“Can you . . . have dogs where you live?”
“Oh yeah. You can visit him. In fact, you’llhaveto when I travel.”
She gives her head a shake. “That’s crazy. You don’t have to do that.”
“Well, the offer is there.”
“If you’re going to live in Torrance, that would be closer than us,” Lacey says. “We’d take him too, but JP’s place would be easier for you to get to.”
“You want to get your own dog,” Taylor says to her with a sad smile. “I know. But thank you.”
“Just let me know,” I say, not sure why I’m doing this except I can’t stand to see her so broken-hearted. And I really like Byron. “Seriously.”
She catches her lower lip between her teeth, looks up at me through wet eyelashes, and slowly nods.
Saturday isthe Fan Fun Fest the Eagles hold every year during training camp. It’s held outside the ExCorp Center in Long Beach, where the Golden Eagles play. There are a bunch of stations where kids can do fun things like shoot pucks at targets, and we have places to sit and meet and greet the fans and sign autographs. We’re all expected to be there for a while.
It’s a kick meeting fans, especially the kids, who are all big-eyed with hero worship. Lots of parents are too. I find it funny, because it’s such a different atmosphere than what I grew up with. Yeah, Montréal fans are unique in the intensity of their relationship with their hockey team. Hockey is more than just a game. But they’re hard-coreseriousabout it. Hockey players aren’t rock stars, like they are here in California; they’regods.Or pariahs, depending on how they play. Or how they treat the fans. Ha.
Anyway, it’s a nice day, the sun is shining, people are smiling and happy, and I’m signing sticks and hats and jerseys and random stuff.
Even my dad and Uncle Mark are here, on the periphery, probably making brief appearances. I pause in chatting with fans to glance over at Uncle Mark, surrounded by a group of puck bunnies.
One corner of my mouth lifts and I shake my head. Jesus. He’s forty-five years old and there are twenty-year-old women fawning all over him.
He seems to be enjoying himself.
He’s been single for a long time, although I know he’s had relationships. I don’t even know if he’s seeing anyone right now; he kind of keeps his personal life . . . personal. Understandable. When he first came to California from Hershey, he went out with a pretty well-known TV actress and the media was all over that. He (and Dad) don’t like anything that takes away from the hockey, which we’ve all learned after a couple of stories hit the news about players and their, uh, social lives. Dad and Uncle Mark both have a way of looking at you that can make your nuts shrivel. You don’t want to go there.
The woman in front of me follows my gaze. “Your coach is hot.”
I don’t even know what to say to that. I force a smile. “If you say so.”
“It must run in the family,” she adds.
“Uh. Thanks.”
Normally, I’m all into girls flirting with me. But it’s hard to work up enthusiasm when I keep thinking about Taylor. Also, it’s creepy that this woman finds meandmy uncle attractive. So instead of flirting back, I quickly sign her jersey and move on to whoever’s next in line.
Three women. All beautiful, with long, wavy hair, shiny lips, and big smiles. “Hi, JP,” one of them says.
“Hello, ladies.” I smile back at them.
Maybe they should rename this the Flirt Fest.
A few days later,I’m in Uncle Mark’s office at the ExCorp Center—or should I say the coach’s office—for a meeting that every player is having. They’ve got the roster down as of today, and I made the team. I wasn’t really doubting it. I know my hockey skills are good.
But I’m getting the expected lecture about my behavior.
“And don’t think that your last name is going to get you any preferential treatment,” Uncle Mark says.
I sit up straighter. “I’ve never thought that.”
He narrows his eyes at me. “Are you sure?”
I frown. “Yeah, I’m sure.”
“You don’t think you can get away with stupid shit because there won’t be any consequences because of your name?”
