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Chapter Twenty-Five

Cam

I get home after dance practice to find a bunch of guys lounging by our pool. It’s November, which in Austin means it could be 50 degrees or close to 80. Today is on the warm side.

I grab a seltzer water and throw myself into a lounger, still in my dance pants. Chris has been prodding me about messaging Dana, but I haven’t gotten up the nerve yet. Nor have I raised the subject of having children with her. But I’m more confused than ever now she’s told me about her passion project—involving kids.

Saint gestures at me. “Not what I’d choose for poolside apparel, but hey, you do you.”

“Ha. I was practicing for the charity gig.”

“With Christina?”

“Who else?” I frown at him.

“Defensive, much? How’s the dancing going?”

“Really well. Y’all will get a show, so you better ante up for the Foundation.” I smirk at him.

He looks me over, then narrows his eyes. “So I’ve noticed you don’t hang with the other single players as much. Not interested in puck bunnies?”

That’s an interesting segue. I review Christina’s and my interactions in public. We haven’t given anything away, so he must be fishing. I answer truthfully, “Nah. I want something real. Like you have.”

A frown creases his brow for a second before he smooths it. “Marriage, huh? You’re young for that.”

“Not if you look at national averages. Anyway, what does age matter? It’s finding the right person.”

He nods, but counters with, “Just give it enough time to be sure they share the same long-term goals, they’re not just right for right now.”

“Well, yeah, but isn’t the idea that you grow together?”

He slants me an exasperated look. “Yes, that’s the idea . Reality is harder.”

I frown. Saint is usually pretty mellow, but his tone is sharp. “You okay?”

“I’m fine.” He waves a hand. “Just trying to impart wisdom from my advanced years.”

I ask, “Do you want kids?”

His mouth twists. “Yes.”

“Me too. But…” I try to phrase this without giving too much away. “This chick I was seeing doesn’t want them. Full stop. But she’s setting up a nonprofit centered around kids. It seems contradictory to me.”

“My sister’s a teacher, and she never wants kids. She wants to work with them, and mold them, and pass them along to others for nurturing long-term. Maybe that woman feels the same.”

“Maybe. I just can’t see it.”

“Well, if you want them, it might be hard to understand her point of view. Anyway, that’s a pretty big difference in goals. Sounds like it’s not a good fit, so probably best that you stopped seeing her. Don’t ignore the early warning signs about something that important.”

His tone is dark, but his expression does not invite questions. There’s something there, though, so I make a note to pay better attention to how he’s doing. He watches over the whole team, but who watches over him?

“It sucks because she’s such a great fit in every other way.”

“You just switched to present tense. Are you still talking to her?”

I drop my head to stare at my drink can, rolling it in my hand. “Sort of.”

He shakes his head. “You’re setting yourself up for hurt, my man, but sometimes you young’uns have to learn the hard way. As long as you don’t bring it to the ice, I’ll let you figure it out. Remember, you can only control your priorities and dreams. The worst thing you could do is try to change someone else’s.”

The group starts dispersing as the sun has set and we have an early practice tomorrow.

As we stand, I say, “Thanks for listening. I hope you know it’s not a one-way conversation. Any time you want someone to talk to, I’m happy to lend an ear.”

He nods and knocks elbows as we take our empty cans inside.

After Jack and I scrabble together some supper, I head to my room and lie on my bed with noise-cancelling ear buds in. Jack’s watching TV and my room is close enough I can hear it without them. Instead, I turn on mellow music and replay my conversation with Saint. His last words echo. If I want more with Christina, and I do, I’ll have to take her as she is. Which means I’d have to reprioritize what I want in life, although I’m not sure she’s really against having children, given her choice of charitable project.

* * * *

Tonight is a home game. As I skate onto the ice for warmups, I check my seats for Christina. She’s already there, in a fuzzy Tornadoes-purple sweater. I’m not sure who’s accompanying her tonight but that seat is empty right now. I tamp down the twinge of annoyance at her continued refusal to wear my jersey and focus on getting my head in the game.

The New Jersey Nightwings are in a rebuilding year, which is a nice way of saying they’re one of the lowest ranked teams in the league. Sadly, they’re not in our division so their poor performance doesn’t help our ranking. But it does mean we’re hoping for another W.

I center on their forwards’ strategies as I go through my stretching routine. Widening my stance, I drop to my knees on the ice. Continuing to push out, my butt drops until the cold seeps through my layers of protective gear under my uniform. I know from doing this in front of the gym mirror that I’m only a couple inches off the ice. Keeping my upper legs perpendicular to my body, I stretch forward, laying my stomach on the rink until it’s almost flat. I raise and lower my hips repeatedly so the muscles are warm and I can snap into a butterfly without risking a groin pull. Then I push out sideways off my skate edge, getting as low over my knee pad as possible in a side leg stretch. Finally, I do low forward lunges.

As I push up to skate toward the goal to field some shots, I can’t resist glancing at Christina once more. She catches my eye and fans herself, and I laugh out loud, causing one of the opposing team to snap his head toward me and glare. Good. All the better if he thinks I’m laughing at him and it messes with his head.

Just to reinforce it, every time he comes near me, I snicker, chuckle, or otherwise fuck with him. The first time causes him to hit the post with his attempted shot. After that, he’s mad. More missed shots and a missed pass keep me happy as we finish the first period with no points on the board from either team.

Buzz scores in the second period, proving his value as one of the team leaders, as he does every game. We head to the locker room with the score up 1-0, and we all know that means they’ll come at us—at me—hard in the final twenty minutes.

This is our fourteenth game of the season. Shutouts happen on average about every twenty games, although a few goalies average as frequent as every six. I’d had a couple in the AHL, but the NHL is a whole new level of play. Plus, I’d heard one scout say that my low SA—shots against—meant I was untested, especially as I’d had a strong team in front of me. I didn’t agree with that way of viewing it, and now I’m more determined than ever to prove any doubters wrong. As the third period creeps by, I up my concentration another notch.

Every goalie in every game wants a shutout and tries his damnedest for it. But we’re a new team, with all new stats to create. And while we’ve made it to the third period once before with no goals against us, we hadn’t made it to five minutes left. The whole team is vibrating, one eye on the clock and one on the puck.

As it passes behind me again and Jack takes control to get it out of our territory, I call to the team, “Focus. Don’t get cocky. One play at a time.”

Determined to follow my own advice, I stop looking at the clock. The noise of the stadium recedes. It’s me, the puck, and the other eleven players on the ice. I’m going to conquer this one, right here and right now.

They pull their goalie, upping the stakes.

An eon later, the time clock buzzes and I rise out of my crouch, stunned. My teammates come screaming at me down the ice, and I quickly move away from the goal so they don’t ram my back against the frame. I did it. I just had my first shutout of my NHL career. I’m still silent, overwhelmed.

The noise of the crowd comes rushing back. Taking a deep breath that borders on a laugh, I grab Buzz and circle with him in a man hug, laughing outright now. We’re tonight’s stars. We each take a lap, our helmets pushed back on our heads, our sticks in the air. After he passes one section, a stuffed Tornadoes devil flies down on the ice in front of me. I slow and crouch to grab it. By the time I straighten, there are two more in front of me. I glance over where Buzz is now along the opposite side of the ice. There are none in front of him, and he turns, continuing his lap skating backwards, cheering me as well.

Holy crap, the fans are celebrating my shutout, even more than the win, by throwing stuffed mascots that they paid good money for.

Sure, this is the goalie equivalent of a hat trick, but still, between us being a new team, and Austin not really sure it’s a hockey town, I never expected this. I scoop up as many as I can, a couple of the guys coming to help, before we line up to shake hands with the other team. The player I taunted glares at me, but still mutters congratulations.

Riding high, I head to the dressing room. Coach gives us the usual pep talk tempered by warnings not to get complacent, this team isn’t like the ones going to the playoffs, keep our focus, blah blah blah. I can barely hear him until he says my name.

“What?”

“Saylet insisted. It’s not usually a goalie thing but obviously tonight is different. You and Buzz are in the press room.”

While the rest of the team heads to the showers, we go answer questions. Thankfully Saylet is there to coach us, because this is a first for me. I had maybe two post-game interviews in college, one after I went to Minnesota/Peoria in the first round of the draft, and then a couple local things after AHL games. But this could be on ESPN primetime. Holy shit .

They ask the usual reporter questions. How I feel. What was the difference tonight that enabled this to happen. We’re both gracious to the other team and talk about how tight it was—and it was only 1-0 at the end, so it truly was close. When asked if we’d expected to score more, I joke, “I’m the goalie, I can’t tell you what happens at the other end of the ice.” But after the laughter subsides, I add, “Honestly? My guys wanted that as much as I did, so we were all playing defense those last five minutes. But we didn’t need to score again to get the win, so I’m grateful to them for their efforts on my behalf.”

On that note, Saylet shuts down further questions and I’m a free man so I head to the dressing room to shower and change.

There are still players greeting their families in the Tornadoes lounge as I walk through to get to my car, and I pause in the doorway.

Saint and his wife seem to have left already, as they aren’t there. Jack and Kyle are in a corner and gesture Buzz and me over when they see us.

My gaze makes a quick sweep of the room. When my shoulders drop, I realize I was hoping Christina would be there. I want to celebrate this milestone with her. We’ve drawn the lines around our relationship, though, and she has no reason to cross them.

A hand thumps my back, then tracks up to squeeze my shoulder as Greg comes into view at my side.

“Congratulations, Hill! I knew you had it in you. This, this is why we all wanted you. You were one of our first picks in our planning for the expansion draft. I’m so excited.” And he is. He’s bouncing on his toes, knowing not to say too much. Hockey players are suspicious and don’t like to put voice to either their hopes or fears, but I can practically envision the Stanley Cup in a thought bubble over his head.

“Thank you, sir. I’m excited as well. But we’re only fourteen games in, not even a quarter of the way through the season, so like Coach said, I’m trying to stay focused on the next game, the next win.”

“The next shutout, eh?” He’s giddy and won’t be talked down. I shrug. I play for love of the game. He built a team for the love of the game. Who’s to say he should temper his enthusiasm.

I blink as Greg’s grin is so familiar I suddenly see him as Christina’s brother rather than the team owner. I try to picture Christmas breakfast with him in the big house, golf in the off-season, or maybe a family vacation. I shake my head once and look at the suit that probably costs four times what mine did, despite both being bespoke. He is my boss’s boss’s boss first and foremost, and if he found out I was sleeping with his sister, I’d probably be playing for some local team in Alaska the next day.

This man controls everything I’ve always wanted—hockey, financial stability, and with the right contract, a place to stay and raise a family. If Christina wanted a family, it would be worth risking the rest and ensuring my stats are strong enough to play for another NHL team. But right now, I’m risking everything—and for what? A secret short-term casual relationship. And yet, as stupid as it is, I can’t bring myself to stop wanting to celebrate this win and any others with her if she’ll have me. Even though she’s Greg’s sister. As I head toward Jack and his threatening hold on a champagne bottle, I pull out my phone to see if Christina’s texted me about a private celebration after.