Page 28 of King of the Crease

Have I got the king pegged all wrong? I file the thought away for later. It’s scary how easy it is to open up to Hank, and how desperately I’d been missing having someone to confide in.

Hank skates around the goal. “I have a question. I always take the standard deduction, but this year, I’m wondering if I should itemize. I bought some new equipment, and I want to make sure I account for the right depreciation value. What are your thoughts on itemization? Some accountants worry that it’ll make me more susceptible to an audit.”

And it’s now that I remember Jolly Hank is a small business owner. The sad fact about royalty is that even though we have loads of money, we don’t know much about how it works. That’s what we pay people to remember for us.

“Itemization is…a different way to go.”

“Do you recommend it for your clients?”

I open my mouth and hope something smart will come out. “Well, there’s itemization, and it sounds like you have items. So that’s something to consider. But then there’s…the standard deduction.”

Still waiting for something smart to come out. Come on, fancy education. Don’t fail me now.

“And it’s standard, so, you know, standard means it’s something people generally do. The point is you have options, Hank. The freedom to choose. It’s an American right. Americans love freedom. We love freedom. Freedom is important, so you need to exercise your freedom.”

Is there any chance I can crash through the ice now? I give Hank a firm nod to underline my point, whatever it was.

“Man, I forget how confusing taxes are. It’s way too early for me to think about numbers.” Hank rubs a hand through his hair. He points for me to get back in goal. “Let’s do some glove work.”

Hank fires pucks gently at first.

“Watch it into the glove,” he says. “Don’t swipe. Let it fall in.”

One puck bounces off my palm and hits me in the mask.

“Okay, not that,” I say.

“You’ll get it,” he promises. “Again.”

The next one lands in my glove. I stare at the puck, shocked at my amazing reflexes. Maybe I don’t suck at this.

“YES,” Hank yells. “Are we in San Francisco in 1849 because that’s gold!”

We finish with a reaction drill. Hank stands ten feet away with three pucks.

“Don’t overthink,” he warns. “Just react.”

He shoots them rapid-fire. I stop one with my blocker, one with my pad, and miss the third entirely.

“Two outta three,” he says. “That’s progress.”

I’m gasping now, sweat dripping into my eyes, but I feel alive. Accomplished. Like my body is remembering something important. Hank gleams with sweat, too, his light eyes sparkling under the lights of the rink.

We lean on our sticks to catch our breath.

“Thanks for this,” I say quietly. “For believing I can actually do this.”

Hank looks at me, serious for once. “Because you can do this.”

I follow him off the ice. We sit on the bench, take off our helmets. The figure skating kids twirl in front of us.

“Maybe we can squeeze in another practice on Friday,” he says.

Something settles in my chest. A strange, hopeful weight. “I’d like that.”

9

HANK