Page 76 of Coast to Coast

Jonah walked up behind us and busted out laughing. “Fuck, Bendy, you can’ttellhim we call him that.”

It was then I realized that half my teammates surrounded me, and everyone had averted their eyes.

“Yeah, man,” Charlie said, “We all know when you’re getting laid, too. This week was the first since Columbus.”

How the fuck was he right? I had one encounter with a puck bunny after an away game at the beginning of last season. And it sucked. I spent the entire time worrying about her getting pregnant, and after the fact, I took her number and called her every single day until she assured me that her period had come.

“Yep, that means none of us bought it that Callie was your girlfriend,” Andre piped up. “Though I get why you wanted to keep those assholes away from her,” he said, gesturing to Cooper Rice and Jackson Gregory, two of the new guys on the roster.

Damon jumped in, “And now you’re fucking the nanny.”

“I’m not justfuckingmy nanny,” I said. Shit, Callie was so much more than just sex to me.

Alex shushed everyone. While he couldn’t be our official captain, thanks to NHL rules that prohibited it, he was our leader off the ice as the veteran player. “Show some respect to Callie. Treat her like you’d want us to treat Kayleigh.”

Fuck. Alex realized he’d misspoken as soon as the words were out of his mouth. Every set of eyes went to Damon, who stormed off and slammed the locker door behind him.

I went to go after him, but Charlie pulled me back. “Give him a minute to get it together; he’s not up for talking about it.”

Damon was back in the locker room, and the discussions went from personal to business. It might be pre-season, but the first team we faced won the Cup last year. Sure, they’d had some post-season shake-ups that included a key retirement and a major illness with their Center, who had been responsible for the most goals on the team last season. He was back, but rumor had it that he was not exactly ready to be on the ice, but the team had been tight-lipped about his health.

I checked my phone once more before I headed out to the ice. I found an adorable picture of Callie and Crew, him covered in paint and art supplies, which I assumed she was using to make a sign for the game.

Sam: Good luck tonight.

Leave it to Sam to think of me as he headed out to close out his 150thcareer win. At 29 years old, this would put him on track for the Hall of Fame. And here he was, wishing me luck before a meaningless pre-season game.

Me: Thanks. Same to you.

We skated out for warm-ups, and the crowd had shown up, reminding me of another reason why I loved this game. Sure, the adrenaline from being on the ice, blood pumping from exertion, and making and taking hard hits was amazing. But I liked it when the kids came to the games.

Through a writing contest, the team offered a four-pack of seats at every home game for local Denver school kids. The winner of this game was a ten-year-old boy who described living with his mother and sister. He’d lost his father at six, and his grandfather had stepped in to help his family. He was honest about not knowing much about hockey, but he wanted the tickets for his grandfather, and winning them was the only way he’d ever get them for him.

His story reminded me of my own, and I had arranged with management to bring him out on the ice for photos and some one-on-one with the team. We had also chipped in to sponsor him for a year at a local youth hockey club and cover his equipment costs. Yeah, at ten, he might be on the late side foryouth hockey, but we wanted him to have the opportunity to try it if he wanted.

At home games, the WAGs had a family room where they could watch the game on the TV, eat, drink, and keep all the kids entertained. They also had the ability to move freely between that suite and seats. My eyes darted over to where I knew I would see Callie and my mother, and I was briefly disappointed when I didn’t see them right away. Until I realized that they were hidden behind a sign that said, “My Daddy hits harder than your Daddy.”

CALLIOPE

Idon’t know who was more excited about watching Tom play, Crew or me. The kid knew how to make the most of a sports game. I suspected someone had trained him well that concessions meant great junk food because, as usual, he turned up his nose at the buffet and held out for the bucket of chicken fingers Patty brought him.

The kids had various attention spans; some were more interested in the mascot than the game, but all loved the first glimpse of their dads skating on the ice. And yeah, I’d watched enough videos of Tom playing to prepare myself, but it wasn’t enough. He was a machine. Having intimate knowledge of that body and then watching him play the sport responsible for it sent a little flip in my stomach.

When Tom read the letter from this game’s local four-pack, I struggled to hold back tears. Patty was openly crying, and you could see Tom trying to talk through the emotions. I had met men in college with absent fathers, and very few of them used that experience as a driving force to do better. Instead, they used it as an excuse to get away with doing less. Tom was a great dad to Crew because he wanted Crew to have what he missed. I squeezed the little boy on my lap a little tighter and kissed thetop of his head, using the soft, downy hair to absorb the tears that slipped down my cheek.

Patty reached over, squeezed my hand, and said, “You’re good for my boy.”

Crew was completely unaware, as he should be. But understanding the man, knowing his vulnerabilities, and watching the actions he took to make himself a better man, I wanted to protect him from the world. Physically, he was a force to be reckoned with. His size and the way he used his body to block, check his opponents, and fly across the ice were gifts to watch.

“How many more innings are there in the game?” I asked Patty.

Her head spun around, her mouth gaped open, and she stared at me, no words escaping as she choked out, “What did you say?”

“I got that wrong, huh?” I asked, my face growing warm as Crew squirmed in my arms.

“Do you know anything about hockey?” She asked carefully, and I could tell she was using quite a bit of restraint.

“Nothing. I tried to watch some YouTube videos, and I was distracted watching your son, to be completely honest. I ski. I don’t skate. And this is the first hockey game I’ve been to; I’ve never even watched a full game.”

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