CHAPTER 6
Zaki
I put my phone away and leaned over Xavier’s shoulder. He was on a video chat playing peek-a-boo with Penny and Melody, who was clapping her mittened hands together every time he revealed his face.
I missed those days. I sniffed and blinked back the hot tears that were forming in my eyes.
That used to be me. The happy guy with the wife and kids on the other side of the screen. But I blew it. And the worst part is, I didn’t know I was blowing it, and when I figured it out, it was too late to save it.
Back when Isla and Amelie were little, Viki and Lauren, our goalie’s wife, would bring them to home games. We’d video chat for good luck before the game, and I’d skate over to them during warmups and make them laugh.
They were here with Sofi tonight, who was flying home to Quebec City in the morning. I was going to miss her, and I knew the girls would, too. It was hard enough for them to be away from their mom.
I’d been hoping for a trade all season, and with the trade deadline approaching, moves were happening. Our team was good again this year, and I was a big part of that, which meant a trade for me was unlikely. But I wasn’t giving up hope. My contract was up at the end of the season, and like I told management, I was either going to Montreal or retiring. I loved the game, but I loved my girls more. And they needed both me and their mom in their lives.
Viki and I might not be in love—we hadn’t been in a long time—but I’d always thought love was a choice. After the initial attraction and excitement wore off, staying together was something you chose to do because you loved and respected your chosen one and wanted to build a life and grow old together.
We’d been teenagers when we met and started dating. Her mother had been a prima ballerina. Viki loved to dance and had dreams of following in her mother’s toe shoes. She went to college and studied dance but gave it up to come with me to Colorado. She promised me her dream had changed, but after the girls were born, she became distant. I attributed it to the fractured pelvis and emergency C-section and the resulting pain and therapy afterward. But our connection wasn’t the same after that. I hired a nanny, slept in the guest room, and took care of the girls when I was home so she could rest. I built her a ballet studio in the basement of the cabin, but she preferred to stay in the city, near the Wags.
I couldn’t blame her, but I didn’t know what else to do. And I had no idea our marriage was in danger. I thought it was a rough patch we’d work through. When the girls were three, she told me she didn’t love me anymore and wanted to separate. I suggested counseling. We attended sessions for months, together and separately, but it didn’t go anywhere.
Viki was done with me and this life, and I wasn’t.
She stayed in the Denver apartment with the girls, and I trekked up and down the mountain.
Then, after our Stanley Cup loss last summer, she decided she’d had enough of Colorado, too, and took the girls back to Montreal.
Way to kick a guy when he was already down.
I’d put in for a trade immediately, but since we’d made it to game seven of the Stanley Cup final and I was still under contract, I was staying.
Not having my girls close by was more painful than any check to the boards, concussion, broken bone, or torn muscle. It hurt deep, and the pain surfaced in ways that went against my character and personality. It sucked the positivity right out of me, and I didn’t like who I became the last six months, easily agitated on the ice, looking for fights and participating in every opportune scrum.
Turns out our rivals didn’t, either. The media were already talking about ways the Seattle guys might return the love I gave them at our October meeting.
“Let’s go, boys!” Dean Hathaway, aka Cappy, our captain, banged his stick above Xavier’s head, causing him to jump and drop his phone.
I picked it up and waggled my eyebrows at Penny and Melody. “Uh-oh, Mel! Your daddy’s in trouble!”
“You too, Marshy!” Dean swatted me in the shin with his stick. “And if it was you that duct-taped pink lace to Ridgie’s jersey and shorts, nice work!”
“Busted.” Xavier smirked at me and took his phone back. “Bye, Punkin! Bye, Pen!”
“See you at warmies!” Penny blew a kiss, and Xavier hurried to put his phone away.
When I’d found a large roll of hot pink lace on the driver’s seat of my van—no doubt Arwyn’s way of accepting my invitation to be a co-conspirator— many options floated through my mind. Taping flouncy rows of lace to the hem of Ridgie’s jersey and shorts had been the idea I liked the most, and it was a good warm-up for The Big One. There hadn’t been time for Monty’s handler to remove it before his meet-and-greets, so some of the fans had gotten some interesting one-time photos. Arwyn had texted me that Ridgie’s social media was blowing up as fans tried to guess the reason for his glow-up.
If anything, he owed me a “you’re welcome.”
After a pep talk from Dean and words from the coach, the lineup was announced by a hyped-up Brendan Trotter, and we assembled in the tunnel to wait for our cue to step onto the ice for warmups.
I was on the second pair tonight with Xavier. Brendan and Trask Emerson were the starting D-men, so I got in line behind them. It was always interesting listening in on their conversations. Two of the politest guys you ever met. Brendan was from Minnesota, the Land of the Helpful, and Trask was from Charleston, the Land of Manners. They even complained politely. They rarely got mad. Never heard more than a muttered mild curse from either of them.
Needless to say, not too fun to prank, but I did enjoy their gripes about domestic issues, like Trask’s lawnmower malfunctioning and spitting grass back at him or Brendan’s attempt to change his own oil on his sports car and wearing more than the car received. Today they were debating whether Valentine lights on their mirror-image cookie-cutter homes could be a thing.
Wholesome. Adorable, even. Blissfully unaware that while they were planning something sweet, at any moment their wives could drop a bomb on them and the life they fantasized they had would burst faster than the seams of a juice box in the hands of an overenthusiastic toddler, leaving behind confusion, wide-eyed panic, and pleas for forgiveness and a do-over. Anything to keep their family together.
We hit the ice and skated circles, shooting pucks at the net. Big crowd tonight, and at least a dozen signs along the sides with my name on them, asking for a stick or a puck. I tossed a few pucks over and posed for a few selfies.
When I felt I was loose enough, I picked up two pucks and glided over to my girls.
“Daddy!”
I grinned and held up the pucks. “For my biggest fans!”
Sofi rolled her eyes and pointed. “I think those ladies over there are your biggest fans.”
I followed her gaze and snorted. “Bubbles, Blossom, and Buttercup?” The three women had been compared to the PowerPuff girls on a lookalike cam years ago and had run with the theme ever since. The blond-, red-, and black-haired trio had been trying to get my attention all season, but I’d ignored them. I wasn’t looking to date a fan. Tonight, the blonde held a sign that read, “Marshy: Spin to win!” with their faces glued to the poster and a plastic game spinner in the center, currently pointing to her likeness.
“You know them, Daddy?” Isla asked.
“Nope.” I held up the pucks. “Ready to catch?”
“Ready!”
I tossed them over, one at a time, kissing them before each throw. “I’m glad you’re here. We’re going to need all the luck we can get. Seattle’s on a winning streak, and if they win tonight, they’ll pass us for first place in the Western division.”
“You got this, Daddy! I have faith in you!” Amelie called.
I grinned. “I might have to fight a little. You know I’ll be okay though, right?”
“Fighting is part of the game,” Isla stated. “Bruh! We know that, Daddy. Just win your fights, okay?”
I laughed. “Bruh! Count on it.” I shot a questioning glance at my youngest sister. “Bruh?”
She shrugged. “As the oldest member of the family to be born in this century, it’s my responsibility to educate my nieces in current slang.”
“Uh-huh. They sound like the rookies, Sof.”
She shrugged, and I skated to the bench smiling.
“Heads up, duster!”
My skates flew out from under me before I could react, landing me flat on my back.
Above me, in a Seattle uniform, was the biggest jerk in the league. Dante Leinecker smirked and skated back to his team as I pulled myself up.
Xavier skated over. “You okay?”
“Already plotting my revenge,” I quipped. “Since when is he?—”
“The trade went through last night. I hate that guy.”
“You run into him already?” I asked. Xavier played with him years ago, and he constantly made passes at his sister, Daniella. And not of the hockey kind.
“Not yet,” Xavier said. “But we should watch out for him.” At our last game against Tulsa, Leinecker said something to Xavier that made him crazy. It took three of us to pull him off the guy. I landed a good punch, if I do say so myself.
“I won’t pass up a chance to hit him for you,” I promised.
He grinned. “And I’ll do the same when McCrae comes after you.”
“Deal, deal. Knuckie seal?” I rhymed.
It was our thing.
We fist-bumped to lock it in. Creighton McCrae had been a thorn in my side for years. The right-winger knew how to hook me on the backcheck without being detected by the linesman. Three times last game. I’d earned a ten-minute misconduct for sitting on him and punching him Christmas Story Ralphie style. I was strategic where I landed the punches and careful not to hurt him—I didn’t want the team to incur the extra penalty kill time for blood—but it sure looked bad on the replay. The fans ate it up. Probably mortifying for him, especially when a Ralphie/Scut Farkus clip played side-by-side with our replay on the jumbotron. It almost got me a hearing with the department of player safety. But someone decided the intent to harm wasn’t there, so I narrowly avoided a suspension.
What could I say? It was December, and my favorite movie was on my mind.
I was ready for him tonight. And Leinecker, too. Convenient that they were playing on the same line.
A few minutes in, their forward line matched up with Xavier and me on defense.
Seattle iced the puck, and as we gathered in the defensive right circle around Dean, flanked by wingers Noel Allaire and Kingston Brewer for the faceoff, Xavier and I mimed a plan.
I pointed to McCrae and then tapped my chest, then gestured for Xavier to take Leinecker. Xavier pointed at Noel and shook his head, reminding me about his kidney issue. Noel was married to Penny’s cousin Gabby and had only one kidney. We couldn’t let him get hurt.
The ref dropped the puck, and we dropped our gloves. Dean joined the scrum, and Kingston got in front of Noel, holding his stick horizontally, challenging anyone who would come toward them.
I landed the first punch on McCrae and was rewarded with a knee to the hip. “You fight like a girl, Creighton. Your sister teach you that move?”
“No, yours did,” he retorted. “It was hot, too.”
I laughed and launched myself at him. He twisted away, so I grabbed a fistful of his jersey, and we both went down.
“Don’t talk about my sister!” I hissed. Our helmets were off now, and I rolled on top of him. His eyes widened. I grinned. “Don’t worry.” I patted his cheek. “I won’t mess up your pretty face.” It was one thing to pretend to beat the stuffing out of a helmet and a whole other thing to give the guy a concussion.
I didn’t hate him. This was just business. I blew McCrae a kiss as the linesmen wrenched me off him and dragged me to the penalty box.
Xavier was already there. But he wasn’t grinning like I was. “Why the scowl over the foul?” I asked. “Didn’t you win?”
“To be continued.” He spit blood into a towel. “Freaking Leinecker. I really hate that guy.”
“Is Dani here?” I stretched my neck as I tugged on my returned gear.
He shook his head. “She’s at home in Seattle. But now he is, too. She trains at their practice rink.”
“Dani’s a grown woman, Swanny. She can—and does—handle herself. And him.”
He shrugged. “She shouldn’t have to. I don’t know why he’s so stuck on her. She’s never given him the time of day.”
“And there’s your answer.”
He turned to glare at the guy in the box next to us. “I’m not done with him.”
“We’ve all got your back. But let’s not get ejected, okay? We have a game to win, and I promised Wynnie a hat trick.”
He grinned. “You did, huh?”
“Yeah. So?”
His stupid smile widened. “Nothin’.” He looked up at the clock. Fifteen seconds until we could bust out. “That means we need at least four tonight since I had my lucky toffee coffee. You ready?”
The door opened. “Let’s do it.”