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I didn’t bring anything because Coach West didn’t tell me to, but Harlow assured me it was okay.
In the living room, I end up by the doors to an outdoor balcony talking to Hendrix and Coen—fitting that the Lucky Three are grouped together.
You’d think such an experience would bond us tightly, but oddly, the three of us don’t talk about the crash. Sure, we supported each other in the weeks that followed—saying our goodbyes as we attended multiple funerals and memorials. But eventually, we all sort of moved on, occupied by the easy escape of continuing the season with a new team.
Hendrix and I were able to focus on hockey as the team was rebuilt. Coen, unfortunately, went off the deep end for a while and eventually was suspended. Luckily, he got his shit together over the summer and now he’s back, in love and playing better than ever.
I realize their girlfriends aren’t with them and I wonder if this is open to only those who lost loved ones. Harlow is present, but she lives here and Stone is hosting. Plus, she was best friends with his brother, Brooks.
“Where’s Stevie?” I ask Hendrix.
“Working,” he says, dipping a cucumber slice into some kind of dip.
“And Tillie?” I ask Coen.
“She wanted to come but had to get back to Coudersport. She’s running a local art show.”
Well, that answers that. Apparently, it’s open to wives and girlfriends. I notice Brienne here but not Drake, although he’s probably spending time with his boys.
It’s more than just players who were lost on the plane. I see Boyd Frazer—his wife Jessie was one of our trainers. He’s local to Pittsburgh, and I haven’t seen him in a while.
There are a handful of widows here. Maggie Pearsall, who was married to Cory, one of our defensemen. She’s still in the area because she’s local to Pittsburgh as well.
Kateryna Kozar, married to our first-line center, Maksym, is here, both of them from Ukraine. I’ve seen Kateryna around at some of the postgame parties and knew she’d stayed in Pittsburgh on a work visa with their two daughters.
And Danica Brandt, married to our second-line left-winger, Mitch. It was announced at the Titans’ Christmas party that she’d be running a new charity Brienne created and named after her brother called the Adam Norcross Charitable Foundation. It’s a fascinating concept and one I’d not thought of before. Its main goal will be to aid dependents of professional athletes and support staff who have either died or become incapacitated and can’t play anymore. It’s not only for hockey, and it’s not just for the United States but a global foundation, and Danica will be running it.
I was happy to hear this and it was good to catch up with her at the Christmas party week before last. Obviously, I know some of the loved ones better than others, but Danica I know well. Mitch and I played on the same line, so we hung out a lot more than some of the other players. Through the years playing together, I’ve been to dinners at their house, met their parents and other family members who visited and once went with him to visit Travis’s first grade class to read storybooks to the kids.
I’ve kept in loose contact with Danica. She still comes to some of the games, after-parties and team functions as Brienne makes sure to invite all the former team family members. At first, Danica didn’t come as I imagine she was lost to her grief. But this season, I’ve seen her a handful of times and it’s been nice to see her smiles getting bigger as time moves on.
Watching Danica now, I don’t know exactly how the past year has been for her. I’m somewhat surprised she stayed in the area since it’s just her and Travis. I know all her family—and Mitch’s, for that matter—are in Massachusetts.
Of course, I never bothered to ask specifically her reasons for not returning home. Our talks have been short, some just in passing at events, but she seems to be doing well as far as I can tell.
Same as me.
“Dude.” A hand clamps down on my shoulder and I turn to see Stone. “Coach said you were coming. Glad you’re here.”
He’s clearly surprised by my presence. It’s been ten and a half months since the crash and I’ve never been to one of these nor have I talked to Stone about the crash other than to extend my condolences about his brother.
“Coach sort of mandated it,” I say.
Stone’s hand falls away and he nods. “Because you missed practice yesterday.”
I shrug as I glance at Coen and Hendrix, who stare back at me with no judgment and apparent understanding. But how can they comprehend anything when I don’t even know what’s happening to me?
“Look,” he says, drawing my attention. “You know all these people. No one’s a stranger. Nothing to fear. Go hang out and enjoy yourself.”
“Fine,” I say with a pointed stare, a half-smile on my face so he knows I’m teasing. “But if anyone asks me to share or get touchy-feely, I’m out of here.”
Stone tips his head back and laughs. “It’s not like that, my man. And there’s not a person in this room that you couldn’t trust with your sorrow. Everyone understands it. They’d all have your back.”
Okay… feeling awkward. I didn’t come to discuss my feelings. “I’m good, Stone. Truly.”
“Well, I’m not.” I blink in surprise at the admission because, for months, he’s seemed to be loving life. “Not a day goes by that I don’t think about my brother. Not a day goes by that I don’t feel guilty for being here on this team when he’s not.”
“Same,” Coen says quietly and Hendrix nods.
