decade. Today he’s wearing an expensive suit and a very grumpy frown.
