Page 49 of Whiskey Wednesdays

“No. I grew up in Seattle and we’d sometimes go to sporting events whenever we could scrounge up tickets. But never hockey.”

Titus played center and I watched him pass to Wyatt, who shot at the goal but was blocked. Wyatt fought and regained possession but didn’t pass the puck back. Instead, he took an awkward shot and missed again.

Ben shook his head. “They don’t play like a close-knit team. I don’t know what’s missing, but my daughter’s softball team is more cohesive than these guys, and they’re middle schoolers.”

“Why do you think they aren’t more cohesive?”

“I don’t know. But they don’t seem to know or trust each other.”

“Huh.” I glanced at Coach Bailey, who looked annoyed and angry.

Titus finally scored when he kept the puck, shot it around the back of the goal, retrieved it, then fired it in.

His teammates cheered, but no one slapped him on the ass or pounded on his helmet like I’d seen the other team do after one of them scored.

“Do they ever have any activities or team-building exercises together?”

Ben shook his head. “I haven’t heard anyone mention it. This is such a new team.”

Ben’s comments stuck with me throughout the game. They lost by a goal, and the team was subdued afterward.

I met Dad and Elodie outside the locker room afterward. I pointed to her little jersey. “Hey, Ellie. You look awesome. You’ve got to be the cutest fan here.”

Her little red Thunderbirds jersey had a number nine on it, and “Lil McCoy” written across the back.

“My dad and Javy got it for me. And you know what?” She jumped up and down. “They got one for you too. With my dad’s number on it.”

I stared at my dad above Elodie’s head. “That’s so… nice.”

He grinned and shrugged. I didn’t know what had happened over the past month or so, but he’d started to like Connor.

Elodie suddenly squealed and ran off. I looked over and saw Jackson kneeling down to scoop her up. “Hey, El. Love the jersey. But you need my number on it.”

He walked over to us, still holding her. “Well, that sucked.”

I patted his shoulder as he set Elodie down. “You’ll get ‘em next time.”

“Jack, are you coming to my house for lunch?” Elodie asked.

“I haven’t been invited, El. And I think your dad is out of town this week.”

Dad mentioned that Connor had gone out of town last minute, and I felt disappointed he hadn’t been there for my first hockey game. But I remembered he was part owner of a much bigger professional team, and most of his life was in Vancouver.

Dad smiled at Jackson. “Come over for dinner and family game night on Wednesday, why don’t you?”

Jackson grinned. “That sounds great. Connor said your cooking is the shit.”

Elodie giggled. “You said a bad word. You owe me a buck.”

I grinned at Jackson. “It’ll be a nice, quiet evening. As long as you let me win.”

“Don’t count on it. But I could use some home cooking.”

Wednesday evening turned out to be anything but quiet.

On Monday, Coach Bailey was in a foul mood. I tried to steer clear of him, but when Rudy asked me to wrap his wrists before practice, Coach Bailey exploded.

“Rudy, there’s nothing wrong with your god dammed wrists,” he barked. “And you can wrap them yourself. Ms. Cruz isn’t here for any of you to flirt with. You all need to keep your head in the game.”

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