Page 4 of Slap Shots & Sweethearts

He snatches the lemon bar, container and all, out of my hands. Holding it as if it's as precious as a pot of gold.

"Aren't you sick of those yet?" I ask.

For weeks, Hannah has brought one of those in every day, and every day Lou eats it one nibble at a time. Savoring each nibble like a man on death row.

"Never." Lou sits on the bench, and carefully lifts the lemon bar out. He takes the smallest nibble possible and groans.

Nate looks at Lou and shakes his head. "One of these days she's going to put Ex-Lax in one of those."

Lou takes another nibble before saying. "Totally worth it if she does."

I shake my head and tell them both I'll see them tomorrow.

"Going to the hospital again?" Lou asks me.

"Yeah."

The drive from the arena to the hospital takes thirty minutes. The ride in the elevator to the fourth floor only lasts a couple of minutes before it spits me out to the pediatric floor that smells of strong antiseptic. Ivy, the head nurse, smiles as soon as she sees me and I pull her into a quick hug. She's four foot five, and barely reaches my chest as I wrap my arms around her.

"How's the head nurse today?" I ask my cousin, dropping my arms.

She smiles, but I can see the tiredness on her face. "I was so glad when I got your text. We have some kids that could use a distraction."

"Happy to provide it." I tell her, "Who am I visiting first?"

"We'll go to Noah's room."

"He's back again?" I ask.

She nods and purses her lips for a moment before saying, "I'm sure he'll tell you about it."

These visits are hard on my soul, but if Ivy can handle it so can I. As kids we were very competitive. As we grew older, I channeled that into sports, and Ivy beat me with her brain and grades. She saves lives, I just play on the ice.

Noah's hospital room has the standard medical stuff, but the walls are painted a bright blue that's more fitting in a Dr. Seuss story than the sterile white I'd expected the first time I visited.

"Matt!" Noah's eyes go big with excitement.

He tries to sit up, but he's so tired. For a ten-year-old, he's been in and out of the hospital more times than I can count. His hair is long gone thanks to all the chemo, and he's pale thanks to all the time spent in bed.

His mom pushes the button to make the bed shift up more.

"Hey little man," I say. "How's my biggest fan?"

"Just got done with chemo." His mom tells me. "You came just in time."

"That's big stuff," I tell Noah, and pull out a puck from my pocket and hold it up. "Pretty sure that means you earned a lucky puck. I got this one from practice today. Hit it with a slap shot so fast, the goalie didn't even see it. Think you can take care of my lucky puck?"

The corners by Noah's eyes crinkle just enough to tell me he's smiling behind the mask he's wearing.

"I can!" He tells me.

I look at Noah's mom really quick to see that she's got a smile on her face too. I tuck the puck in Noah's hand and we talk for a few more minutes, but I can tell he's pretty tired.

Ivy finishes chatting with Noah's mom in the hallway and gives me a nod that we can go. I tell Noah goodbye before heading for the door. His mom stops me just outside the door.

"Thank you so much for coming by." she says. "Today was a hard one for him. He needs more happiness in his life."

She takes a really big deep breath, and I can tell she's holding back tears. These visits are for more than just the kids. The families need something positive to look forward to. My brain starts turning and an idea comes to me.

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