Page 16 of Slap Shot

“How are you feeling?”Maverick asks, and I look up from lacing my skates. “Ready to get back in the groove?”

“You’re the one who took a month off, Miller,” I say. “Areyouready to get back in the groove?”

“I’m not sure how I’m feeling, to be honest. I think I’m excited.”

“How was the doctor’s appointment?”

“Fine. Emmy told me she’s going to keep playing, and she’ll be disappointed if I don’t face off against her in our regular season opener. I swear the people who make the schedules did that on purpose.” He laughs and grabs his helmet. “I love my girl to pieces, but I’m not going to hand her the victory willingly. It’s always more fun when she has to work for it.”

“I don’t need to know about your sex life.” I grimace and adjust my jersey over my pads. “Keep that shit to yourself, please.”

“I wasn’t talking about it like that, you perv. I genuinely meant kicking her ass on the ice.” Maverick takes off his glove with his teeth so he can flip me off. “How’d your interviews go? Did you find a new chef yet? You haven’t knocked on our door in search of food, so I assumed you figured everything out.”

“I think I did find someone. Piper introduced me to this woman who used to be an executive chef, and it might be a good fit. She’s coming by on Monday to talk some more, and she doesn’t give a shit about who I am. I could show her my Stanley Cup championship ring and she’d probably ask what it’s from.”

“Can she cook?”

“She’s like Gordon fucking Ramsay. The chicken curry she made for dinner the other night was the best thing I’ve ever put in my mouth.”

“Wow, man.” Maverick smirks. “If that’s the case, you need to get out more.”

“Shut up. I meant she’s a damn good cook,” I say.

“Look at you. You’re fuckingblushing.”

“I am not.”

“Yeah, you are.” He taps my shin with the blade of his stick and grins. “Is she hot?”

“I’m not answering that question.”

“Classic deflection. Means she is.”

“Who’s hot?” Riley Mitchell, my defense pair, asks as he takes the spot next to me. “Does Huddy Boy have a new woman in his life?”

“I haven’t dated anyone since Alyssa broke up with me before New Year’s last year,” I say. “And no one is hot.”

“You’re such a bad liar. We’ll finish this conversation on the bench.” Maverick whistles, and the team looks at him. “Listen up, boys. It’s our first game of the year. Last season’s Cup win doesn’t mean shit anymore; every team is starting at zero. I know it’s the preseason and the first two lines are only going to play a handful of minutes tonight, but it’s still a chance to find our chemistry and figure out our footing. For the guys who are trying to earn a spot on the team, play your asses off. You don’t know who is watching out there. For the veterans who’ve been here a few years, this isn’t a chance to slack off. Training camp is over. We’re not fucking around, okay?” He looks around the group, and everyone nods. “Good.”

“Two minutes,” Coach Saunders yells, and he barely glances up from his whiteboard. “Let’s get moving.”

“Hands in,” I say, and twenty-two gloved hands reach around mine. “Stars on three. One, two, three.”

“STARS,” all the boys yell, and we knock our sticks together. Ethan Richardson, our center, jumps up and down. Grant Everett, our right wing on the second line, hits the wall above the door to the hall. Everyone else hoots and hollers, and I smile at the chaos that’s become such an important part of my life.

Adrenaline races through me like it always does before we take the ice. Decades of playing hockey, and it hasn’t lost its thrill. Every time I get to go out with my brothers and play the sport I love, I consider it a good day.

The guys file out of the locker room, but I hang back. Maverick turns to look at me and gives me a nod. It’s his subtle way of telling me to take my time. When I’m alone, I touch the tattoo on my thigh, the one hidden by layers of gear and clothes, and I smile up at the ceiling.

“For you, Mom,” I say to the empty room. “Always for you.” One of the overhead lights flickers, and I laugh. “Yeah. I know you’re here. You wouldn’t miss this. Sometimes I can still hear you yelling at me to get the rebound.” I pause, my shoulders heavy and my eyes wet with tears. “Fuck. I miss you, Mama.”

I kiss my finger and point up. Feelings in check and ready to shove some grown men into tempered glass, I slowly emerge from the locker room. I find Maverick leaning lazily against the wall waiting for me, and he lifts his chin in my direction.

“Good?” he asks.

“Yeah. You know you don’t have to wait for me.”

“You’ve been saying that for years, man. When have I ever listened?”

---