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“You knowThis Pucking Sucksis getting together tonight. Coach West is sponsoring and it’s at his condo. Pizza party.”
“Yeah… he told me at morning skate. But I’ve already got plans.”
Over the last year, I’d forgotten what a good guy Camden is since we haven’t seen each other much and he’s sure proved it this past week in the ways he’s helped me. But I can tell he’s more than a little reserved when it comes to anything to do with the crash. He was ill at ease last week at Stone’s place and he’s definitely avoiding a return trip.
Still, it’s not up to me to pressure him to do anything, so I give him an easy smile. “Sure. No problem. I hope you know you’re welcome at all of them.”
“I do,” he replies breezily. “I better get going.”
I lift my hand in silent farewell and Camden walks out as Travis bounds through the back door.
“Did you make sure to lock the garage?” I ask.
“Yup. Can I go back up and play video games?”
“If you give your mom a hug,” I say, not in the least abashed to be using bribery for affection.
Travis is in a good mood and he comes willingly, a grin on his face.
“Love you, buddy.”
“Love you too,” he replies, resting his head on my shoulder. This time next year, he’ll be as tall as me.
CHAPTER 8
Camden
The clock windsdown and the buzzer sounds. I’m on the ice with the rest of my second line and since Drake just got a shutout, we all race down to him for a mini-celebration. The San Francisco Bay Brawler fans are noticeably silent as over half of them left during the third period when we were up 5–0.
This was a crushing defeat as the Brawlers were at the top of their division and as we head into the home stretch of the regular season, every game counts.
Coach West and the other coaches leave the ice before the team but wait for us outside the locker room door to give each of us a slap on the back. Coach has a big cheesy smile on his face but then again, so do most of us. It was a fucking excellent game.
“That was solid play,” Coach West says as he claps me on the shoulder.
“Thanks, Coach.” I walk past him and into the locker room, eager to get a hot shower and then an ice pack. I leveled a couple of hits tonight that have my right shoulder throbbing.
I’m confident enough to say that I played pretty damn good tonight. Compared to how I’ve been playing, it was a notable improvement. Beyond my solid on-ice performance, one of those five goals was mine after I intercepted a power-play pass. I skated like there was no tomorrow and whipped off a short-handed goal. As I’ve done every time I’ve scored since the plane went down, I sent up a silent commemoration to those who died. It’s usually just a general recognition of the lives lost, but tonight, for some reason, I thought specifically of Mitch.
Which made me think of Danica and Travis.
I’ve been pondering them both a lot, mostly because it’s mind-boggling to me how well they’re doing. Not that I expected them to be mired in misery, but Danica chose to stick it out in Pittsburgh and essentially reinvent her life. It’s fucking courageous as hell.
Travis, I expect, has the resilience of youth on his side but I know he misses his dad. Still, he’s a great kid and I love helping him out with hockey. I’d like to do more if his mom wants, but I don’t want to overstep in any way. I know that by helping them, I feel better inside. I guess that’s why Coach wanted me to connect with the support group to begin with, because he figured I’d get something out of it that would help me gain perspective and possibly some peace.
Within an hour, the entire team is showered and dressed, our equipment loaded on the bus that will take us to the airport. The team plane awaits to take us on the next leg of our West Coast trip, which includes three more games against the Calgary Wild, the Edmonton Grizzlies and the Alaska Blizzard. It’s going to be a tough week of flights, hotel rooms and playing against home crowds. The upside is that we have a solid week of no games followed by the last three games of January happening at home.
On the plane, I snag a window seat. The plane is posh with overstuffed captain’s chairs that recline with both heat and massage built in. There’s always a menu of delicious food and drinks available, served by pretty flight attendants.
It’s late as hell but I’m still a little wired so I order a Blanton’s neat before takeoff, hoping it will relax me enough I can grab a few hours of sleep.
Bain Hillridge drops into the seat next to me as more players board the plane. A defenseman like me, he came over from the Arizona Vengeance in November. Even though every day of my life is a competition to make first-line status on this team, I’ve developed a quick bond with Bain.
As he pulls his earbuds out of his backpack, he says, “You were on fire tonight, dude.”
I’m not one to be humble and slough it off to a lucky break. I busted my ass to play up to my potential. “Thanks. Now I have to keep it at that level.”
“Everything else good?” he asks. It’s with enough innuendo, I know he’s talking about the aftermath of me missing practice week before last. I told him about what went down with Coach showing up at my house and insisting I go to the support group meeting.
