Page 68 of Love of the Game
Finally, Nivisha noticed me with the cart and the matching flower crown. “Hey Mr. Williams.” She turned to her dad. “That’s Drake Williams. He’s Coach Erik’s fiancé. He plays for the Lions.”
“I know who Drake Williams is,” her dad said, sounding a bit put out by his daughter’s assumptions. “I watched most of the games last year.” He held out his hand, and I shook it. “An honor to meet you.”
“Thanks. I’m just along to push the cart.” I was still getting used to being Drake Williams, the goal scoring magician. The Lions had ended the season second in our division, and had made it to the semi-finals. We’d pushed this year’s eventual Cup winner to seven games and had lost in a heartbreaker of a double overtime game. I’d scored thirty-one goals during the regular season and twelve during our playoff run.
I’d also finally put everything with my bio-father to bed. After leaving me alone for a while, he’d had the audacity to show up and try to get into a closed practice during the playoffs. The fight with security by the door to the practice arena had caught everyone’s attention, including Jon. He’d been sitting in the stands watching practice. That was the only time I’d ever seen Jon dangerously angry, so I knew I had to do something about it.
By the time I’d gotten out there, security had him under control and the police were on their way. He was a tall man, but in skates, I was taller, and I think that’s what caused him to shrink back. Maybe he’d still had the impression I was a little kid, despite being twenty-three.
“You’re Drake?” he croaked.
“Yup. And you’re the guy who thinks I’m a fucking ATM.”
“I’m your dad.”
“I don’t have a dad. I’ve never had a dad. You’re the guy who had a one-night stand with my mom, then called her a whore and tried to get her to abort me.”
The crowd around us murmured.
I stepped up to him, and he backed into the security guard. “You signed away your rights when I was born. ‘Washed your hands of me,’ isn’t that what the email you sent said?”
“Yeah, but?—”
“But nothing. My mom worked her ass off to feed and clothe us, and sacrificed so much to get me here.” I gestured around the practice facility. “The only reason you’re here is because you’re looking for a payout. You’re not getting it, you useless leech.”
His face had gone red, and I think he realized that the people around him were not at all on his side. There were employees, parents, older teens, even some of the hockey reporters with their phones out, recording.
“You’ve been harassing me this whole year. I told you to stop. Mom told you to stop. Guess now we have to get lawyers and the police involved, huh?” And as if on cue, the local cops walked in.
I nodded to them, then marched back into the arena. The team trespassed him and banned him from their properties, and I filed a restraining order. That—and the articles that came out about the incident—seemed to have scared him off, thank God.
I shook myself out of the memory. Jon was still chatting with Nivisha and her father. “We moved recently. Seems like every time we turn around, we’re missing something.”He waved a hand. “Look at me rambling on. I should let you and your daughter go. Niv, work on your shot, eh?”
She rolled her eyes. “Wait until you see my backhand.” She pulled her dad down the aisle in the opposite direction.
Jon called after her, “Can’t wait!” Then he grabbed a bag of chocolate chip cookies off the shelf. “Just here to push the cart?” He cocked an eyebrow.
“Oh,” I said, breezily, “And other things.”
There was the bit of pink on his cheeks that I loved so much, along with the grin that matched the summer sun. “Let’s go home, and you can tell me all about the other things.”
I snorted, pushed the cart, and headed toward the front of the store.
Never in a million years at the start of that fateful season that had sent me to the Otters, had I expected my life to turn out like this.
I was a hockey star—an actual one now. With my likeness on banners and commemorative cups at the arena. I was also pushing a cart through a Target with a crown of flowers on my head.
With a stellar season behind me, and only a year left on my bridge deal, this summer I’d signed a new eight-year contract with the Lions that amounted to more money that I could wrap my head around.
Despite all that, it wasn’t me that was turning heads as we walked through Target, it was the dark-haired beautiful man walking next to me. The one who lit up a room, cackled like a madman, and was able to corral a whole team of young women, unlock the game of hockey for them, and lead them to a championship. The man I’d marry next month in front of my mom and his parents, and our friends and teammates.
Getting sent down to the Otters had been the best thing that ever happened to me. I didn’t know where I’d be without Jon. Definitely not at a self-checkout at a Target, having him pluck a flower wreath off my head. I could only laugh, as it got tangled in my hair.
“Your damn curls,” he said, sighing dramatically.
“You love my damn curls!”
Oh, he softened at that. “I love everything about you,” he said, then cocked his head. “Well, almost everything.”
