“It was an observation.”
He’s quiet for a moment, processing this. “So coffee’s out?”
“Coffee’s out.”
“Breakfast? Very innocent. Pancakes are basically a vegetable.”
This pulls another real laugh from me, which seems to please him enormously.
“Two for two,” he says. “I was starting to think you didn’t have a sense of humor.”
“I have a sense of humor. I’m just selective about when I use it.”
“And I made the cut?”
“Pancakes as vegetables made the cut.”
Down on the ice, Mike is gathering the team for what looks like an announcement. Dex notices too and starts to stand.
“Duty calls,” he says. “But Golda? The offer stands. Anytime you want to test whether I’m as full of myself as you think.”
“I never said you were full of yourself.”
“You didn’t have to.” He grins. “It was implied.”
He heads down toward the ice, and I watch him go with the unsettling realization that I actually enjoyed that conversation more than I should have.
Mike blows his whistle and gathers the team at center ice. “Great work today, everyone. Before you go, Coach Malone has something to tell you.”
Dex steps onto the ice, and immediately every kid goes completely still. Even from the stands, I can see their excitement at having an actual NHL player addressing them directly.
“Next Saturday,” Dex announces, “we’re hosting a special exhibition game. Seattle Puckaneers versus Seattle Fire Department. Charity fundraiser for the children’s hospital.”
The kids start chattering excitedly, but he holds up a hand for quiet.
“Best part? You guys get to watch from the player bench. Right on the ice with the team.”
The cheer that erupts could probably be heard three rinks over. Even Tyson, my reserved and careful son, pumps his fist in the air.
“Will you score lots of goals?” one of the kids asks.
“I’ll do my best,” Dex grins. “But those firefighters think they’re pretty tough.”
“They’re not tougher than you!” another kid shouts, which makes Dex laugh.
“We’ll find out next Saturday. Now get off my ice before I make you run suicides.”
The kids scramble toward the boards, chattering about the upcoming game. Tyson appears at the glass, face flushed with excitement.
“Did you hear, Mom? We get to sit with the real team!”
“I heard. That’s very exciting.”
“Do you think Coach Dex will remember to look for me in the stands?”
The question makes me pause. My son, who spent years being overlooked by his own father, hoping a professional hockey player will notice him.
“I think Coach Dex notices all his players,” I say carefully.
