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I’m rendered speechless by these three men casually talking about continued struggles from the crash. They seem so well-adjusted.
Same as me.
Coen smiles. “It takes a long time to heal from the loss of a loved one. You and I… we lost lots of them on that day. If you need to talk, I’m always here for you. But to ease your mind, this is a social get-together. More camaraderie than anything.”
My gaze cuts to Coach West. That’s not the impression he gave me but hanging out with people I like doesn’t sound so bad. I’m a social guy by nature. Coach is deep in discussion with Brienne about something and it makes me wonder if they’re discussing my missed practice. Not really something that would be brought to the attention of the team’s owner but Brienne is closely involved with her players.
“Camden.” A soft voice behind me has me turning—Danica Brandt. She grins and steps in, arms spread wide for a hug. “It’s so good to see you.”
I pull her in with one arm since my other hand is occupied with my plate. “Twice in less than two weeks. Must be my lucky day.”
Danica laughs, gives an extra squeeze and I release her so she steps back. I notice the guys have meandered off, leaving us alone.
“I’m glad you came,” she says, her gentle brown eyes smiling with easy affection.
I nod toward Coen and Hendrix who are catching up with Boyd. “Guess better late than never, huh?”
She glances over at them and then back to me. “This is Hendrix’s first time. Coen’s been to a few gatherings this season.” That surprises me. I assumed when I saw them both here that they were regulars. She must read that on my face because she adds, “I talked to Hendrix about it at the Christmas party. It came up in conversation and I pushed him to come.”
Danica and I talked for a bit at that same gathering and she never mentioned this support group. I mean… I knew about it.
Vaguely.
But since I was never interested in something like this, I sort of pushed it away. I wonder if she could tell that about me, or maybe it came up in innocent conversation with Hendrix so she made the invite.
Regardless, I find myself admitting, “Coach made me come.”
Danica Brandt is an incredibly beautiful woman. One of those pretty, girl-next-door types with glossy, caramel-colored hair that complements her olive skin tone and doe-brown eyes. Those eyes soften even more with an insider’s knowledge that I might be having struggles because of the crash.
I brace for her push but instead she sweeps a fond glance around the room before she looks at me again. “This is absolutely a safe place for you, not only to talk about your experiences, but also to be silent if you want. Sometimes simply being around like-minded people is enough. So my advice to you? Enjoy reconnecting with old friends.”
And just like that, a massive release sweeps through my body and what had been previously pent-up tension floats away. I hadn’t realized how scared I was to actually be in an environment where I might have to talk about the crash and my feelings. And while Coen basically said the same thing to me two minutes ago, for some reason, I trust it more coming from Danica.
She sees the relief in my expression, telling me how intuitive she is and gives me a tiny nudge with her elbow. “Easy as pie.”
I decide to take her advice and use this time to connect. While we’d talked at the party, it was in a group of people and I didn’t get one-on-one. It’s been a few months since I’ve been able to catch up. “What’s Travis doing today?”
Her smile breaks wide, revealing two dimples I’m not sure I’ve ever noticed before, or if I had, they hadn’t made an impression. I’m momentarily dazzled. “He starts youth hockey next week so he’s at the rink today with his buddies getting in some practice. He’s so excited, it’s all he’s talked about for days.”
“Going to be a winger like his dad,” I say assuredly, knowing that won’t offend but not sure if it will sadden. I’ve seen Travis skate, and he’s got the same speed and agility Mitch had.
Danica’s smile doesn’t lessen but I see a brief flash of grief. “That’s what he says. He’s nervous, though, since he didn’t play last year. All the other boys have an entire season on him.”
“He’s got enough talent to make up for it,” I assure her. Again, I’ve seen the kid skate and handle a puck, goofing off with his dad and some of us on the team enough to know where he’s going. “If he wants some extra practice, though, I’m glad to help him out.”
“Really?” she asks, the drawl of surprise and gratitude in her voice surprising me. It’s the sound of someone who doesn’t ask for help often and seems shocked when it’s offered.
A flash of guilt runs through me. Have I done enough for her after Mitch died? Did I do enough for any of the loved ones?
“Absolutely. I’d love to help him out. We’ve got a home game tomorrow and an away game on Wednesday. I could do Thursday afternoon. What time does he get out of school?”
Danica seems dumbstruck for a moment but recovers. “I pick him up at three.”
“I’ll come by at three thirty to get him and have him home by five thirty. Is that good?”
She nods effusively. “Yes, that would be great. He’ll be so excited. You know I play in the driveway with him, letting him slap plastic pucks at me, but I can’t give him pointers the way his dad could have.”
I laugh. “You know your fair share of hockey, but I admit… I am a professional.”
