The lines of fatigue in Grandpa’s face got deeper, but I needed to know. “Looking for work, he says. He got a new driving licence, so he’s legal.”
“He’s not looking for work at this hour. The truck’s not outside.”
“No. I imagine he’s out with friends. Or trying to pick up a woman, maybe. He’s a grown man. I don’t expect him to sit around here every evening, being bored and watching me nap.”
He’s lucky to have that option.But yeah, a quiet evening at home didn’t sound like Uncle Wayne. I wondered if he’d been at my game. PHL tickets were relatively cheap, so maybe he could afford it. He was a sports fan, but I didn’t want him watching me, even from the twentieth row. Especially with whoever that Smith guy was.
“Has he ever mentioned a Mr. Smith? Older guy, pot belly, thinning hair, wears a suit.”
“Doesn’t ring a bell. But then, I know almost none of Wayne’s friends.”
That was probably a good thing. Odds were, they were all douchebags I wouldn’t want around Grandpa. Smith definitely set off my douchebag alert, despite the classy clothes. Although, maybe Uncle Wayne by his side had been all that it took to ping that radar.
“I missed the end of the game,” Grandpa said. “Did you win?”
“Yep. Five-one. And the one was totally not my fault.”
“Good. Congratulations. You’re doing so well.”
I was. I’d pushed my goals-against average back down under two again, if barely. Even yesterday’s loss was just two-zip, although both goals had been my mistakes. I was second in the league right now, and only by a tiny fraction. First in my conference.
Grandpa peered up at me. “Are you worried about the trade deadline?”
My stomach rolled. I’d almost forgotten we were four days out from that milestone. Except that was a lie. I hadn’t forgotten, just shoved the knowledge down deep. Every PHL player was watching that date as the teams juggled their lineups heading into the spring playoff drive. Just last week, we’d had Kapinski traded away for a pair of HLENA wingers who needed seasoning but might learn to score goals.
My place as the force behind the Foxes’ winning record should’ve been secure. Maybe. Except I was becoming a valuable commodity, and there was a non-zero chance that Vancouver might trade me for some strong offense, which they needed more than a stellar goalie in the wings. They had two good goalies. Although Anosov was thirty-six, which meant realistically, his years with the Dragons were numbered. They might hang on to me as insurance… Okay, fuck yes, I was worried. “It’s fine,” I said.
Grandpa pushed to his feet, slowly and crookedly enough that I helped with a hand under his elbow. He smiled at me. “Stiffened up a bit. I’m too old to sleep on that couch. But yes, whatever happens, you’ll be fine. Buffalo and Phillie both could really use someone like you in net, so if you do get traded, you might make the NAPH at last.”
“I don’t want to move across the country,” I muttered.Not even to play in the NAPH?Luckily, I didn’t have to answer that question, since it wouldn’t be my choice.
“I know, son. But we take our chances where we can find them.”
“I hate the thought of leaving you alone.” I felt a sharp pang at the idea of leaving Zeke and Jos, too. But it was Grandpa who really needed me.
“Well, what do you know, I’m not alone. I have Wayne back now.” He smiled.
That’s worse than alone.Although if Grandpa fell and couldn’t get up, Uncle Wayne might at least call 911.
Grandpa patted my arm. “I’m sure it’ll all work out. You should get something to eat after all that hard work. I’m heading to bed. Will I see you again before you head out on your road trip?”
“I’ll stop by the store on the way.” We’d all gather at the barn to get on a bus to the airport. No one wanted to ride herd on a whole team trying to find airport parking. I could run past Nina’s before driving to the arena.
“I’ll be glad to see you. But if something comes up and you’re running late, don’t worry about me. I’ll be cheering for you to show those Pythons how it feels not to find the back of the net.”
“Thanks.” I watched him hobble towards the stairs. After a few steps, he began moving less stiffly, but he kept a pretty good grip on the rail as he climbed out of sight.
I remembered him bounding up those steps when I was a boy, fetching something from his room. A lot had changed in the last ten years.
I’d eaten a meal at the rink after the game. The team was good about serving a post-game spread with healthy options. But by this point in the season, we were all trying to keep weight on, so a snack wasn’t a bad idea. I was in the kitchen eating a thick layer of peanut butter on whole-grain bread when I heard the front door. Of course, my luck, Uncle Wayne came into the kitchen while I had my mouth glued shut.
He glanced at me and frowned. “You made me look bad.”
I chewed, swallowed, chugged some of my sports drink, and managed to say, “Ask me if I care.”
“Yeah, you don’t have to care. You get everything handed to you with a silver spoon.”
“I what?” I boggled at him because my life was a long way from spoon-fed. “I work fucking hard. Who was Mr. Smith, anyhow? What did he want with me?”
