Page 15 of Breakneck Hockey

“No thanks to him. Charles pushed me, sir,” Joey says.

“Joey pushed him first,” Eric tattles.

Dad gave me a wild gang of youths aged eleven to fifteen. We’re a bit like the Scouts of Canada, but our own thing called The Moose Scouts, and designed for troubled young men. I was one of them. Dad somehow talked me into joining when I was fifteen. Only Francisco Domingo could talk an angry, destructive teenager into joining a somewhat militant organization that takes you out into the middle of nowhere for two weeks of the summer. It’s also a year-round volunteer program, but once I went off to the AHL, my volunteering was limited to the off-season. The summer crowd is largest anyway—some of the kids can only join the summer option.

Francisco was also able to earn that same teenager’s respect enough to get the title “Dad” from him. He’s technically my stepdad, but I’d be in a gutter somewhere if it weren’t for him. Somehow, he knew I’d like the outdoors. Survival. It gave me a hobby that made me feel competent.

Pretty sure Charles has a crush on Joey. I know he does. Great, now I relate to a couple of fifteen-year-old boys. Is that why I’ve been bullying Alderchuck all this time? Is that why he bullies me? Are we nothing but testosterone-fueled pubescents on the inside, even though we’re at the ripe age of twenty-six?

Nah. Can’t be it.

But now that Alderchuck’s strolled into my mind, I have to exile him from my brain. I’ve thought of little else but Alderchuck, since he stormed out of my apartment the first time we fucked. Something happened that night, a switch turned on inside of me, and I haven’t been able to turn it off. I thought a little fresh air and teaching kids some wilderness survival skills would cure me of my affliction, but I was wrong.

It’s been nothing but a barrage of images—him bent over the boat, bent over a picnic table, pushed up against a tree. Hell, on his back works for me, too. Even better. I’m gonna spread those thick thighs of his so fucking far apart he’ll need new tendons.

Dammit. On a boat. Troubled youths.Focus, Sutter.

“If you two don’t figure your shit out, off the boat you go,” I tell them. I didn’t say I was a hearts and flowers leader. This is how I deal with domestic disputes within my crew.

“You’re not supposed to say stuff like that to kids, sir,” Eric says.

Eric’s a bit of a tattletale, but he’s a little younger than the other two.

“No shit?” I say.

“He’s not really gonna do it, dumbass,” Charles says.

Won’t I? They’ve been going at it all day. We’re close to shore. All three of them know how to swim. Dad will have a few choice words for me, but I’m too old for him to ground. Besides, I would argue that kids like them wouldn’t take me seriously if I wasn’t on their level in some way, and I’d have a good point. They’re kids who have grown up in rough neighborhoods, with a rough home life. A hearts and flowers approach is too foreign to them. It’s gotta be somewhere in the middle.

There’s a reason I’ve won counselor of the year via vote from the kids and the leaders for the past three years in a row. I’m good at that balance. They know I don’t fuck around and that’s why they trust me to be there for them. Ultimately, Francisco knows that, too, which is why he gives me some leeway to do things my way.

But, yeah, they’re not fucking around on this boat.

“Get to starboard, Joey. You’re on fender duty and then you’re gonna help with the stern as we dock. Charles, fuck this up because you’re fucking around and you’re on kitchen duty for the rest of the night.”

“I won’t fuck it up because I’m fucking around.”

“What about me, sir?” Eric says.

“You’re gonna help me guide the boat to the dock using the bow rope.”

“And them?”

Three of the other boys are on the bow. They’re still teenage boys, and you have to pick your battles with them, so I let them sit up there when they were getting rowdy earlier. “I have jobs for them later.” They’re going straight on latrine duty. They’ve been fucking around and now they find out.

I hand Eric the rope, he’s shaking. “I haven’t done this by myself before.”

“I know, which is why I’m gonna be right here. I promise, you got this, kid.”

“It’s easy,” Joey assures him. “I’ll have the stern, and Charles is steering the boat. You won’t have to do much.”

“Okay.”

Eric crouches on the thin-lipped gunwale, and I stay close so I can jump out just after he makes his leap. Joey drops the fenders over, and Charles does a decent job of steering the boat flush with the dock. He’s the “me” of their little group. Cool. Thinks he’s super badass. Closed off. A total shithead.

Dealing with him, I feel bad for what I put my mother through at his age.

“Now, Eric,” I instruct.

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