Page 125 of No Contest
"Coach, did you see the last game?" Tyler shouted over everyone. "Hog crushed that guy into the boards and then didn't fight him, but he still looked scary."
I lined up the final cone. "That's strategy. You don't have to take a swing to be effective."
"Mom says he's huge," Nora added.
"He is," I agreed. I didn't add that he looked even bigger taking up three-quarters of a bed.
We ran drills, and then I let them scrimmage because it was one of those days when joy mattered more than precision. I skated backward at the center and let them come at me in a cluster, whacking at the puck like a flock of sparrows descending on a single french fry. There were more collisions than passes. Laughter rose, sharp and high.
Between whistles, the gossip kept coming.
Auggie piped up. "My aunt saw Hog at Safeway, and he said hi to her."
"He was on the jumbotron," added Mika. "He waved. It was funny."
"He waved because he saw my sign," Tyler insisted. The others booed.
We reset the scrimmage. When they finally ran out of steam, I whistled them in. Helmets bumped my elbows as they clustered around, cheeks pink, and sweaty hair sticking to their foreheads.
"Good work. Remember what we said about looking before you pass?"
Nora echoed me. "Don't look at the person. Look at the space."
"And trust your teammate will be in it. Okay, water."
They scattered. Tyler skated up to me. "Coach, will your boyfriend come watch again?"
Helmets cocked around the rink like sunflowers turning toward the sunlight, accompanied by giggles.
"If he can skate, he'll be here."
After practice, a parent thanked me at the door, hands tucked into her jeans pockets. "They're excited about hockey again," she said. "It's nice to see."
"The Storm can take most of the credit," I said. "But thanks."
The cold bit my face when I stepped outside. I got into my truck, and when my phone buzzed against my thigh, I didn't know how the call would tilt my gut until I saw the name.
Mom.
I let it ring twice. Three times. On the fourth ring, I answered.
"Hi."
"Hi, sweetheart." She sounded like she was speaking from the middle of a wool sweater, soft and a little muffled. "Do you have a minute?"
"Yeah," I said. I didn't pull out of the lot yet. Just sat there with the engine idling, phone on speaker on the passenger seat, watching my breath fog the windshield. "What's up?"
"I wanted to catch you before—well. I wasn't sure when you'd be free."
Before what? Before I got busy? Before she lost her nerve? Before the moment passed, and we went back to avoidance?
"I'm here now," I said.
"Good. That's—good."
We did the logistics dance first because we both knew how to do that. She had estate paperwork that still needed signatures. She asked about a saw she'd found in the garage that she thought might be valuable, and I knew it wasn't. I pulled onto the street as we continued to talk.
Then she laughed—a little too bright—and said, "I found a neighbor who shovels better than your father did."
