Page 33 of Playing for Keeps

He cackles. “You sound like your old man.” He slaps the folder shut and stands, holding a hand for me to shake. “Text me about the media coaching, kid. And don’t think I forgot about the puppies.”

I also stand, heading toward the door and our off-ice cardio session. “Hey, I wanted to thank you for the help with Emerson’s clearances. Did those come through?”

Brian doesn’t look up from his phone but waves a hand. “Necessary, G Stag. She’ll be with you and the kids, right? For the photos? She’s all set with that. Give me ten minutes, and I’ll get her a pdf of everything but the FBI fingerprints. She’s on her own for that, unfortunately.”

“Unfortunately? I hope you don’t have fixers faking FBI fingerprints.”

Brian pivots toward the exit as I continue straight down the hall. He hollers over his shoulder, “I have fixers for almost everything, Gunnar. Almost.”

CHAPTER 22

EMERSON

Gunnar insistson driving me to the Scale Up Academy building before he heads to his pre-game activities at the arena. When the courier delivered my clearances yesterday, I almost cried in relief and immediately clicked to volunteer with the music classes. The director texted me within minutes saying they need all the help they can get.

So, here I am, missing a Fury home game, but Gunnar assures me that nobody can possibly attend every match. “We sometimes play four times a week, Salty. You need your you-time.” He pulls up in front of the building and leans over to kiss my cheek.

It seems like an innocent enough gesture, but my nerve endings didn’t get the memo that he was just being supportive. No, my body starts screaming at me to grab his collar and cram my tongue in his mouth.

I’m breathing heavily when I say, “Good luck tonight. Is it okay to say good luck to a goalie?”

He nods. “Yeah. What about you? Do I tell you to break a bone or is good luck okay?”

I laugh. “We don’t do good luck. You can tell me to have a good show, except I’m not performing. So maybe it’s okay to wish me luck?”

He runs his fingers through my hair, and I shiver at his touch. “All good things, Salty. I’ll see you later tonight.”

As he drives away with a beep, I wave and head inside. My phone vibrates, and I check it, thinking it’ll be something cute from Gunnar. But it’s just more upsetting crap from my mom.

I raised you to support this family, not destroy it, Emerson.

That hockey player punk has turned you against your duty.

I power down my phone and walk up the stairs, where I’m greeted by a frazzled Latina woman in bright red glasses. “Hi, I’m Lucia.” She looks behind me. “Did you bring your young person?”

I grin. “I’m Emerson. I emailed about volunteering.” I shrug. “I’m here to work.”

Lucia moans and dramatically slumps in her chair. “Oh, thank god. We are so shorthanded.” She peers through the door, where I hear a lot of blurts and thwapping sounds. “Can you help Omar with the tuning? Just…anything you can do will help.”

I nod and walk into the main room, where a line of kids fiddles with various instruments that are sorely in need of tuning. The rows of chairs are filled with adults trying to read or occupy younger siblings. The noise is deafening. Making my way to the front of the line, where a young dark-skinned man is wrestling with a tiny cello, I tell him, “Hi. I’m Emerson. How can I help with tuning?”

He stares at me. “You’re the string player, right?” He pushes the neck of the cello in my direction. “I can’t move these tuning pegs.”

I take a seat on the edge of the stage and gesture for the instrument. I study the instrument and nod at the young owner, a red-headed girl wearing overalls. What I wouldn’t have paid to be allowed to wear overalls and play the cello at her age! “Hi,” I tell her. “I’m Emerson. What’s your name?”

“Erin.”

“Well!” I pat the stage next to me. “Let me show you some tricks for this.” I pull a bar of soap from my bag and show Erin how to dab just a little bit on the pegs to lubricate them.

We get Erin’s cello tuned, and I look up to see that Omar has all the brass instruments in his line and has funneled the strings toward me. Within a few minutes, or what feels like just a few minutes, we get the kids all tuned and divided into smaller practice rooms with their instructors.

Omar says it’s fine—in fact, really helpful—if I pop in and out of the different string lessons to help kids with their body positioning while the teacher works with the groups.

I’ve never enjoyed anything more, and that includes all the fantastic experiences I’ve had with Gunnar as well as performing at the Sydney Opera House. These kids are bright and eager to learn about music. It holds a sense of mystery and discovery for them, and their enthusiasm makes the lesson all that much more exciting.

I was crammed into classical style lessons starting in preschool, but these kids are experiencing music for the first time as elementary-aged kids. I love that I’m a small part of their instruction, of stoking that fire they feel for the music.

The turnover between sessions is rapid enough that I don’t get a chance to chat with Omar or Lucia, but I’m more prepared this time and feel confident greeting families and guiding kidstoward a line to have their instruments tuned. The second session is comprised of older kids who have a little bit of experience, and I enjoy it just as much because these kids understand the effort involved in making music, yet they still choose to be here.

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