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“You don’t have to hide it with me, remember?”
“I know. It’s more that I’m hiding it from myself.”
“Well, you don’t need to do that either,” he reminds me.
“Always holding me down,” I say with a small laugh. “But what about you? You haven’t been on a date in forever and a day.”
“No, but I’ve been talking to someone.”
“Ooh, do tell?” I sit up, excited.
“It’s nothing. Yet anyway. He’s in New Orleans but moving here soon.”
“And?”
“And… he’s a little bossy. I like it.” Zander’s grin is wide and bright.
“That’s promising!”
“We’ll see.”
“Oh, good job, Daddy!” Sadie throws her arms up when Cillian wins the faceoff. He’s been playing great this season. Like he should have always played. When he was with Boston, I never watched his games. I tried a few times when I was by myself and feeling lonely but seeing him on the ice only heightened my depressive emotions. But I’d see highlights. He never played horribly, though he certainly wasn’t playing up to the potential I knew he had.
That’s changed since coming back to Seattle. Cillian plays cleaner, skates faster, takes more shots, misses less passes.
I’d love to say it’s partly because of me and Sadie. My ego isn’t that big, though. In truth, I think it’s helped separating himself from a toxic environment, even if he didn’t see it as that.
Willa had a friend when she was younger. Penelope had a big personality and was always fun to be around. Yet she took being a snarky bitch to a near professional level. Though she never focused that on Willa or their small friend group, it affected Willa all the same. Having a cloud of negativity floating around you takes a toll on you and when Willa and her finally quit hanging around, she said it was like she’d shit a brick she didn’t know was sitting in her stomach.
I imagine it’s much the same for Cillian. Besides all of the details he’s been realizing about the relationship they had, I think being removed from a presence like Trina is an automatic aura cleanser.
Not to say it wasn’t stressful for him to come here and find he had a daughter. It’s different though, and Sadie has made him a lighter and happier man. As for me, I don’t know what I’ve made him. Likely only confused, the same as he’s made me. Every day we make strides at clarity, every day we get closer to understanding each other.
Every day we get closer to forgiving ourselves.
“Watch, baby, they’re about to score,” I tell Sadie.
Wallin moves the puck down the ice, passes it off to Koch who is the youngest member of the team. He’s fucking fast, too, and glides right past Boston’s players to get a shot on net. It bounces off the bar, but Cillian is there and able to get a clean pass to Wallin who shoots it in for a goal.
“Yes,” she squeals before turning to me. “How do you always know that?”
“I’ve watched a lot of hockey,” I tell her with a goofy grin. I learned to read the game early on in life, thanks to my dad. Sadie will, too, if she doesn’t eventually lose interest.
“You do that better than most hockey players I know,” Zan says.
“That’s because you guys are busy playing, you don’t necessarily see everything I do.”
“I guess. Or maybe you just have a hockey sixth sense or some shit.”
It’s not the first time he’s said this. Like always, I laugh at him with a wink and avert my attention back to the game.
“Some day I want to have some six shit,” Sadie says, throwing both Zander and I into fits of giggles we can’t hold back. I don’t even bother telling her it’s a word she shouldn’t say.
Willa gets home from school in the second period and joins us to finish the game. Sadie curls up on her lap, nearly asleep. She fights it hard on game nights and rarely makes to the end of one.
A for effort, kiddo.
“There’s Pops,” she says, sleepily when the camera shows the bench and my dad stoically standing over his guys.
