Page 1 of Drop the Gloves

“Oh, sweetie!” Evan’s mom pulled him into a bone-crushing hug. He had to bend down so she could reach him, and even then she was on her tippy toes. “I’m going to miss you so stinkin’ much!”

Evan held on a little longer before letting go. “I’ll miss you too. But hey, we play Toronto in the pre-season and in November, so I’ll be back soon.”

His mom dabbed at her eyes. “I know, I know. I just miss my baby.”

For as long as Evan could remember, it’d been him and his mom.

He’d grown up in Peterborough, Ontario and been fortunate not to have to live too far away while he played in the OHL.

That hadn’t made the separation any easier for either of them, though.

He’d always felt bad leaving her for hockey, especially when it became more permanent once the Pittsburgh Riveters drafted him a few years ago, but it helped that he knew he had her full support.

“Pittsburgh’s not that far,” he reminded her. “I’m only a 65-minute flight away.”

Carol Abernathy had been thrilled that her son was drafted, obviously, but she’d been a little disappointed it hadn’t been by a Canadian team. The only thing that had soothed her was that Pittsburgh was a helluva lot closer than British Columbia.

“It’s 650 kilometers,” she grumbled. They’d hashed this out several times, and he knew it was exactly 647.2 kilometers of decent roads from his condo to his childhood home, but he figured he could spot her the couple extra.

“It is a whole other country,” he agreed. It was hard to suppress a smile. “Better watch out. A few more years and I’ll sound like a Yinzer for sure.”

She rolled her eyes at his teasing. “Evan, have you heard yourself? You sound like you walked straight out of a Tim Hortons commercial, your accent’s so thick.”

This startled a laugh from him. “It is not!”

His mom waved it off and grew serious again. “Text me when you land.”

“I will.”

“I’ll be watching every game, sweetie.”

“I know, Mom. You don’t have to—”

“You guys are going to do great this year! I have a good feeling.”

Evan gave her a look. She said that every year, without fail.

It wasn’t until December hit that she’d start being skeptical of the Riveters’ odds, though he suspected that was more about being superstitious that she’d jinx them.

Even when they’d been mathematically eliminated from the playoffs his first season, she’d refused to say anything negative.

“A good feeling, eh?” he teased.

“I do! This is going to be your best year yet.” Then she pushed over his suitcase, telling him he needed to be the one to walk away because she never would. “Good luck!”

“Thanks, Mom.” His chest was tight. He hated goodbyes, even if they were only temporary.

He gave her one more hug and a quick peck on the top of her head, well below his shoulder level, before he took the hint and left.

The one time he sneaked a look back, she was still standing there, waving and watching him. Ugh, he was going to miss being home.

He knew how much she’d sacrificed to make his NHL career possible.

Hockey was expensive, and as a single mom, it hadn’t always been easy for her to put together the money for team fees.

He probably hadn’t gotten new gear until he played Junior hockey, settling instead for his cousins’ hand-me-downs or thrifted items on consignment at local shops.

He’d felt really good paying off his mom’s mortgage once he’d signed his contract with the Riveters.

His mom hadn’t stopped grinning that entire summer as she bragged to everyone that her son was a big NHL star, an embarrassment he’d endured because if anyone deserved that right, it was Carol Abernathy.

It didn’t mean he felt good about walking away.

* * *

The promised sixty-five minutes after it had taken off, the plane touched down and started gliding to the terminal.

Most passengers were restless as they taxied, hands ready on their seatbelts for the go-ahead to start collecting their things.

Evan barely stirred, even when the seatbelt light went off and everyone around him practically sprang to their feet.

It wasn’t that he wasn’t happy to be back.

Pittsburgh was home. He’d fully embraced the city that had not only drafted him but given him a shot as a rookie.

It wasn’t as busy and crowded as Toronto, but still boasted all the city-life he wanted.

More affordable, too. He’d snagged a nice condo near the practice facility, a new build that would’ve cost seven digits in Toronto’s suburbs.

He’d held off getting attached until the end of last season when his entry-level contract ended and the team had signed him on for another three years.

Even though the Riveters lost in the second round last season to the Blue Crabs, the coaches must’ve liked what they’d seen from Evan, since he’d been offered a pretty decent contract right after.

Now that he had a guaranteed three more years in Pittsburgh, he could let himself love the city.

So it wasn’t anxiety about the season that was keeping him in his seat or that made him the last person off the plane. It was the fans.

Both a blessing and a curse, Pittsburgh really loved their sports teams. They wholeheartedly supported their players, always kind to them face-to-face (even if they might blast them online or on the radio) and never booing their own team at home games no matter how dire it got.

Unfortunately, they were also very good at recognizing players in public and felt a sort of camaraderie with them that more often than not had them approaching said players.

Evan didn’t know how many times he’d been spotted at Starbucks or Target or just out for a run, always resulting in someone coming up to talk to him about last night’s game or how the team was doing or to compliment him on his stats.

While some of his teammates appreciated the recognition and celebrity status it offered them, Evan kind of hated it.

He was too shy to be intelligible when he was put on the spot, and he was terrified he’d say something about the team or coaches that would be taken out of context and come back to bite him in the ass.

Any time he went out in public, he wore a Pirates hat pulled low and kept his head down.

If he weren’t 6’5, it might actually work more than it did.

Today he lucked out: he made it out of the airport without anyone noticing him, and he counted that as a win. Thank God for the off-season—it would be next to impossible to sneak around once hockey was back on TV.

The Uber driver who picked him up wasn’t the chatty type, and Evan was left to mindlessly scroll on his phone as they traveled to and then through the city proper to get to his place north of Pittsburgh.

There were new messages in the team chat as people updated their arrival status.

Evan added his name to the list of Riveters in town, receiving a dozen happy emojis celebrating his return.

Lawson

Drinks tonight? My place @ 8

Should give us time to recover before practice tomorrow

Doyle

Yinz are doing practice??

We still got 2 weeks of freedom and u r voluntarily hanging out with coach? Lame.

Woodward

lmao coach is in the office all day

Mel’s in charge

Besides some of us are captains and need to set an example for the rest of you scrubs

Doyle

u r an alternate captain. Don’t let it go to your head woodsy

Kates

You had me at coach is in the office and lost me at Mel’s in charge

Lawson

Why? Mel’s great

Kates

Her drills are 10x harder than coach’s

Lawson

Fair

Melissa Gamble was their defensive coach.

One of the first female coaches in the NHL, she’d worked damn hard to get where she was and twice as hard to stay there.

Her father owned the Nevada Scorpions, and even though she’d started her career there, she’d jumped ship as soon as she could: she wasn’t going to be called a nepotism hire.

Evan might dread her drills like the rest of the team—they were brutal, and she required perfection before she let them off the hook—but he respected the hell out of her.

He’d mostly played wing in the OHL, but the Riveters had shifted him to center his rookie year.

It had definitely been an adjustment, since, like most young wingers, the idea of a backcheck was something of a foreign concept.

Mel had worked with him a lot his first year to get him up to snuff, and he was eternally grateful for that.

Abernathy

I’m in for drinks tonight

Doyle

Aren’t you like 15??

Just bc it’s legal in Canada doesn’t mean we can give beer to infants

Abernathy

I’m 21 1/2

Woodward

Lil sus you’re bringing in the half there

No adult does that

Lawson

Don’t worry about them abs

You grow a better beard than woodsy ever has

Woodward

Antonov

He’s right

Woodward

Nover you ain’t even on this continent rn you can stfu

Tell me again how to say ‘fuck you’ in Russian

Evan was smiling as he lumbered out of the Uber and headed up to his condo.

Despite their teasing, he’d really missed the guys.

Sure, they kept in touch over the summer, but with everyone spread out across the world, there’d been little more than memes and pictures sent in the group chat for nearly two months.

He felt fortunate that he’d ended up on a team he clicked so well with.

The air in his condo was a little stagnant, and the only things even remotely edible were ramen and ketchup, but it was great to be back.

His space, the one he’d earned and carved out for himself.

His city and his team, ready for another go at the Stanley Cup.

For once, he agreed with his mom’s overly optimistic prediction: he had a good feeling about this season.