Page 20 of King of the Crease

The guys wave. Bill comes over and shakes Nick’s hand. I eye Bill to make sure he plays nice.

“Good to have you here while we can.” There’s a touch of sweetness in Bill’s tone. Despite his hard-ass demeanor, Bill is never cruel unless someone absolutely deserves it. He knows how to make guys feel included. “Hank says you used to be a helluva hockey player back in Baltimore.”

“I—well, I wouldn’t—” Nick stammers. Flustered is a cute look on him.

“Where’d you play?” Bill asks.

“I played for my high school team.”

“Which school? I have some family in the Baltimore area.”

“Oh. Small world. I played for…George Washington High School.”

Bill has Nick sweating bullets. He’ll soon learn Bill is all bark and no bite—unless you’re facing him on the ice. Then it’s all bark and all bite.

“Don’t be modest.” I elbow him in the side. “Nick was a kickass player. He barely let any goals in. You were telling me that one time when you did a full windmill glove save.”

Nick gulps back a nervous lump. I nudge him to go along with it. Bill seems impressed. “I…I did. It was a close game. The center was racing down the ice with a few seconds left. He hit the shot and I...blocked it. With a windmill glove save. And our team won. And that’s what happened.”

Bill studies him for a long second, and just when I think he’s going to call bullshit, he nods his head with respect. “Nice. Well, if you can play like that here, you’ll be my new best friend. Get dressed. We’re going to head onto the ice.”

“You’re going to do great. The skills will come back to you. It’s all muscle memory,” I whisper to Nick. “It’s instinct. You ever seen those nature videos where a baby deer falls out of the mom deer’s hoo-hah, then gets up, shakes itself off, and immediately trots along with her?”

“I…as a matter of fact, I actually have,” he says, amazed.

“That’ll be you on the ice. From hoo-hah to ice. Like that.” I snap my fingers. Nick laughs, his tongue peeking between his teeth. “It’s so funny that you went to a George Washington High. Two of my cousins also went to one. I swear, there’s got to be a school named after G-dubs in every town in America.”

“Seems a safe bet,” he says, his laughter still heavy with nerves. “Wasn’t this George Washington kind of a big deal?”

I puff out a hardy laugh. “You’re funny!”

My chest fills with the special kind of joy that comes when someone matches your wavelength.

I skate onto the ice, Nick right behind me. When he steps out, I realize that he’s less newborn deer and more of a toddler out here. He’s wobbling badly. His new gear hangs on him a little wrong. Too loose at the shoulders, not snug enough at the hips.

I skate over. “You good?”

Nick nods too quickly. “Yes. Absolutely. Just…reacclimating.”

He tries to push off and nearly faceplants. I grab his elbow. I catch a quick glimpse at my teammates, who quickly avert their eyes. Except for Bill, who’s watching every second. I ignore their silent commentary and focus on Nick.

“Shit,” he whispers.

“It’s okay. You got this,” I say. “Short strides. Bend your knees.”

“I am bending,” he insists, but his knees are locked like he’s standing at attention.

Bill blows his whistle. “Alright, let’s warm up!”

We start with simple laps. Nick trails behind, arms out for balance. I drop back to skate beside him.

“Relax your shoulders,” I coach. “You’re fighting the ice.”

“I don’t trust it,” he admits. “It’s very…slippery.”

At least his sense of humor remains intact.

“Breathe in. Find your calm.”