Page 1 of The Best Parts of Him
chapter one
JULY
“Nice work, everyone.” Kyle Dabbs held out a hand, fist bumping the nine- and ten-year-olds that had been assigned to his co-ed group at the annual Vermont Trailblazers Youth Hockey Camp.
“But we lost, Coach Dabbs.” A camper with long blond pigtails slumped onto the bench in the locker room of one of Burlington, Vermont’s community arenas. Pouting, she kicked at the floor with one skated foot. “That sucks.”
“It does suck,” Dabbs agreed as the kids began to remove their skates and uniforms. It always sucked to lose. As captain of the Vermont Trailblazers, Dabbs knew that more than most.
Of course, the Trailblazers had won the Stanley Cup just last month, but as a thirty-two-year-old hockey player, he’d had his share of losses as well as wins.
“But did you learn new skills this week?” he asked.
A chorus of unenthusiastic “Yeah” echoed around the room.
“Did you have fun?”
A second chorus of “Yeah,” this one slightly more engaged.
“Did you make new friends?”
“Yeah!”
“That’s what’s important. Never let the desire to win interfere with having fun.”
Players got paid to win at the NHL level, but he didn’t need to disillusion a bunch of kids with that reality.
The campers had just played their final game on the last day of camp, which they’d played against the other group of nine- and ten-year-olds, led by one of Dabbs’ teammates. A win would’ve sent them off with smiles and stories to tell their friends and family. But they’d all received participation trophies, and as they trooped out of the locker room to find their guardians, Dabbs noticed more than one kid clutched their trophy as though they had won the cup instead of the Trailblazers.
A few minutes later, he stood in the arena’s entranceway with the last few campers who were awaiting their rides home. It was controlled chaos as kids aged five to twelve waited in groups with their camp counselors, showing off their trophies and talking loudly over each other.
Dabbs met the blue-eyed gaze of his teammate and roommate, Bellamy Jordan, over the kids’ heads, and they shared a why-are-they-so-loud look of commiseration.
“Thank you so much.”
He turned toward an approaching parent.
“Sierra loved coming to your camp.”
Sierra, she of the blond pigtails who’d been upset about losing, muttered a sulky “Mom” under her breath and her shoulders hiked up to her ears.
“She didn’t like her counselor at the camp I signed her up for last summer,” Sierra’s mom said. “But she said you were nice and always had a word of encouragement, so thank you for that.”
“No need to thank me,” Dabbs said, shrugging off the compliment. It cost him nothing to be kind, a lesson his dad had never learned. To Sierra, he added, “I hope to see you next year.”
“You will,” she said brightly, all embarrassment gone. “Bye, Coach Dabbs.” She left with her mom, skipping through the automatic doors and into the bright July sunshine.
Sandro Zanetti, a teammate and fellow camp counselor, rested his elbow on Dabbs’ shoulder. “This was the most exhausting week of my life.”
Dabbs chuckled. “And yet you’re doing it again at the end of the month.”
“With the thirteen- to eighteen-year-olds. It’ll be a whole different atmosphere.” Zanetti took his elbow back and flicked dark hair off his forehead. “Anyway. I’m headed out. I want to start my drive home tonight.”
“Are you staying the night somewhere?” Dabbs asked, knowing the drive from Burlington, Vermont, to Zanetti’s hometown of Tobermory, Ontario, was more than ten hours—and that was without stops. It was after four already, so a ten-hour drive would put his arrival in Tobermory after two in the morning, and that was assuming no delays at the border.
“Probably halfway, in Kingston most likely.” He gave Dabbs a jaunty salute. “See you later.”
“Drive safe.”
