The other parents around me cheer as Sutton finds me behind the plexiglass and comes racing over.
Lifting her hand, she presses it against the board, waiting forme to high-five her.
“Great work, Peanut,” I say as her team gets ready for the face-off.
“She’s got your talent,” the dad standing beside me says.
A wide, proud smile curls my lips.
I wasn’t surprised when at four years old Sutton announced that she wanted to play ice hockey. It was pretty much all she knew. But that didn’t mean I loved the idea of letting her on the ice. I know firsthand just how hard it is. How fucking painful it can be.
Allowing her to go out there knowing that she’s going to get injured at some point breaks every single fatherly promise I’ve ever made.But I also remember exactly what it was like watching it on TV, going to the rink and seeing these larger-than-life men shoot the puck, looking like it was the easiest thing in the world.
I was in awe of them from as early as I can remember. Hell, most days I still am.
I might be one of the NHL’s top goal scorers, but even now, I look at my teammates, at other players in the league, and I feel a trickle of what I used to as a kid.
The only difference now is that I’m lucky enough to be standing on the ice with them.
No, I’m not fucking lucky. I fucking hate that saying.
I’ve worked my ass off to get where I am today.
Life hasn’t been easy, and nothing has fallen in my lap.
I put every single hour I could into hockey, into trying to succeed at college with Dad’s diagnosis of early onset dementia and then his declining health. My dream of being drafted was seemingly impossible. But I did it. Then only a couple of seasons in, I had had the added pressure of becoming a single dad.
It’s been hard.
Really fucking hard.
But it has been so fucking worth it at the same time.
As long as Sutton enjoys playing and it puts that incredible smile on her face, then I’ll be her number-one supporter. Always.
I just wish that I didn’t have to miss so much of her season because of mine.
I’d love to be standing front and center for every single one of her games.
I stand there with a permanent grin on my face as the girls finish their game. Sutton’s team wins. But while I’m proud of her win, and her goal and assists, what really causes emotion to crawl up my throat is the way she makes a point of interacting with the losing team and the rest of her teammates.
Win or lose, she’s always the same.
I like to think that she’s learned it from me, but I can be a miserable fucker even after a win, so I’m not sure.
It shows me just a hint of the kind of woman she’s going to be, and…
Fuck.
I get choked up just thinking about it.
It’s bad enough that she’s turning eight soon.
Thinking of her as a teenager right now is hard enough, let alone a grown-up.
I shake my head trying to banish those thoughts of the future as their coach dismisses them, and Sutton immediately turns toward me with her helmet under her arm and races my way at full speed.
I open the bench door with ease as she approaches me, and launches herself into my arms the second her blades hit the edge.
