Page 7 of I'm Your Guy
I arrive at the stadium six minutes later than usual, and the disruption of my routine makes me unhappy.
Call me disciplined. Call me superstitious. Call me whatever you want, just don’t call me late for game night.
I bleep the locks, straighten my suit jacket, and head inside.
“Tommaso! Tommy boy!” My teammate David Stoneman shouts as I hang up my coat in the outer locker room. “How’s the new pad? Did you christen it yet?” He wiggles his eyebrows in a ridiculous way.
Stoney, the team clown, is not even expecting an answer to this question. But someone else gives him one anyway. “He can’t. First you gotta sage the place. Then you can break it in.”
“Sage it?” Stoney asks. “Wut?”
“It’s a purification ritual,” explains Ted Kapski, our team captain. “You roll a big blunt—but not with pot. With sage. Then you trail the smoke through every room. Keeps the ghosts away.”
“You’re shitting me.” Stoney’s eyes narrow. “Is this like that time you told me that kiwi fruit were actually testicles?”
Kapski’s eyes brighten. “You don’t believe me? Put a hundred bucks on it.” He reaches for his wallet.
“Noooo.” Stoney holds up both hands. “Keep it in your pants, Kap. I’m not losing any more money to you this week. I just assumed that if rolling a blunt for your house was a thing, I’d’a heard about it already.”
Everyone laughs, and I move past these clowns and into the dressing room. I need to get into some workout clothes and start activating my body. We’re playing Carolina, and we’re favored to win. But every game matters, and I take nothing for granted.
I’m almost ready when I’m buttonholed by Tate, our team publicist. He’s the kind of guy with a spray tan and a million-dollar smile. Always looks like he’s just come back from having his teeth whitened. “Got a second?” he asks.
“Make it quick.”
“Uh-huh.” He grins, and I’m practically blinded. “Wouldn’t have to grab you on game night if you answered my emails.”
I play dumb. “Email?”
“Yeah. I sent you a message about our trip to Trenton. It’s not until after the holidays, but they’re asking for a group photo of all the DiCostas in hockey. For a puff piece about family legacies.”
My stomach literally churns. I’d seen Trenton in the subject line of his email. And then I’d deleted it. “I hate photo shoots. And puff pieces.”
“Are you kidding me?” Tate frowns, his expression darkening. “Given the circumstances, I thought you’d jump at the chance to be shown in a positive light.”
“Then you’d be wrong. And it’s a bad idea, anyway. Why would I remind the whole world that my…” I almost can’t get the next word out. “…family and I had a disagreement in the past?”
“It wasn’t a ‘disagreement.’” He uses air quotes. “It was a brutal, bloody fight on ice. Which isn’t so unusual in hockey, except you and your cousin were on the same team at the time.”
“Like I don’t remember,” I say through clenched teeth. The fight was the absolute low point in my life. And if Mr. Smiley PR Man had grown up with my asshole cousin? He would have bloodied him, too.
“The fact is, you threw the first punch.”
Not if the rest of my life counts. “Again, I was there. But do you really want to put me in this mindset before a game? I might blow my stack again.”
He isn’t so easily manipulated. “Look, Tommaso—you have no social media. No endorsements. Nothing to rehab your image except that one video we made of you petting puppies at the shelter.”
“So I’ll pet some more dogs. Or kittens. Or saber-toothed tigers. Or even a motherfucking shark. It’s all a better use of my time than posing with my asshole cousin and his dickhead father.”
Tate shakes a finger at me like I’m a misbehaving child. “Pretty sure saber-tooth tigers are dead and gone. Just like your reputation.”
“Sir, my stat sheet is my reputation. Don’t you wonder why two other DiCostas suddenly want a photo shoot with me? Spoiler alert—it ain’t out of love.”
“Not born yesterday,” he says curtly. “Your star has been rising since your move to Colorado, and now they want some of your juju to shine down on them. But this is still an opportunity, don’t you think?”
“Nope. This is just karma.”
He laughs, but I’m not joking. My toxic family members have been a powerful force in my life. And until I moved away from them two years ago, I never really understood how deep the poison ran.
