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The team cheers and grunts and huddles together as Kos continues to shout over us all, “Let’s go, boys! Play smart, and let’s get another fucking win!”
The locker room erupts, somehow even louder than before, and we head to the ice, following our starting goalie, Macky.
The arena is barely alive as we step onto the ice, which quickly changes the moment we knock the puck pyramid from the top of the board and skate out.
The cool breeze drifting up from the ice feels so good as I grab a puck and skate toward the goal, snapping it and dumping it into the top shelf of the net.
There are a bunch of fans against the glass with signs. As I skate around, I try to read some of them. There’s a fifty-fifty chance that the sign is from a kid, asking for a puck, or it’s a puck bunny, shooting her shot.
I read the first one.
Costello, you don’t need to commit a penalty to get in my box.
Jesus. I laugh to myself and read another.
Alec, you can score in my five-hole.
Honestly, the lack of shame is impressive.
But then I see a sign made for me and it’s a little boy, holding up a handmade sign that reads, When I grow up, I want to be just like you, #42.
That kid’s getting a puck.
My next skate around the wall, I scoop up a puck and glide up to the glass in front of the kid. His smile takes over his face, and he claps his hand against the glass. He’s gotta be, like, eight, maybe nine years old, if I had to guess.
His mom lifts her phone and shows me the camera is open, and I know she’s asking to take a pic of her son and me. Of course, I smile and nod, posing behind him. His mom takes a few pictures, the flash nearly blinding me before she realizes and shuts it off.
The kid is practically vibrating when he turns back around. With my stick, I toss the puck over the glass, and an adult jackass tries to ruin it by catching the puck before it gets to the kid. He holds it up with pride, showing it off like it was meant for him.
“Hey!” I scream at him and smack the glass hard. “Not your fucking puck!”
The guy looks at me with annoyance and hesitates, like he’s deciding whether or not to have a little human decency.
I skate sideways, away from the now-pouting kid, and smack the glass as hard as I can with my hand first, then my stick.
Jensy skates up next to me, probably just checking if everything’s okay. But I don’t tear my attention away from that prick.
I shout, knowing damn well it’s loud enough for him to hear, “I will hop the glass and beat your fucking ass if you don’t give that kid his puck!”
At this point, the crowd has caught on to what’s happening and begin booing the guy.
He holds his hands up, as if saying, Okay, okay, fine.
He tosses the puck down to the little boy, whose eyes are now red from crying. A moment that was supposed to be nothing but perfect was ruined because of this jerk’s ego.
Nodding to the mom, I lift my stick up and fake throw it so she understands my plan. She nods in response, and I take a quick look at everyone around her. They’re watching carefully. I don’t want to smack anyone with it because they aren’t looking.
Now that everyone’s ready, I toss the stick up and over the glass, and the mom catches it with one hand before tossing a mean glare at the puck stealer, who is now sulking in his chair.
The little boy looks over the moon as his mom hands him the stick. I push my glove on the glass, and he bumps it with his own fist, sporting the world’s biggest smile.
His mom shouts, “Thank you!”
Her son does the same. “Thank youuu!”
Nodding at them once more, I skate off to grab another twig to finish warm-ups. We finish running little drills, stretching, and hyping each other up before heading back to the locker room before the game.
I can’t help but think of that little kid as we wait for the minutes to tick away for the puck drop. He kind of reminded me of Jack. I fucking love that kid, and I love that he has fallen in love with hockey. He’s a goddamn natural. Seeing a kid become obsessed with the same thing as you…I don’t know…it’s heartwarming, I guess.
