Page 11 of The Fake Out Flex

Outside of people actually involved in the game, she's the most hockey-obsessed person I know. She puts the fan in fanatic.

She watches every single game of the season.

She drives three hours to all LA home games, which is essentially Comfort Bay's home team since it's the closest city with an NHL team.

And I know for a fact she still compiles a spreadsheet of team statistics, covering everything from shots on goal to power play opportunities to time of possession because as she starts talking, she pulls out her phone and opens up said spreadsheet, referring to it every so often.

After every game I play, she very kindly emails her notes for me to ponder.

It all comes from a good place, even if she sometimes gets carried away by it. She forgets that big dumb hockey players have feelings, too. But she's a lot better these days than she used to be. She was harsh back in high school.

I wait until she's done sharing her thoughts, including encouraging me to work on my shooting techniques in training because apparently my wrist shots have been letting me down. She's actually right. That's something I have been working on in the offseason.

"You know, I think you've missed your calling," I say.

"How so?"

"You'd be an amazing coach."

"I don't think so."

"Why not? You've got expertise in the game. Great insights. Killer analysis."

"And you're super bossy," Levi supplies. "An important quality in a coach."

I frown at Levi. "That's not necessarily a bad thing," I say to him before turning to Evie and lowering my voice. "And you're not really that bossy."

"Thanks." For a split second, she looks like she may be considering it before shaking her head. "No. No. That's crazy. I'm not coaching material."

"Weren't you tossing up between being a reporter and a teacher in high school?" I ask, the conversation we had lying on her bedroom floor, staring up at the ceiling, drifting back to me. "Being a coach isn't that far off from teaching."

"I was also tossing up whether fanny packs should make a comeback." She smiles at me. "Which, for the record, they should not."

"Okay." I raise my hands. "I'm dropping it."

"Food's up," Levi announces, and we make our way to the dinner table.

"This smells great," Evie says, taking a seat.

"And not too overpowering," I happily add.

"Thanks. Dig in, guys."

We fall into an easy conversation.

I haven't seen Levi in over three months. He traveled with the band he manages on the European leg of their world tour, so he regales us with a few backstage stories.

"And how are your folks?" I ask.

Levi's demeanor changes instantly. "I'm still a huge disappointment to Dad for not following in his footsteps and becoming you, basically."

"And I'm still a huge disappointment to Mom for not moving to Washington and taking up, what she calls, a real reporting career," Evie says from across the table.

"Right. Glad I brought that up. Let's move on. How's your work, Evie?"

Evie stops eating. "Fine. For the most part."

Levi and I exchange a look.

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