Page 1 of Keeping it Real

One

“Look out!”

Alek Bergeron jumped out of the path of a pint-sized boy wielding a hockey stick just as the kid slammed into the boards.None the worse for wear, eight-year-old Gunner Ferguson let out a frustrated groan, his tongue visible through the gap where one of his incisors had yet to grow in.The expression on the boy’s face was a lot like his father’s, the Milwaukee Mayhem’s star center Denis “Gus” Ferguson, after Gus lost the puck to a rival player.

“You need to learn tofeelthe puck with your stick so you can keep your eyes focused ahead,” Alek advised Gunner.“Otherwise, your sister will deke you out of your skates every time.”

The boy’s younger sister sprinted past them, skating as though she were born wearing blades.Given that she’d been chasing her father and older brother since she could walk, it was no surprise that five-year-old Grace was a natural on the ice.She took the corner of the rink like a speed skater, hanging on to her balance as well as the puck right before she shot it toward the net.

“That’s my girl!”Gus called from the other end of the rink despite the puck veering wide right of the goal.

Gunner snorted.“Dad told me I had to let her steal the biscuit at least twice today.That way, she wouldn’t whine the whole way home.”

“You’re a good big brother.”Alek patted the top of Gunner’s helmet.

“Yeah.But now I’m going to show her how it’s done.”He raced off to grab the puck as it rebounded off the far boards before shooting it into the empty net with a perfect flick of his wrist.

“Well played, Gunster.”Timothée Valentine, the Mayhem’s right winger and league heart throb, skated over to high-five the boy.

Two tween girls, likely belonging to someone in management, trailed Valentine, the pair sporting adoring looks.The team had broken training camp that day, and everyone within the organization was at the practice facility getting in some last-minute downtime with their families.The grueling seven-month regular season would kick off the following week.

“Excellent shot,” Gus praised his son as he weaved his way through the other players and their kids enjoying the free skate on the practice ice.

Grace snowplowed into her brother, nearly decapitating him with her stick when she went to wrap her arms around his neck in congratulations.The siblings’ playful camaraderie brought to mind a similar brother and sister Alek had known once upon a time.His chest burned at the thought.He quickly squeezed his eyes shut to keep the memories from seeping in and destroying the balance he’d carefully cultivated over the past decade.

“There are treats in the canteen,” Gus said to his kids as he guided them to where Alek leaned against the boards next to the exit gate.“Go snag one of Mom’s chocolate peanut butter cupcakes for me before they all get eaten.”

Gunner tossed his stick to his father and raced off the ice, barely pausing to put on his skate guards.Gus lifted Grace onto the bench behind the glass, kneeling to unlace her skates.

“Do you want a cupcake too, Uncle Alek?”Grace asked.

Alek stepped off the ice amid a stream of his teammates who were headed in the direction of the dressing room.“You betcha.”He bent down to remove the cumbersome pads that guarded the goalie’s legs.“I never pass up anything your mom bakes.”

“Hey!What about me?”Valentine asked, his fan club having skated off in the other direction.

Grace giggled.“You’re not my godfather.”

Valentine made a show of clutching his chest.“But I thought I was your boyfriend, Gracie?”

If looks could kill, the stink-eye Gus leveled at his teammate would have incinerated him.Not that Valentine cared.His long lashes, matching dimples, and glossy dark curls got him out of as much trouble as they got him into.

“Okay.I’ll save you a cupcake, too,” she promised before racing off in her stocking feet, calling for her brother to wait.She blew a kiss in the direction of her father before she disappeared.

The adoring grin Gus wore as he and Alek followed Valentine into the dressing room had Alek’s chest twitching again.Almost as if he envied the guy or something.Which was ridiculous.

Both men were at the top of their game on a team poised to make a strong run for the Cup this year.Sure, when Gus left the ice, he went home to his magazine-cover-worthy family.His wife of ten years kept the home fires burning during the season, raising their two amazing kids while working as an occupational therapist.

When Alek went home, it was to an empty house.Just the way he liked it.Everything within his place was exactly what he wanted and where he wanted it.

His twin sister accused him of being a neat freak.His teammates joked he was an old fart who lived in a mausoleum.Alek ignored them.So what if he lived his life in an orderly and predictable way?He spent half of every week on the road constantly surrounded by nineteen teammates.The solitude his house provided helped to ground him, allowing him to focus on what was really important: hockey.

That didn’t mean he was a monk.Companionship was easy to find for a professional athlete with his notoriety.If his sister was to be believed, Alek’s “piercing blue eyes and thick sable locks” didn’t hurt when it came to attracting the opposite sex, either.And if he wanted to experience the chaos of family life, he had plenty of kids to play “funcle” to, including his sister’s year-old twins.

But his relationships were always on his terms.And never if they interfered with his goal of winning the Cup.After all, that had been the mission from the moment he picked up his stick as a professional.It had eluded him for seven seasons so far, and Alek was starting to get a little twitchy.

It didn’t help that his dad was recently diagnosed with early-onset Parkinson’s Disease.While most guys at thirty still saw their lives spread out before them, his father’s illness was a gut-punch reminder that there were no guarantees in this world.Given everything his parents had done to help him get to this level of play, Alek wanted his dad to share in the joy of hoisting the Cup.

Before his dad’s health issues, the only ticking clock was how long Alek’s body would allow him to play.Now, though, the clock seemed to be a lot louder and faster.He sat on the bench in front of his stall and tugged at the laces of his skate in frustration.

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