Page 110 of The New Guy
Then I hang up the phone, and take a deep, gasping breath. I’m shaking. Anger isn’t my go-to emotion, and I barely know how to handle the rage in my heart. So I lean against the tiled wall and try to slow my breathing.
Until Jordyn suddenly pounds on the door. “Daddy! Hudson scored! He got a goal!”
A goal?Holy shit.
On pure adrenaline, I fling open the bathroom door and gallop back to the TV, just in time for the replay. And there he is—evading a Tampa skater, then deking the goalie. He shoots with the barest flick of his wrist, and then everyone in the crowd jumps to their feet.
“YES BABY!” I shriek.
He’s tied up the game. There’s only two minutes left on the clock, and they’re probably headed into overtime.
There goes Jordyn’s bedtime. Again.
I push Eustace’s criticism out of my mind. “Sweetie, how about you put on your pajamas and brush your teeth? So you’ll be ready for bed when the game finally ends.”
She looks down at her purple clothing. “I can’t changenow, Daddy! This is what I wear when Brooklyn wins!”
My heart stops. And for the first time in months, I hear Eddie’s laughter in my head again. His beautiful laugh.
Tears spring to my eyes, and I sit down on the couch.
“Daddy?” she asks, wide-eyed. “What happened?”
I swipe my eyes with the back of my hand. “Nothing, Ducky. I was just remembering how your Papa liked to wear his Boston jersey when the game was on.”
She comes over and sits on my knee. “I’ll go to bed right after somebody wins.”
“All right,” I say, pulling her into my lap. Then I explain how sudden death overtime works. Although I don’t call it that.
“So Brooklyn just has to get one more,” she says. “And it’s over?”
“Yup,” I agree. “Just one more.”
They resurface the ice, and then we watch, tense, as Brooklyn goes on the attack one more time. Our guys must be exhausted. But Hudson is skating as hard as ever.
He comes off the ice after a shift, though, and Coach sends Ian Crikey out in his place. Another talented young defenseman. He wants it bad, too.
But sometimes you can want something so badly that you strangle it. And that’s what happens to Crikey. In his zeal to get the puck, he hauls a Tampa player off his feet by grabbing his jersey.
The ref calls the foul.
“Oh no,” Jordyn breathes.
Oh yes. Coach sends out the PK team, but the disruption gives Tampa a second wind.
They score twenty-two seconds into the penalty. The red light goes off behind Beacon, and all our guys deflate. Just like that. The season is over.
“Oh NO!” Jordyn’s lip is quivering. “This is terrible.”
I feel heavy inside. I thought Hudson would get to play for the cup. He must be devastated.
But I turn off the TV, and scoop my daughter off the couch. “I’m sorry, Ducky. But they made it almost to the tippy top. They’re one of the best four teams in the world. But sometimes that’s as far as you can go.”
She wraps her arms around me, exhausted. “Is it really over? I wanted Hudson to win.”
“He wins a lot,” I remind her. “And tomorrow is another day. Another chance to get it right.”
I’m not sure she’s buying what I’m selling. But that’s okay. I ask her to brush her teeth and change her clothes. Then I put her to bed. “Don’t think sad thoughts,” I whisper as I turn out the light. “Now Hudson gets to take a summer vacation.”
