Page 61 of Love of the Game
Drake returned and both he and I ended up taking pre-game naps while Papa went out and somehow managed to buy—in downtown Pittsburgh—what he needed to cook dinner for me and him. “We could’ve ordered something,” I said as he unpacked. I stopped and stared at the cloth bag he’d used, which was from Stanley Park. “Did you actually bring a shopping bag with you, all the way from Vancouver?” When I’d been a kid, he’d taken one with him everywhere because “you never know when you need a bag.”
My father, the debonair, intelligent man that he was, rolled his eyes at me, “Of course I did.”
Drake burst out laughing. “You two are so related,” he said. He’d changed into his suit and tie, only lacking the dress shoes.
Thing was, we hadn’t been speaking English. “How’d you know what we were saying?”
“I didn’t.” Drake stole one of the strawberries my dad had bought and ate it. “I know that tone—” he nodded at me “—and that expression,” he said, nodded at Papa. Then he glanced at his watch. “I need to head out.”
I drew him in for a kiss. “See you later tonight. Have fun. Score a goal for me?”
“Of course.”
“Good luck, son,” Papa said. “Play well.”
Drake’s eyes widened, but his smile seemed delighted. “I’ll try.”
He did more than try. Ended up with two goals and twoassists and helped the Lions to a 5-3 victory. It was very strange watching hockey with my father again, and I found that we were making similar observations. “Bad pinch,” Papa and I muttered as one of the younger Lions defenders cheated up the boards. And yes, that had led to a two-on-one going the other direction. Luckily, the Lions goalie didn’t react too quickly and was able to slide over to make the save. On one of Drake’s goals, we both saw the play develop in the defensive zone, and weren’t at all surprised when the puck ended up behind the opposing goalie.
“He’s rattled,” Papa said, regarding the goalie. “Not a good night for him. Too far into the net. Too reactive.” I nodded along.
As happy as I was for the win, by the time the game was over, I was yawning uncontrollably. I was practically asleep on the couch (with Loki sleeping on me) by the time Drake returned. He and Papa chatted about the game for a while. The sound was a happy one, and my heart was warm, even if my brain was checked out.
“I should get him to bed,” Drake said softly. “Thanks for staying with him today.”
“He’s my son,” Papa said. “There’s very little I wouldn’t do for him.”
“Same,” Drake said. “Same.”
I guess I didn’t have to worry too much about the future. Whatever happened with my injury, Drake would be there, and that was enough.
Papa flew backto Vancouver a week later, and a few days after that, I was left to my own devices whenDrake headed to New York and Buffalo on a quick two-game road trip. I think he was more worried about me than I was. I couldn’t drive, but I’d watched the last two games of the homestand with Papa at the arena. We’d even made it up onto the arena screen—of course because he was Gunner Eriksson, the Hockey Hall of Fame player, not because of me.
What had surprised me (but shouldn’t have) was the offers of help from several of the Lions partners and spouses while Drake was away. Gavin, who also lived downtown, offered to run me up to the training center for my physical therapy appointment, and Brodie Boon offered to drive me to Greensburg if I needed to check on my house.
I took both up, after checking to make sure Brodie would be okay with a side-trip to the Hideaway to see how things were going there. Brodie laughed. “Oh hell, yeah. I’ve been wanting to go to that bar for ages. Oliver was always worried it wouldn’t be as trans friendly as people said it was.” He shrugged. “If we’d known you owned it…”
“No, I get it.”
As it was, Ella, Lorelei, and the rest of the crew were happy to see me, and the pool queens took Brodie under their wings and ended up in a pretty competitive game in the back of the bar.
The books looked fine, Ella was fine. The bar was absolutelyfine, and I realized that I’d gotten the bar to a spot where it could run without me hovering over it like an overprotective parent.
That was both gratifying and saddening. I’d worked hard to get the bar to where it was, but knowing you weren’t needed was its own humbling experience. Felt like… well, it felt like my life right now. I was standing still and everything was moving all around me. Unsettling. Not bad, per se… but I didn’t know how I felt about it all.
That wasn’tquitetrue.
There was a weight lifted off my shoulders, like I could breathe a little easier. Part of me was relieved that the bar could thrive without me. I’d loved running this place, but now with my recovery and Drake being my priorities, the bar had become less of one.
Red Dog ambled over. “Guess you’re not getting on your bike any time soon,” he said. “You want me to take it out sometime?”
That wasn’t a bad idea. I’d be able to drive in another week or two, but I couldimaginemy orthopedist’s look if I asked about riding my motorcycle. “If you’d like, I’d appreciate that.” He already had a key to my garage.
Red Dog nodded. “Figured. Shoulders.” He rolled his own out. “They’re bitches.”
They were, and those words came back to me over the weeks afterward.
I spent most of my time at Drake’s, since it was closer to rehab and the training center. I’d bullied them into letting me skate—no gear, no stick, low speeds—to get my feet under me. The off-ice rehab picked up. My fucking shoulder really didn’t want to do what I wanted it to do—not easily and not fast. “These things take time.” That was the gist from my doctors and the PT folks. Even from my parents and Coach Macintosh.
