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“He’s a testy little thing,” Carol says, oblivious to my struggle not to have a meltdown. “He definitely gets that from Ashley. Doesn’t take much to make him cranky or pissed off. Ashley was the same way as a baby. Noah wasn’t quite so bad. It was easier to soothe him when he made a fuss and he liked to giggle where Ashley looked at you like you were a big dummy. It’ll be interesting to see what kind of personality Noah’s babies ends up with.”
“We want plenty of grandkids, in case you were wondering,” William adds. “We’d definitely visit more often.”
I give him a weak smile. “I don’t think we’re close to that point yet.”
He tenderly smiles. “You’ll get there.”
I return Carol’s phone to her and focus on the game. Marc makes a pass to number thirteen. I’ve studied the roster in hopes of remembering names and numbers. That one belongs to their captain, Brayden Hayes. He’s a little taller than Noah, I think, but he seems to dominate the ice as he weaves his way through players and sends a shot to the goalie. The puck seems to bounce off Noah’s leg and changes directions. There’s a scramble in front of the net before cheers are booming in the arena as the puck slips past the goalie and slides across the line.
Although I missed who was responsible, the goal is credited to EJ Bertuzzi. The crowd is awake and very much alive after that, cheering on their team to a four-to-one win. Carol and William head on back to Noah’s apartment with my key. I, however, was told to stay put. Players slowly start to appear to meet the family members who stayed behind to wait for them.
Noah appears alone, and two thoughts occur to me. It’s kind of odd to see him without Marc, and why is Noah frowning?
“Where’s my jersey?” he asks once he’s close enough. He smells clean and his hair is still sopping wet, droplets of water falling onto his shoulders. My hand lifts as my fingers weave through his wet hair.
“You couldn’t dry your hair even a little?” I counter.
“I wanted to see my girlfriend, who I thought was wearing my jersey,” he replies.
“I thought I’d have time to go home, but some girls kept me late at practice and I had to come straight here.”
“You’re forgiven, but never again.”
I roll my eyes. Surprisingly, to me at least, no one else in the box was wearing a jersey, so I would’ve stuck out if I did. Noah wraps an arm around my waist and begins to lead me out. “Why’d you want me to stay behind?” I ask, curiously.
“Just wanted to see you sooner.” He pulls me closer to his side and I can’t help but grin.
IT’S NOT AS easy to communicate with Meredith as I thought it would be. We keep missing each other when I call and hours can pass between texting due to the time difference and our schedules. It’s been a week since I’ve been gone with a week left to go, having won two of the three games we’ve played. Some of them, we probably shouldn’t have won, but Liam Irving, our goalie, stood on his head and pulled us through with the W.
Tonight, we’re playing the Portland Vikings. There really isn’t any team I like or dislike to play against; I just like to play. Sure, there are some teams you aren’t exactly thrilled to be playing, but I’m happy as long as I get to lace up and skate out onto the ice.
So far, we’re doing well. Third period, we’re up three to nothing. If we manage to keep the puck out of our net, it’ll be Liam’s first shutout of the season. We definitely want to give that to him. I’m positioned near the net, hoping to help Liam out and block the shots that are surely coming, thanks to Brayden, or Captain Hook, going and earning himself a hooking penalty to put the Vikings on a power play.
All they’ve done so far is pass the puck to one another. At some point, they’re going to take a shot. A few fans in the crowd are taking turns shouting, “SHOOT!” If I wasn’t focused, I’d roll my eyes. Instead, my gaze follows the puck as it returns to the guy a few feet away. He lifts his stick for the swing seconds before it reaches him. He’s hoping it’ll get past me and then past my goalie. The puck hits my leg and goes to the left of me, away from the net where not a Viking stands at the moment. That’s all the opportunity I need to send it to Scotty, who takes off like a rocket to the other end of the ice.
He scores and we’re up four to zero.
The rest of the game is spent doing our best to control our zone. No more goals are scored and Liam gets his shutout. Upbeat music is playing in the locker room as we come in and start shedding gear.
Coach Mike is grinning. He’s been with the team for the past two years, starting his third, and the only time the man smiles is after a hard-fought, well-deserved win. If he feels like we didn’t truly earn a win, he’ll be grimacing with his lips pressed together until they look like one thin lip.
“First, we have to congratulate Sav on his first shutout of the season,” he says, referring to Liam, whose nickname is Savage, or Sav for short. The guys clap and hoot, those closest to our goalie give him a few good slaps on the shoulder. Once some of the noise has died down, Coach continues, “Y’all played great tonight. The energy was high, we kept the momentum, and we improved compared to the last game. Can’t get better than that.”
He’s always about improving. As long as there’s improvement from the prior game, he’s happy. He heads out of the room and Scotty stands, holding the pair of boxing gloves up. He earned that in the last game for being the best man on the ice, for being the one who fought the most to help us win. Tonight, he’s going to give it to someone else.
“I don’t think this could go to anyone except Savage. Congrats, man.” More hoots and hollers as he hands them over to Liam.
He grins and places the string tying the gloves together around the back of his neck so they hang down his chest. “Thanks for helping me out,” he says with a nod to us. He’s always about giving credit to someone. He earned his shutout, but he thanks us for playing well and making it a little easier for him. He made some sick saves, but if we don’t play like shit where he has to stand on his head, then he feels as if he has a reason to thank us for helping him out.
Soon, we’re loaded up onto the bus for the ride to the hotel. We have another game tomorrow, but we’re getting a few hours of sleep before we head to the airport bright and fucking early tomorrow. When I get to my room, I quickly shed some clothes and climb into bed. But sleep isn’t in the cards for me just yet.
I try to call Meredith so we can video-chat, but she doesn’t answer. Two seconds later it seems, I get a text.
Meredith: No video-chat. I look horrible. Just call me.
Me: I don’t care. Calling again and you better answer, Mere.
Damn it, I just want to see her. I don’t give a fuck what she looks like. I open the app and try again. She answers.
