Page 36 of Love of the Game
Oh shit. They knew hockey, too. At least this was a subject I could chat about forever. “Yeah, it did. I was strung out about it before. It’s true what they say about gripping your stick too tight and all that.”
Both he and Merrick nodded. “Otters are a good team for getting players on track,” Merrick said. “Though looks like you didn’t need that much to get back to it.” He glanced at the office door.
I laughed. Couldn’t help it. Then I sipped my beer and grinned. “He’s a good man.”
They both seemed to agree with that.
“So,” Red Dog said, “What do you think is going on with Washington? Their goalie was so damn hot, but they just lost nine to one.”
I’d caught that in the news, but hadn’t looked into it. “I’d have to see the video to know for sure, but sometimes everyone on the team has the worst day on the ice at the same time, and it snowballs out of control. One goal against becomes three, becomes six and it justsucksif you’re the losing team.” I shook my head. “Those are the games you absolutely have to forget. Like, move on. It’s worse for the goalies because a lot of times, it’s not their fault, you know? Gotta play well in front of them. But they take the blame and the stats hit.”
By the time Jon came back, we were deep into a discussion about how you flush a bad game, how you make it up to a goaltender, and some of the psychology behind momentum swings.
Jon raised an eyebrow when he took a seat. “I go away for a half hour, and you’re talkingthiswiththem?” He shook his head in mock disgust. “Honestly.”
Merrick slapped Jon on the back. “Kid’s smart. Like you.”
Red Dog nodded slowly. “Good choice.”
I think both of us went a little flush. “For him or me?” Jon asked.
“Yes,” Red Dog said.
I probably shouldn’t have felt as happy about that proclamation as I did, but there it was. Jon and me—we were something good. And more and more, that something looked like a couple.
CHAPTER 10
JON
While I enjoyed a white Christmas, I was grateful for no snowthisChristmas Eve, as it allowed all my teammates to park in my driveway and on my lawn. The annual party was easy to set up—everyone brought a dish, dessert, or beverage, a small kid’s present if they were bringing a child, and a white elephant gift. All the kids got random good presents, and we spent time eating, unwrapping, and stealing each other’s awful presents.
Drake was a saint, from helping with the pre-party cleaning, to being out there in the cold parking everyone, to organizing the food while I played host. Made an easy process even easier.
There was one deviation from the script this year, though. Both Alfie and Ebba had mentioned to me that they were grateful for a Christmas Eve party because they were horribly homesick for Sweden this time of year. I kind of understood. I’d grown up in North America and my mother was Canadian, but my dad and the other Swedish players would take turns being Saint Nick on Christmas Eve to show up at each other’s houses to surprise us kids, and ourhouse hadn’t been an exception. I’d grown up with a lot of the Swedish traditions.
Alfie and Ebba didn’t have kids, but I figured the other children in the house wouldn’t mind a visit from Saint Nick, so halfway through the night, I stole out to my very frigid shed and donned a Santa suit and beard and waltzed back in. The hardest part was trying to maintain a Norwegian accent in Swedish. Especially given that my Swedish accent was American-tinged.
Still, the look on Ebba and Alfie’s faces made the stunt worthwhile. They were both so incredibly happy and Ebba was in tears with laughter. And the kids at the party? They were screeching with joy, especially since they all got another round of gifts, since what Santa doesn’t bring presents?
When the night wound down, and they were getting ready to head home, Ebba pulled me into a hug. “Thank you. A little touch of home.”
“The least I can do.” I gave her a squeeze and patted Alfie on the back. “Your turn next year. I’ll let you borrow the suit.”
He laughed at that.
Ebba gave Drake a hug, too, and switched to English. “You take care of him. He’s a treasure.”
“I know,” he said. “And I will. Promise.”
God, my heart. “I’m not?—”
Alfie shushed me. “Don’t argue with Ebba on Christmas.” His smile was bright. “God Jul, Jon.”
“God Jul,” I called after them.
Drake wrapped an arm around my waist. “Youarea treasure,” he said. “And don’t argue with guests.”
I wrinkled my nose at him. “You’re not a guest,” I said before my brain caught up with what I was saying.
