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CHAPTER 1

DIXON

T he River City Arena is quiet in the early morning, as if it’s still half-asleep. The ice is untouched, the lights buzz overhead, and the air smells like stale popcorn and hockey tape––and I’m here for it. If only for a second, I can pretend I’m twelve again, wide-eyed and dreaming about growing up and playing on a stage like this. The ice soothes my soul.

Well, it would, if our team mascot wasn’t currently running laps around the rink in his stupid beaver costume.

“Trevor, it’s eight in the morning. Who are you trying to impress?” I yell out, pulling my skates out of my bag.

The beaver stops mid-lap and turns toward me, oversized teeth bobbing as he gestures wildly with his paws. “It’s called commitment to the job, Dixon,” he says, voice muffled through the suit.

“Yeah? Time to look for another job.”

“Ladies love me,” Trevor retorts. “They come to your games to see me.”

“No,” I say with a shake of my head, laughing. “No they don’t.”

“Jealousy doesn’t look good on you, goalie boy,” Trevor quips before turning to dramatically high-five no one. “Seriously though, I have to get used to the weight of this thing—it’s got a new tail.”

“Of course it does. Silly of me to not notice your new tail.” Snickering, I shake my head and sit on the bench, lacing up my skates while the rest of the team filters in.

The gear I wear for games is the same I wear for practice and it’s intense: base layer, throat guard, shin guards. It’s a whole checklist. My legs are encased in heavy, padded armor, and when I try to bend down to grab my skates, the bulk of my gear makes it feel like I’m trying to bend a tree trunk.

I let out a sigh. The skates themselves are cold, even when wearing my super cool socks, striped blue and green to show off our team colors. I slip my feet into the stiff leather, the tight straps squeezing my feet into place. As I tug on the laces, the pressure from the shin guards pushes against my knees, making every movement feel more like a battle of will than anything close to graceful. Once they’re tied, I rock back and forth on the blade’s edge, the clumsy weight of my gear making me feel less like a goalie and more like a lumbering robot ready to face off against the ice.

“Hey.” Ollie Decker, my old roommate and one of our finest defensemen, wanders past. He’s carrying a giant travel mug of something that smells like burnt desperation. Sawyer Stockton follows behind him, already stretching and grumbling about his back like he’s forty-five instead of twenty-seven.

“I feel like beavers should represent teams from Canada or…I don’t know, somewhere more northeast where there’s maple syrup,” Sawyer grumbles, his eyes narrowing to slits as Trevor skates past. “Maybe Vermont?”

“Virginia has beavers,” Ollie says after taking a swig from his mug. “You guys aren’t from here, so you won’t remember that back in 2008, there was a family of beavers that built a dam blocking a spot on the river. No one saw it since it wasn’t in a spot where it could be found easily, and it ended up being responsible for a flood here after a deluge of rain. The storm was so bad, the town council worked with parks and rec and they found more—dams were blocking culverts and small rivers, so they had to be removed to prevent further flooding.”

“Dude,” Sawyer interjects, his tone teasing as he playfully punches Ollie’s arm. “You’re such a nerd.”

“Sounds like the beaver is a bit of a wild card,” I say, ignoring Sawyer and keeping my eyes on Trevor as he wipes out suddenly, tripping up on his giant beaver tail. I’m now starting to understand why he’s here and practicing.

“Yeah, well, they’re cute but dangerous.” Ollie chuckles as he tosses a towel my way. “Bro, you’re from Canada, you should know all about beavers.”

The insanity. “Canada also has poutine, but you don’t hear me waxing poetic about that, do you?”

A familiar voice calls out from behind me. “Well, you should, Dixon. Poutine is a comfort food like no other.”

My attention is pulled toward Sutton Mahoney, owner of the Renegades and a woman who has my utmost respect. In reality, she and her two brothers are the “owners,” but she’s the only one on paper who we answer to these days. Long story short—she rocks.

“They’re trying to question my Canadian-ness,” I growl as I stand up and test my gear. Goalie gear: not for the faint of heart.

“Please,” she says, automatically coming to my defense, narrowing her eyes as she scans the small crew gathered. “He was born and raised on the icy tundra belonging to our northern neighbors. Those boys grew up on the ice. Heck, they were born with hockey sticks in their hands and probably had pucks for feet, so I don’t want to hear of anyone questioning his devotion to his country.”

“Thank you, Sutton.” Do my words come out a little one-uppance-like? You bet they do. She’s definitely my all-time favorite team owner.

“You’re welcome. Is Ben around?” Sutton asks, allowing her gaze to wander the arena. As she does, a muffled beep dings from deep in her coat pocket. She whips her phone out, studies it for only a moment before sliding it back into where it was. “Never mind, it would appear that he’s in my office waiting for me.”

“Is this about the email we all got last night, the one about the team meeting today?” Sawyer questions.

“It is.” Sutton smiles, looking around at the group of us gathered rinkside. “But, it’s nothing major. Just a change or two that we need to navigate—all of us—together as a unit, and we wanted to make sure every one of you knows what’s going on before we speak to the press this week.”

“Can you give us any hints?” Campbell asks, his eyes watching the other players stepping onto the ice, who are arriving for practice. “We won’t say anything.”

“Please,” Sutton says with a shake of her head. “You guys know I can’t do that.”

A quick look around at my teammates tells me that I’m not the only one who feels like there’s more to this than Sutton is telling us. “Are we meeting after practice?”

“I think we’re going to gather everyone as soon as we can.” She nods her head in the direction of the exit that leads back out to the main lobby of the arena. “I’m going to head upstairs to talk to Ben, but I’ll see y’all soon.”

There’s a chorus of grunts as Sutton smiles briefly, then turns on her heel, heading off toward the offices.

As soon as she’s out of earshot, Sawyer leans forward, his voice dripping with a familiar cocky tone. “I hear there’s a new coach starting,” he says, eyes flicking to each of us. “Anyone know who it is?”

“Probably some stiff who can’t tell a slapshot from a wrist shot,” I grumble, clearly not in the mood for any surprises. I’m the kind of guy who can roll with the punches and is known for being flexible, but that’s on the ice. Off the ice is a different story, especially when it comes to my profession; I know my drills, I trust my teammates, and it all helps me to love my “job,” if you can even call it that.

“Or, it’s a coach who is going to change the trajectory of your career,” Ollie says, his voice light with faux positivity and sprinkled with a touch of sarcasm.

“Please,” I say with a grunt. “I’m happy with my coach.”

I’m lucky to be on an AHL team that has a budget for having a specialized goaltending coach. Most teams have their offensive coach and one for defense, but for many teams, having a goalie coach is a luxury. Mitch is one of the best and he’s worked with goalies at the top of their game all over the world. The Mahoney family didn’t even blink twice when I asked if he could be brought on board when I was signed. I think Sutton saw the benefit of having someone designated for us, the goalies, to keep us sharp.

My duffle bag sits under the bench within grabbing distance, and I grasp it and swing it threateningly at my friend. Only as I do, there’s a muffled, but loud, sound of an old telephone ringing from inside.

“That sounds like one of those phones my grandparents had,” Sawyer says with a laugh as I dig inside my bag.

“Yeah, well, they probably wanted to make sure they heard their phone ring, like I do.” My hand claws erratically inside, feeling around every crevice as I search for that stupid phone. There’s only one person assigned that ringtone and they are a VIP to me.

Finally, the cool metal of the phone is in my grasp. I whip it out and press it to my ear without even looking at the screen. I don’t have to. “Hey, Anita.”

“Mr. Andrews, sorry to bug you. Do you have a few minutes?”

“Of course I do.” I shoot Ollie and Sawyer a look that conveys privacy is requested. Thankfully, they both pick up on the hint and not only do they hit the ice, but they get the other guys standing around nearby to go out with them. “Is everything okay, Anita?”

Anita is my nana’s caregiver. I hate to admit it, but she’s the third one we’ve had in four months since I moved her from her old home in Crisfield, Maryland, to come live closer to me in River City.

“No, Dixon, everything is not okay.” Her clipped tone makes my stomach twist. She’s a VIP, but she’s got an edge and it is salty. “Your nana decided today was the day she was going to put on a bathing suit and stand in the front yard and sing ‘All by Myself.’ In a lawn chair, under an umbrella, and blowing bubbles.”

The sigh that escapes my lips is only reserved for my nana. Or Nan, as I also like to call her. Nan has always been my biggest fan. From the day when I first started skating to when I got my first contract, she has always been right there, by my side. Rooting me on and cheering the whole way. Even during one of the darkest times in my life, when I was still playing on my old team in Canada and had my trust very publicly betrayed—which led to me being traded to the Renegades—she stood by my side and was my fiercest protector. She’s akin to a tiny dragon who makes the best homemade tomato soup.

Naturally, I’m gonna do for her what she’s always done for me. Look, she’s getting older, and while I know that doesn’t necessarily mean she’s sliding into dementia, there was a period of events where Nan was showing signs of forgetfulness. She’s not fragile, this one, but she’s also not in a place in her life where she needs to be working so hard or having to take care of everything herself. It’s my turn, and it’s something I wanted to do. I’m fortunate enough to be in a place where I can .

When I brought it up at first, she’d said no. In fact, if I remember correctly, she’d made up a song called ‘My Answer is Still No-no’ which funny enough sounded a lot like Coldplay’s hit ‘Yellow’. However, when she fell and broke her ankle last year and needed help, it did give me another chance to bring up the idea to her again. Luckily, this time she acquiesced, so I did what needed to be done. I moved out of my old place, where I lived with Ollie, and I bought my first house. I didn’t want her to be alone any longer, and even though she protested to a degree, she was ready to have a change of scenery. So plans were made and I moved her in with me for the time being. She’s come around and plans on moving into a retirement home later this year, but we’re not in any hurry right now. And when I say “we,” I mean Nan.

“She does have a twisted sense of humor...” I begin, but Anita’s not having it.

“I like a sense of humor,” she says, jumping in and interrupting me. “I like laughing. I’m all for a joke, but the cops have been here today, Dixon. Twice. It’s not even nine-thirty in the morning.”

I bite my lips, praying that the laughter bubbling inside me won’t spill out. “That is an issue, Anita. I’m sorry. I’ll talk to the coach and see if I can come home to talk to her.”

“No, I don’t think that will help,” she says, her voice dropping an octave. “This is becoming more of a problem. Each day, she gets a little more stubborn with me, digging her heels in. I’m not sure if it’s me or if she’s showing signs of dementia, to be honest. In fact, she’s in front of me right now, threatening to sneak outside and hail a cab in her bra and underwear.”

I close my eyes and will the visual away. “Nan can be complex.” Even saying the words, I wanna laugh out loud. She’s more than that—she is a wily and intensely intuitive woman who, when she senses weakness, will close in for the kill like a lioness on the plains of the Serengeti protecting her pack. I’m starting to think that Anita is not cut out to be her carer. This is one job where only the strong will survive.

“Complex,” she says with a snort but then goes quiet. “Look, Dixon, I hate doing this, but I need to give you my notice. Your nana is a bit more than I can handle on my own, and I’m not ashamed to admit that I’m not prepared for a patient as active as she is.”

A feeling in my stomach flips and flops like a pancake in a frying pan. It’s a big pan, too, not like a small one for making silver dollar pancakes. No, these are jumbo, they’re heavy and they fill up the whole pan, and are another task for my to-do list. Find a replacement day nurse/caregiver/nanny for my elderly grandmother, who seems to be repelling the help we so desperately need like oil does with water.

Trevor floats past, still getting his balance right with his new tail, while I wonder if there’s a way I can bring Nan here and put her to work. I mean, she’d never be a beaver, but she might take tickets.

“Uh, okay, Anita.” I rake my fingers through my hair and fight to keep the scream inside that wants to come out. It’s not Anita’s fault. It’s not Nan’s fault…I take that back. Maybe it is.

Doing the math in my head, if Anita gives me the typical two weeks, it’s enough time for me to do another round of caregiver interviews. “I’m sad to see you go, but I get it. When do you want your last day to be?”

“Monday,” Anita begins, her voice filled with trepidation. “Next week.”

“You’re giving me one week’s notice?” I try not to squeal in fear as I flip open the calendar in my mind and realize that suddenly, there is no time. Not between practice every day, and games on Friday and Saturday this weekend. That leaves me one, maybe two days to find someone else?

“I know, I’m sorry Dixon, I really am, but I have the opportunity to take another job and I have to start it next week.” She pauses before she says, “It’s the best I can do.”

I rub my hand over my face, the stubble on my jaw scraping my palm. “Okay, I understand. I wish it were longer, but I can’t fault you for taking a better opportunity.”

“Thank you and I am sorry,” Anita replies, her voice softening. “I truly wish your nana the best. She’s...well, she’s one of a kind.”

A dry chuckle escapes me. “That’s putting it mildly.”

“I’ll do my best to make this last week as smooth as possible.”

“Thanks, Anita. I’ll be in touch soon.”

We hang up, and I lower the phone, staring at it like it might offer some divine solution. All I want to do is stare at it, will it to ring. For Anita to call back and say ‘nevermind’. But I know better. The laughter I was fighting earlier feels distant now, replaced by a heavy weight that settles in my chest.

“Everything okay?” Campbell’s voice breaks through my thoughts, and I look up to see him, Ollie, and Sawyer standing a few feet away, concern etched on their faces.

“Yeah,” I lie, sliding the phone back into my pocket. “Just some family stuff.”

Sawyer arches a brow. “The kind of family stuff you need help with?”

“Nah.” I shake my head, forcing a tight smile. “I’ve got it covered.” But even as the words leave my mouth, I know they’re a lie.

“Let’s hit the ice,” Campbell says, grabbing his stick. “Be good to warm up ahead of this meeting.”

I watch in silence as the guys start making their way onto the ice, the cold air biting at my face. It’s a welcome distraction from the chaos brewing inside. Nan’s my best friend and she’s dealing with change. She’s in a new town, she’s getting older, and there’s no way I’m going to let her face it without being by her side. I know I’ll figure it out, but it’s not a problem for me right now, instead I’m going to slot that into ‘tomorrow’s to-do list’.

I step onto the rink, watching as the guys pass pucks and move like a graceful army, threading in and out of each other, running drills and shouting plays. This is my safe space. The one place I can come to and forget about all of the outside noise and push out the clutter. Some folks get this feeling from running or yoga, or meditating. I’ve always connected with that part of myself when I’m on the ice.

Here, I get to be me. Stripped down, centered, and focused. There could be a war raging outside this building, but I’d be zeroed in because I’m here. Nan calls it my happy place, I call it my impenetrable fun zone.

“Are you gonna watch or get in on this?” Sawyer shouts as he blazes past, chasing a puck.

My body begins humming, filled with purpose. For now, let the world spin as it will. I’ve got my balance right here.