Page 33 of Off-Ice Misconduct
It’s time for me to ditch this event anyway, but I go on a hunt for Bend before I leave and find him in the foyer. He and the mystery lady share a big laugh and cheers their wine glasses together. Okay, they’re having fun, I’ll give Shep that, but she’s clearly seventy plus.
“Ace, c’mere for a sec. I want you to meet Mrs. Chamberlain.”
Mrs. Chamberlain?
This university has over thirty libraries. It’s not like Harvard with its seventy libraries, but it’s still a lot. Chamberlain Libraryis named after Mr. Andrew Chamberlain’s daughter … who must be this woman right here, all grown up. I’ve heard of her, but have never met her. Shit, they’re loaded. I think about what Shep said, because Bend could use the money, but nah, he’s not here for that. Bend’s a bit of an old soul in some ways; he gravitates toward older people.
“It’s nice to meet you, Ace,” she says. “Your mother was quite the hockey player.”
“You followed my mom?”
No one ever seems to care about women’s hockey, not enough to recognize the big stars like my mom, anyway.
“Of course, I’m a big hockey fan. I followed her, and then I followed her son.” She winks.
Okay, I can see the vibe Shep was getting. Mrs. Chamberlain might be an older gal, but she’s still got game. She’s definitely pushing seventy-five, though. I’m sure Bender’s safe.
“I’m flattered, ma’am. Would it be alright if I steal my friend here for a moment?” I say, trying to mimic Dad’s smoothness. It works.
“Absolutely. I’ll be over by the beverage table,” she says in Bender’s direction.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I hiss.
“Um, getting money for the team?”
“She’s flirting with you.”
“Duh. But it’s not … it’s hard to explain. I’m not gonna do it with someone three times my age, dude. She’s also not the gender I typically go for.”
“Shep thinks that’s what you’re doing.”
“What?” He laughs. “That’s wild and what I do is none of his goddamn business. What’s his deal?”
“Don’t know, and I don’t have time to figure you two out. Could you find him and tell him you’re okay?”
“He was … worried about me?” he says.
“Of course he is. You’re still hockey brethren even if you hate each other. Jeez.” I know they only get along for me, and don’t like each other much, but it doesn’t mean they won’t go to bat for each other. “Anyway, I’m gonna jet. I’ll see you at home. Don’t let any old ladies take advantage of you.”
He rolls his eyes. “See you at home.”
Wolf Daddy
How’s the party, McKinnon? I know you had it anyway, despite fundraisers. You’d better not be drinking—remember that I told you no drinking.
Huh. Oops. Forgot about that.
But does it count if I’m not at the party?
I’m way up. Waaaaaaay up. Back row of the Scorpions arena. So far back, the ice looks mini as if it was made for a team of hockey-playing mice. Ha! That’s hilarious. Hockey-playing mice. Tiny helmets. Little mouse jerseys. I’d pay good money to see that.
The Scorpions Arena is massive, with seating for over eight thousand angry hockey fans, meant to vibrate with noise, chants, whistles, big men bashing against the boards. Not this deafening silence that echoes with all my heartache.
I thought about breaking into the Zamboni storage and driving it around the ice. Shep, Bend, and I did that once. Coach nearly killed us. He’d be extra pissed if I drove it fucking drunk. Instead, I planted my ass in one of the seats to drown mysorrows in peace. I’d slipped away from the party an hour ago. Wasn’t vibing it.
Seeing Dad’s what did it. I miss him. Miss what we had. We were so close before Mom died.
Fuck.
