Page 121 of Icing Hearts

I want to say more because I’m bursting at the seems with love and gratitude and pure, unadulterated joy. But she doesn’t ask, so I leave it at that.

Ten Years Later

Victory

She still wears my jersey to every game. None of the other wives or girlfriends wear player jerseys. Well, they do, but not to every single game. It’s a faux pas. But we’ve never played by the rules. Married at eighteen. Still married at twenty-eight. Uncommon and beautiful.

Currently, Clara—hair bedecked in red and blue ribbons—and the team mascot are on the ice with a bunch of kids. Coach finished his pep talk and I snuck out to the edge of the terminal to watch. A proud smile stretches wide across my face as Clara navigates an intense game of musical chairs on a large, red square of carpet on the center of the ice. From the looks of it, the mascot was booted early and it’s down to Clara and two other kids. One of the kids is pretty young…and slow. She sweeps the girl into her arms and jogs around the chairs. When the music stops Clara plops the girl down into one of the chairs, leaving just the two kids to compete.

When her little ally wins, by some miracle, Clara jumps and hollers in celebration—bows and curls bounding wildly. She still wears those ribbons. Being free of her father and the weight of her life in Minnesota only solidified Clara’s love of whimsy over the years.

During my first NHL game, she painted my number on her stomach and demanded a seat behind the penalty box. According to Clara, that’s where I spend most of my time anyway so it’s the best choice. Sass on sass. One of my teammates’ wives on my first team appreciated Clara. They were fast friends—despite a ten-year age difference—starting at training camp and decided to sit together that season. When they went to the bathroom, someone made a snide comment to Clara about her get-up. A video of Clara going off on the person about feminism and misogyny went viral. Clara kept her cool…until the person made a jab about me being an over-hyped rookie. Honestly, I thought I was the violent one. I was wrong.

And I’ve never been prouder.

Something was cemented that day. No one ever bothered Clara again. Not about her eccentric outfits with team colored make-up, or when she smacks the glass and cheers every single time I fight. And not when my second team lost our Cup bid during my fourth year in the league and she cried harder than I did. Photos circulated of Clara with tears running down her face, streaming through her make-up.

She’s become the darling of the Social Media Administrators on all three of my teams—always generating content. Because the fans love her. She’s approachable and gracious and loves my teams as much as the they do. Clara brings as many signed pucks as she can carry in her purse to games, handing them out to fans. She’s always shoving a puck and a silver marker in my face at home.

Some people connected to the team seem to think she should tone it down. But I don’t let her catch wind of it. Anyone who threatens her joy, gets threatened by me. Period. Luckily, my production on the ice is strong enough that I don’t get much flack.

I wrangle my smile and head back to the locker room to re-tape my stick before the third period. When the team skates back out onto the ice, she’s out of sight and as out of mind as Clara possibly could be for me. That was a quick lesson learned in the NHL. The pace and pressure don’t allow me to be lackadaisical like I was in high school. I kind of miss the days when I could mess around and stare at her during games. But nothing beats the adrenaline rush of being at the highest level of hockey in the world. It’s more emotional than I thought it would be. I remember my first fight in the NHL.

While I held my own, a got a nice introduction to the big leagues by a monster of a defenseman with eight years and almost as many inches on me. In summation, I got rocked.

Clara’s eyes looked like they’d pop right out of her head when she saw me after the game. That year, we got a high rise condo by the stadium.

We got into the shower and I knew what I needed but I was so nervous to ask. Every woman I’d ever been with expected me to be in control. To be dominant. But I had a split lip and bruised jaw. So I asked her to be gentle with me.

She smiled and said, “You want me to take care of you?”

I’d always taken care of her. It had become our default.

But that night, Clara was gentle and caring. She washed my hair and massaged my aching muscle. She kissed the side of my lips that wasn’t split open and patched me up. I just stared and stared, heart pounding. She got me in bed and kissed me slowly. And I kissed her back and let her be gentle with me.

At that point, we had been married four months, but I was still nervous around her.

I still get nervous sometimes.

I still get nervous all the time.

Fifteen Years Later

Clara

Once, I told Tory that I didn’t think life would ever truly be easy. I was wrong. He’s made our lives so incredibly easy. We got a big house on acres of land in Canada and stayed there. Everyone in town wanted to work for us—best pay in the area.

Four kids under five was…not a great idea. But per Tory and Clara, once we got going, it was hard to stop. Victoria was first. She’s the bossiest kid in Kindergarten. I pictured a little girl with Tory’s wavy hair but my blonde and blue eyes. Wrong. She’s Tory’s clone. Junior looks like me, though. Tory gave me a hard time about naming our son after him, especially after Vicky was already his name-sake.

The kids and I are in our box today. It’s the last year of Tory’s final contract. They’ve got a good shot at the Stanley Cup this year. He already has a ring, but one more would be the icing on the cake to a record-setting career. But after that last game, we’ll have him all to ourselves.

We fought so hard to make our way into each other’s arms. Then right into the NHL and we’ve been going full-throttle ever since, Three teams, a dozen moves, two major injuries. But then, I count my blessings and the sadness goes away. Most players have careers that are tumultuous and riddled with uncertainty. That’s never been us. Maybe it will be nice to slow down a bit. We’ll travel in the fall and I can’t wait. Tory’s goal is to fill up our passports with as many stamps as possible.

Then we’ll come back home and just enjoy our family. A happily ever after if I ever saw one.

Eighty-five years later

My sister swipes a wayward tear. We know we don’t have much to cry about. Most people don’t have parents who lived past one-hundred with most of their wits about them. Even fewer have parents who die while still in love. And even fewer have such wonderful parents to begin with.

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