Page 12 of Her Goal
“No gnome jokes, nognomienothing. Ted was from Oklahoma and once said that he was going home to hang with his homies. Badaszek misheard and thought he saidgnomies.”
“Easy enough mistake to make,” Grady says.
“Coach went ballistic,” Micah says.
“Are we talking about Ted ‘the Bear’ Powell? I wish I’d gotten to play with him rather than being thrashed by him,” Mikey says as if reminiscing about the good old days.
“No gnomes, got it?” Micah says as if still the team captain.
Neal Sanderson, another retired player and legend, nods solemnly.
Liam nods and gravely says, “You heard the man.”
We disperse and when a loaded plate lands in my hands, I’m soon seated on the sofa surrounded by my teammates, all talking like we’ve known each other forever.
This isn’t a bad thing. I’m just not used to it. On my previous teams, we all played a variation of survival of the fittest. The Knights are obviously a brotherhood and by the pitch of the laughter, they genuinely enjoy each other’s company.
I’m an expert at identifying types of laughter: for instance, there’s polite laughter when in mixed company, contagious laughter, which is the best kind when shared with friends, and nervous laughter, to name a few. I’m currently engaging in that last one.
From the hallway comes a hoot of laughter which falls into the “something outrageous happened” category.
Someone says, “Look at baby Robo!”
I launch to my feet. As far as I know, there’s a singular baby photograph of me in existence and it’s at the bottom of a drawer in my bedroom. Busting in here with food is one thing, but if they’re going through my personal belongings, I’ll show them all to the door.
Mikey holds a glossy book and Pierre peers over his shoulder. I must’ve left the yearbook on the stairs when they arrived.
“Looks like Robo has a twin.” Pierre points to the page.
I take it these two are the goofballs of the group. We’ve got a couple of grumps. Micah and Neal, both retired, wear a crown and own the throne, respectively. Mikey is a DIY-er. Redd is an insider. I’ve been called a golden retriever … among other things.
“Don’t tell the puck bunnies our pretty boy hockey star has a twin,” someone hollers from the other room.
Pierre leans closer to the page in question. “Why is there another person in the portrait photo with … Hunter?” He reads my brother’s name. “Are you a triplet like the coach’s daughters?”
“You mean like your wife?” Mikey asks.
I’m about to explain, but Pierre says, “Hold up. That’s Leah with Hunter. Cara’s best friend.”
“I thought Ella was her best friend,” Jack says as if he’s about to go to bat for his bride.
Grady pops in. “Don’t forget Heidi.”
Redd rolls his eyes. “They’re all best friends.”
I quickly gather that they’re referring to their girlfriends and wives.
I mumble, “Before that, she was my brother’s ... something.”
And a real pain in my butt like falling on the ice without padding. However, every time I did, she’d laugh, which made me realize early on that I wasn’t a dark horse like Hunter. I love making people laugh … but not inside my house. That’s where I draw the line.
Leah followed my twin around like a lemming, at risk of liberty and limb. It was everything I could do to keep him from destroying his life with her following suit.
Pierre says, “Talk to Cara, she’ll get her VIP suite tickets.”
I splutter, “Why would I want to get Leah VIP suite tickets?” I haven’t given her much thought in years. Hunter either. Well, not until the early morning visitor, followed by the gnome materializing in my garage like an apparition.
Mikey says, “Leah is already in the box with the babes. I’m talking about getting your brother tickets. When it comes to the Knights, it’s a family affair.”
