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“So. I have a guy putting out feelers to pro teams, here, in the states to sign right out of college. A few have responded with interest.”
He doesn’t respond. His fingers tap against the steering wheel.
“Where are we headed?” His response surprises me. I thought he would be pissed. I don’t know why, but I did. Making such a massive decision without him, I suppose.
“A couple on the west and one on the east are confirmed.” Well, sort of, unofficially.
“It’s ok. Let me know when you decide or whatever. I can take my art anywhere. You are the one more limited.”
“You have no idea how relieved I am to hear this, bro. I was so nervous to talk to you about it, so I talked to Banks and she helped. I didn’t want you thinking I was taking the easy way out. But really, it’s a sure thing way out. It secures our future.”
He looks at me, an arch in his brow, before looking back at the road. “Banks knows?”
Fuck me.
“Yeah, she was easy to talk to. I just let all my thoughts out, and she listened. I felt heard. Father never fucking made either of us feel that way. It was nice…” I explain, he is pissed that I confided in her before him.
“I get it. It’s fine. Sometimes it’s easy to talk to someone on the outside, get their perspective and shit. I’m not mad. I’m shocked. Really fucking shocked. But not mad. I know you are doing what’s best. Go with your gut. Then let me know where the fuck we are headed to.” I nod, absorbing all of this.
He has really fucking changed. So have I. Pouring my thoughts out to a chick. But she isn't just a chick. She is Banksy. Our Banksy.
35
BANKS
My stomach has been nauseous all day. The guys powered through the playoffs, undefeated. Some games were insanely close, and I swear the last one I had my eyes closed more than open every time those fuckers were in our zone.
At one point, I was up out of my seat yelling. I’m sure the people around me thought I was nuts, but I am just passionate about our team. And my guys.
I call them that in my head. We haven’t officially had any sort of talk about us, but there aren't any other people we are seeing. And this is so easy. Sure, we get annoyed at times, but it’s water under the bridge by the end of the day. This year has been a rollercoaster.
Being nervous about starting this job and finding my footing, and then Christmas break, which nearly broke me as a person then turned me into who I am now, then everything that followed. This was not on my bingo card.
I am in my same spot that I sit in at each home game. My hair is loose, hanging over my shoulders. Even though it’s spring, the rink is cold. I am in my trainers, black leggings,and my oversized team hoodie. I sent the guys a good luck text beforehand, and they sent a heart emoji in response.
But they are in the zone. They have rituals and nasty facial hair growing out of control. It’s all in the name of hockey, so I support it, even if I prefer them without.
Coach has kept his distance, talking to me about work things only. I’m sure he noticed we fucked on his desk. Hudson told us he left a treat on his chair, so how could he not?
The team intro song comes on, and I feel like my heart could beat out of my chest. I have no idea how they stay so calm about it.
Most of the team's families have shown up, with the exception of their father. Which shocked me, he would love all the attention he would get from being their dad.
Apparently, his business needed him overseas, so that took priority. Which sucks for them, but I don’t mind. Fuck him. It makes me sad that their childhood wasn’t like mine. I wouldn’t be here without my dad, he is my biggest inspiration.
Focusing back on the ice, the guys come out from their tunnel. Over the loudspeaker, they are introduced and the entire place stands to cheer them on. I get out of my seat, clapping and joining in with the screams.
Then, Baylor U hits the ice, and the arena immediately turns into boos and heckling for the opposing team. This has to be so hard. But also super motivating for them. But our guys have home ice advantage. We got this. They got this.
Once the crowd has calmed down, the first line on both teams take the ice and a local singer takes her place on the carpet laid out for her on the ice as she begins to sing the national anthem.
It’s electric in here. We can’t even hear her over the speakers. The crowd has taken over completely. It gives me chills. This is what sports does—makes people feel like they are a part of something.
Once the anthem is over, we all take our seats, the refs hit the ice and it’s time for the first faceoff of the game. Hudson is at center, ready to take it. The puck drops in slow motion, rotating slowly as it falls to the ice, the players never take their eyes off it. Number one rule, head up, eye on the puck. And they are doing exactly that.
We win the faceoff, and he passes it to Lynx, who takes off instantly with it. The rest of his line skates around Baylor, in an effort to meet Lynx at the net.
Before they can, Smitty is checked hard into the boards. We all wince. He is a big guy, so it sounds worse than it is. He doesn’t miss a beat, elbowing the dickface who did it and joining the rest of his line.
