Page 9 of Offside Secrets
“The fact you even know what a ‘red carpet’ event is?” Sawyer manages to say, punctuating his words with a whistle. “Impressed, kid. Good thing it’s clean, though, since we’ve got that photo shoot today, too.”
“Photo shoot?” Owen asks, cocking his head to the side. “Wait, is that what Cannon’s email was about?”
“That’s the one,” I say, referring to a missive that had been sent out to the team earlier this week by one of the assistant coaches. I open a menu so my stomach and I can begin our decision-making for breakfast.
“I knew I should have read it,” Owen sighs.
Before I can even decide if it’s going to be pancakes or breakfast poutine (don’t knock it til you’ve tried it), Ollie slides into the booth beside me. He’s grinning like he’s got the cheat code to life, which, I mean, he does. He’s got Anna. Game over.
“Boys,” he says, drumming his fingers on the table. “So. That team moving to Alexandria…”
The air shifts. Even Gerry pauses mid-rant at the counter like he’s listening.
Sawyer whistles. “Heard about that. And rumor is, they’re sending scouts to our games.” He says it like it’s casual, but I can read him like a playbook. He’s testing. Waiting.
“That’s cool, but honestly?” Ollie just shrugs, easy as you please. “I’m happy here. I’ve got Anna, we’re close to home. She’s going to be the big time sports agent, and I want to be the guy who makes sure the kids get to school. We’ve got plans, you know? I’m not chasing the big leagues anymore. This is enough.”
Enough. My stomach knots. I’d love to know how someone can just…decide that.
Owen perks up, eyes sharp for the first time this morning. “Man, that’d be unreal. Imagine showing off in front of NHL scouts. I’d kill for that shot.”
Karen appears with the coffeepot like she’s been eavesdropping—because she always does. She fills our mugs and grins at Owen. “Sweetheart, you look like you’d kill for a nap. Or a good stylist.”
Sawyer barks out a laugh, slapping the table. “She’s got you there.”
Karen leans toward me, lowering her voice like she’s telling a secret. “Don’t let them distract you, Campbell. You’re the one to watch.” Then she winks and bustles off before I can answer.
Gerry hollers from behind the counter, “Don’t fill their heads with nonsense, Karen! The Leafs are the only team worth scouting.”
Sawyer calls back, “Keep dreaming. One day, Toronto will make a comeback, Ger Bear.”
“It’sGerry!” he fires back, not pleased with Sawyer’s nickname for him. “Say it right, or you’re washing dishes!”
“I’ll order a funnel cake,” Sawyer tosses back, knowing that for some odd reason even the mere mention of funnel cakes sets Gerry off. More so than being called Ger Bear.
“Pffft. And you’ll get barred from this place,” Gerry retorts, wagging a finger in the air. “My establishment does not make funnel cakes. I’m not a carnival.”
Sawyer just grins. “Still dreaming, Ger Bear.”
The table cracks up. Even Owen chuckles into his mug. For a second, it’s all easy, the way mornings here are supposed to be.
But then Gerry turns back to his TV and Sawyer shrugs, pushing the laughter off like it doesn’t stick. “Wouldn’t mind moving up either,” he admits. “But hey, I’ll take it as it comes.”
The others keep talking, teasing about who’s going toorder the most bacon, Owen trying to convince Karen to add “goalie fuel” smoothies to the menu, Sawyer calling himPrincess Protein Shake.
And me? I go quiet.
Because the noise fades, and all I can hear is the pounding in my chest. Scouts. At our games.
This is it. Everything I’ve ever wanted since I was a kid, since Sawyer and I wore holes into our sneakers playing street hockey until the streetlights came on. Since the only dream worth having was skating under those bright NHL lights.
But then Dad flashes in my mind—struggling with his RA, the stack of bills on the kitchen counter he tries to hide. The weight slams back onto my shoulders.
I don’t just want this. Not anymore. This time, today, I need it. We need it.
The guys are still laughing, but I can’t taste the maple syrup in the air any longer. All I can taste is pressure, and it tastes a lot like adrenaline.
Gerry stops by our table, taking orders. When he gets to me, I’ve got one half of my mind in my seat, the other already in Alexandria. “I’ll have the hash browns, eggs over easy, side of fruit, and no bacon today.”
