Page 6 of Temptation On Ice

However, after making it to the Stanley Cup finals—and the interest in the team that came with Ryder coming out and dating another prominent Atlanta professional athlete—the notoriety the team now has is making it difficult to do anything normal. I’ve been stopped for selfies three times this week alone. I’m afraid of what’s going to happen when I take Enzo out, because he won’t understand why his time with Dad is being interrupted, only that my attention is split, which sucks. I just want some peace and normalcy with my kid.

“We’re partnering with an organization called Combat Companions. They train service dogs for military veterans with physical and emotional wounds after service. Not only will they be our spotlight organization for military appreciation night, but we’ll also be sponsoring a service dog for the season, so we’ll have a team dog!” McKenna claps her hands as she finishes, clearly very excited about the prospect.

“So we get a puppy?” Rook asks excitedly.

“You don't get a puppy, dumbass, the team does,” Campbell answers before McKenna can.

“But it’ll be like when you had class pets and got to take them home for the weekend? Can I take the puppy home? Indiana Bones needs a friend,” Rook says with oblivious enthusiasm.

“You’re such a fucking dumbass,” Campbell groans, palming his face like he’s in physical pain.

McKenna catches Campbell’s eye as he removes his hand and throws a face of disapproval his way that makes his cheeks redden before she turns and smiles gently at Rook.

“Yes, the team gets a puppy. It will be at all the home games and special events. But you won't get to take it home. It’ll live with the trainer during the season. I’m glad you’re as excited as I am about this. It’s going to be so wonderful to have a cute little puppy around here, growing up during the season while it trains to help a service member. The best part is, y’all get to meet it this weekend! Combat Companions will be bringing the puppy here for a meet and greet with the team. We’ll have photo ops with players and the puppy, and you can bring your families. You’ll get an email with the details this week.”

This perks up my ears. Enzo will love this. It’s a chance for us to hang out where he can play with a dog in a controlled environment, and I won’t be mobbed by fans. Finally, something I can do that feels easy to make my kid happy while still fulfilling all my duties. I breathe easier for the first time in what feels like years.

Three

Tucker

“Ican’t believe we’re doing this,” I say as I drive into Atlanta in my mud-caked truck with my sister sitting shotgun and a howling puppy in a crate strapped in the backseat. “This hockey team can afford to get a purebred dog ten times over and train it for any number of things, and yet they want one of my dogs meant for a veteran who experienced a traumatic event and needs a companion to help them get through their everyday tasks. It just doesn't sit well with me.”

“Shut up and drive, Tucker. You’ve already agreed to this, and we’re on the road. Stop complaining. Besides, they’ve already made the first payment, and your bills are covered for several months, so be happy and smile. The Combat Companions nonprofit gets to live another day,” Cami says as she scrolls on her phone, not even bothering to look at me.

I tighten my hands on the steering wheel and strangle it along with any additional sentiments I want to speak out loud. She’s right, unfortunately. It was incredible to get the notification of the funds transfer into our bank account and realize I wouldn't have a problem covering our operating expenses for at least a few months with that first payment alone.

The sheer relief I felt knowing I could pay my employees, keep the lights on and the dogs fed was staggering. It made me realize I’d been stressing extra hard for so long about this endeavor that’s so close to my heart. To finally have the biggest hurdles covered so I could just run the business without worrying about the damn overhead made me cry from sheer relief in my little closet of an office, though I’ll never admit that to anyone.

“Does driving into Atlanta bring back bad memories?” Cami asks gently, bringing me back to the present.

I must have shown some emotion on my face while thinking about that feeling of relief and the ability to continue this little organization longer. I look around the highway and realize for the first time, the memories from my time with the Atlanta Police Department that usually hit me in the face whenever I travel into the city, accosting me with every mistake I ever made, weren’t what I was focused on, and it leaves me feeling unmoored. It’s nice not to be drowning in fear and self-loathing, but I’m not sure where that leaves me or who I am without those familiar feelings.

“It always has before,” I tell her in an unguarded moment of honesty. “But I wasn’t thinking about that today, which is kind of a relief.” I’ve spent the past two years working to not think about the time I spent in Atlanta and why I don’t step foot in this city anymore. Unless, of course, a hockey team is paying me a shit ton of money to do so.

“You still miss him, don’t you?” Cami asks, placing her hand on my arm in a reassuring manner.

“What kind of question is that? Of course I miss him, Cam. You don’t spend every day of your life for five years with the same body beside you and not miss them when they're suddenly taken away from you in the most horrific way possible. He saved my life and lost his. I can’t—” My voice breaks, and I’m unable to finish the thought or risk losing it right here.

My heart races, the memories coming back in quick flashes of color and sound. That day is so vivid, while being strangely hard to remember. It’s imprinted on my brain, but sometimes the order of events gets sorted wrong, or memories from different days are slotted into the mix, like the first time I lost a partner, and I can't differentiate what happened on that last day from some of the many others we spent together.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” I grit out before Cami can pry further.

“It’s okay, Tuck. You’re allowed to talk about it. You should express those feelings rather than keeping them bottled up to hit you like this at the worst times. Isn’t that what your therapist says?”

I block out my sister’s caring words because it doesn’t matter what she’s saying. It's not like I'll hear them for what they are, anyway. I try to center myself in the moment and breathe through the haunting memories, hurriedly putting them back in their box where they belong so I can get through this trip without completely losing my shit. Cami doesn’t deserve this, and I can hold myself together.

My therapist has taught me through many sessions that I have to keep myself in the present and self-soothe. Normally, that means some kind of breathing exercise, removing the potential trigger, which in this case is a whole fucking city, and dragging my brain back into the here and now, even if it’s painful.

Well, look here, you fucked up, twisted hunk of neurons and unregulated chemicals, we’re driving a two-and-a-half-ton truck and have a job to do, so make the happy transmitters and stop fucking with me today. I struggle to even my breathing, forcing my lungs to draw in a full breath instead of the shallow, panting gasps that my amygdala and prefrontal cortex are producing as they work in tandem to convince me I’m in danger. Rationally, I know what to do and why things are happening, but in the moment, my brain really likes to believe I’m trapped in the past and the danger that changed my life forever.

When the last of the buzzing leaves my ears, the haze has fully cleared from my vision, and the kaleidoscope of images and memories has stopped playing like a distorted horror film on loop, I’m finally able to glance her way.

“I’m fine,” I say shakily, before clearing my throat. “I can get through today without you reminding me to go to therapy for every little thing, and Atlanta isn’t this big, bad monster that scares me or something. It’s just a fucking city, and I don’t like those very much in general,” I tell her with a conviction that feels like I’m trying to convince myself as well. “Let’s just suck it up and make it through this fucking sideshow,” I snap.

Cami drops her hand from my arm, and instantly, I regret raising my voice at her. Until I glance over and realize she’s about to give me hell, and I shouldn’t have felt bad at all.

“Tucker William Covington, don't you ever get on my case for caring about your well-being. You’re my brother, and I know exactly what you went through and how much of a toll that took on you. So if I want to have a conversation with you about it, I get to. Now, stop sulking and figure out how to smile because we’re about to pull up to Olympus Arena, and you need to be kind to the people paying us. You can't act like a complete dick all day, got it?”