Page 87 of Must Love Dogs… and Hockey

We come across a stall with all kinds of dog gifts. Gifts for dogs, but also for dog lovers. I pick up some handmade treats for all my doggie clients, and the most adorable New York Bears sweater for Otis, and then I spot cuff links. I noticed that some of Easton’s shirts have French cuffs and he uses cuff links.

The vendor, a girl about my age, speaks up. “We make those custom with the image of your dog on them.”

I look up at her, smiling. “Really? Can they be done by Christmas?”

“Yes, there’s still time.” She hands me a business card and we talk about dates. I can email her a photo of Otis and pick up the cuff links here.

“This is perfect,” I say to Carlin as we leave. “He’ll love cuff links with a picture of Otis on them!”

They’re more money than I planned to spend, but maybe I can sell my last Coach handbag on The RealReal. What do I need designer purses for when I walk dogs for a living?

Easton

Coach seems annoyed by our good spirits when we get on the bus to go from the hotel to the arena in San Jose. We’re feeling pretty good about our play, and a little downtime in Santa Monica has relaxed us even more. I haven’t been with the team that long, so I like spending time with the guys and getting to know them better.

“You’re loosening up around us,” Cookie says to me on the bus.

“Huh?”

He nods. “It’s good to see you laughing and letting loose a little.”

I frown. “Am I an asshole?”

He laughs. “Nah. Just snobby.”

“I’m not a snob!”

He elbows me. “Okay, not snobby. Standoffish.”

I think about that. I guess I haven’t been the friendliest guy since I got traded here. I know I had a chip on my shoulder about the trade and about life in general. I get along with most people, but I haven’t made a lot of friends since I started playing in the NHL.

“If it makes you feel any better, I was like that in Vancouver too,” I tell him.

“No wonder they traded your ass away.”

A jab like that would have had me spitting fire a few months ago. Now, I just laugh. “Yeah. So hey, thanks for talking to me even though I’m a snobby dickhead.”

He shrugs. “You have your moments. Like when Coach called Russ a little bitch and you stuck up for him. That was savage.”

Huh. My lungs expand on a satisfied breath.

I check my phone one last time before I lock it away in my locker for the game. There’s a new message and photo from Lilly showing Otis out on the sidewalk wearing a red New York Bears dog sweater. I laugh out loud. He looks ridiculous. But cute. Shaking my head, I shut the locker.

I feel good tonight. Really good. It’s one of those games where I feel light and fast, and everything clicks. JBo, Brando, and I connect for three goals—one each—in the first two periods, and Gunner is a wall, blocking every shot so far. The mood on the bench is jubilant, electric. If only it could be like this every night.

We start the third period up by three. We just need to keep playing our game, doing what we’ve been doing, shutting things down in the neutral zone.

We don’t quite succeed, though, and the Sharks get the puck down in our end. It’s behind the net and Jammer goes to get it, scooping it out. I don’t know what the fuck he was trying to do, but he sends the puck right in front of our net, and Adams, a Sharks forward, is right there. I’m watching this, racing toward Adams, but in a fraction of a second he puts the puck upstairs and behind Gunner and the goal light glows red.

Gunner never had a chance, but he’s pissed, kicking the puck out while the Sharks celebrate. Jammer’s head is down, knowing that was a brutal turnover.

Skating back to the bench, the arena is loud as the crowd cheers and the goal song plays. “It’s only one goal,” I tell Jammer, clapping him on the back. “We got this.”

He gets to the bench before me, and as I enter the gate I see Coach come up behind Jammer as he sinks onto the bench. “That was fucking bullshit!” Coach yells. And then he does something unforgivable. Two things, actually. He uses the N-word, calling Jammer stupid, and…he kicks him. In the back.

He kicks him.

A red haze creeps in from my peripheral vision and tints my vision. My blood is already pumping hard and fast in my veins from that shift, but now I think I’m going to explode. I’m a volcano, erupting, spewing molten lava. I can’t control it.

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