Page 76 of Mother Pucker
Play after play of near perfect shots, and we’re already in the third period.
Aiden Langfield wins the face-off before passing it to me. The puck taps my blade before I rip it over to Rudenko, who’s already past the blue line. I follow him with quick strides into the offensive zone before he sends it coasting back to me, and I shoot.
The puck whirs across the ice, finding the gap on the side of the offensive team’s goalie, hitting the back of the net.Swoosh!
“Hell, yeah, baby!” I hear one of my teammates holler behind me as the high-pitched blast from the horn intermingles with the fans howling and clapping. New Jersey looks visibly rattled while their coach paces the sidelines, red-faced.
I throw my hands up, high-fiving my teammates as I make my way back to the bench, reveling in our coach’s commendation. “Great job, boys. This is what I’m talking about!”
We’re up seven to one. Their one being the power play they won when our right winger received a two-minute penalty earlier in the game.
We’re all razor focused on what could be the last play, having again won the face-off. Tracey passes the puck to me and I see our center in position for my pass. In one quick movement–a mere flick of the wrist–I send the puck soaring to Aiden, who sinks it in between the goalie’s legs, getting the fans back on their feet and roaring right along with the horn.
The Bolts win 8-1 as music blasts from the speakers above, and I entertain the audience some more by rolling out a few dance moves.
I skate over to the boys as we wrap each other in padded hugs and helmet tugs, shouting out our cheers and waving to the crowd.
Fuck, I wish Shay and Kai were here to see this.
We’ve won a few games and lost a few too, but every time I’ve looked up at the crowd, no matter where I am–home or away–I’ve imagined them wearing my jersey and getting up to cheer for me the way they did the last time they were at my game.
The echo of Shay’s words as she walked away from me–“I need to think about everything.”–has replayed a thousand times inside my head. And though it’s only been one day, the wait is already killing me.
I never did receive a response to the message I sent her, telling her I missed her, though she did send me a good luck text for the game. I responded, asking her if she was okay with me coming for Halloween, and she said yes.
I wasn’t going to go, with her wanting space. But then Beckett Langfield called me this morning, saying Kai wanted to speak to me. I gathered he was nowhere near his mom, because I doubt she would have been okay with it.
In any case, with Kai’s excited voice on the line, telling me he was looking forward to trick-or-treating with me, I couldn’t renege. I’m pretty sure there’s little I could refuse the kid–or his mom, for that matter.
But damn if it doesn’t kill me not knowing where her head’s at with all this, because as much as I told her the decision of our future lies in her hands, she’d be crazy to think I’ll just roll over and accept it if it’s anything but the one I want her to make. She’d be crazy to think I’ll let her go that easy.
I’m just getting off the ice when I glance back up at the seats and, for whatever reason, my eyes connect with a pair almost identical to mine.
My spine stiffens as the man I call my father lifts his chin as the best greeting he can provide.What’s he doing here?
With my good mood shot, I head into the locker room where the guys celebrate with whoops and yells. Someone turns the speaker up on their phone, playing one of our post-win songs,All I Do Is Win, by DJ Khalid.
Aiden criss-crosses his knees together, wearing his pads, while a couple of the other guys dance to the beat, smiling from ear to ear. I take a moment to post a selfie–even if my smile doesn’t quite reach my eyes–on Instagram for my fans.
Left it all on the ice tonight and it paid off! #ComingfortheStanley
By the time I’ve showered, I’ve almost forgotten the reason my mood had plummeted, and make the mistake of checking my phone.
Dad
Let’s chat after you’re finished. I’ll be waiting outside.
I shove my hands inside my sweats as I amble over to the man standing in our private parking lot. I’m not sure how he got in here, but I suppose he’s recognizable enough that he could say the right things to get past security.
The truth is, I was already planning to head over to his place one of these days–he lives about an hour outside of Boston–and get a few things off my chest. He just made things easier.
The chilly breeze skitters over my neck and the side of my face, and I lift my chin to a couple of my teammates as the last few cars leave the lot. They’re all meeting up at the local bar for drinks to celebrate tonight’s win and, depending on how thisfamily reunionof mine goes, I might meet up with them. More than likely, I’ll be needing a drink.
My jaw tightens. “What are you doing here?”
Dad raises his arms. He’s about as tall and broad as I am, though with the lack of exercises over the years, he’s gained some weight around his middle. “Can’t a father come watch his son play pro hockey?”
I blink, not a hint of the humor that usually presides over my expression. “Cut the shit, Dad. You haven’t come to watch me play since high school. Remember that last time? When you called me afucking disgracein front of everyone because we lost the last game.”
