Page 96 of Ice Dance Hockey

Asking my family to teach me about hockey was a mistake. I had this vision in my mind of us sitting on the couch with the kids, watching reruns of games while they explained the finer points of the sport to me.

But oh, no, no. That wasn’t good enough. The only way I was going to get a proper education was to play. My protests were ignored. Now I’m sweating my balls off under the hot sun as a defenseman, engaged in a violent game of street hockey. Most of the Meyers are here, all of Jack’s hockey buddies, and one of Jack’s brothers, Nicholas.

There are coolers of beer against the sidewalk, and some lounge chairs shaded by pop-up umbrellas so that Stanley could be part of the chaos. Bea has him in a sling against her chest and he somehow manages to sleep despite her loud voice shouting advice to the players.

Even though he’s Merc and Jack’s first child, he’s, like, number eighty-seven in a long line of Meyers. If he couldn’t sleep through a storm, he wouldn’t survive them.

At least I’m on Merc’s team. He’s been explaining the flow of the game and telling me how it would be on the ice.

“Car!”

Casey lifts his net from the pavement as his twin brother Stacey Alderchuck does the same. Playing hockey in the middle of the street isn’t sane or safe, yet it’s somehow not illegal. The game stops. The nets are moved. We wait until the car passes.

“Game on!”

“Game on!”

The nets are replaced, and we resume play from a face-off at center pavement—learned that today—which is a pinecone Theo found in the middle of a circle drawn with chalk.

Jack complained when everyone split him and Merc up and he’s pouting about it, but they kept making out in the middle of play.

I was learning a lot at the beginning when they slowed everything down and played things out for illustrative purposes, but they’re all either professional athletes or coaches, and their competitive natures took over. Even Theo and Lorelei are out for blood. He may only be six years old, but Theo can stick handle like a demon. Lorelei tries to “check” everyone. She’s too small to do any real damage, but the large hockey ogres toss themselves out of play when she rams into them, thinking they have to show me what it would really be like. Right. It’s yet another testosterone-induced competition over who can reenact the best beating. Rachel’s pretty slick. She’s already scored a goal.

It's been fun to watch Merc play. Especially against Jack. Merc isn’t a match for Jack at this point in his career, but Jack’s so gaga over him that Merc’s maneuvered past him a few times. He was staring at Merc’s ass.

The game has gone into overtime, which they were way too excited about so that they could teach me about overtime. Overtime is stupid. This game has gone on too long and it’s longer still with how many times we have to stop play for cars.

“Car!”

“Game on!”

I’ve been looking out for a certain car. I was able to sneak away to take a piss and, in that time, I pulled out my phone and, yep, called myself a hockey gorilla. They deserve it. He’ll end this game in five seconds.

“Car—hey!” Jack yells when he sees the red McLaren pull up.

Rhett parks and hops out, ready with a stick. Did he drive with that thing on his lap? “Heard there was a game. Mind if I join, fellas?”

“We already have enough players,” Casey says.

“I’ll tag off with him,” I offer, already taking a seat beside Bea and opening a can of a vodka soda drink from the cooler.

“Not fair. He’s fresh,” Casey complains.

“Afraid I’ll show you up? Or that you’ll walk away injured and unable to see your?—”

“Okay, okay, Elkington. We don’t talk about that. Go ahead and end the game for us,” Casey says, backing down a lot easier than I’ve ever seen him.

Rhett hasn’t said hello to me yet, acknowledging me with a nod instead. He’s way too far into beast mode. He’s also wearing a ballcap, which means he dropped everything to get here for me.

Goddammit, I will not swoon.

He’s dressed in a white tank, a pair of gray board shorts and runners, and he hasn’t shaved his face yet today.

I’m gonna rub my face all over that scruff.

Merc’s studying him, for once, not with contempt.

“Game on!” Theo yells at the top of his lungs. Rhett whacks his stick against the pavement.

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