Page 131 of Power Play

Can’t wait to see you try, wife.

Piper

Maybe I’ll tell you how you should be doing your job better.

Me

Going through a tunnel. Losing service.

Piper

You’re such a shit.

I’ll complainfor hours about having to socialize with people as a side part of my job, but I won’t complain about signing autographs for kids.

I love listening to their favorite stories and how they fell in love with hockey. I like being told I’m their favorite goalie in the league and learning what positions they prefer to play.

The Blackhawks sucked during my childhood. They were the epitome of mediocrity, but that didn’t stop me from being a fan. I was obsessed. I listened to the games on the radio with my dad and dissected every single play, explaining what I would do if I were on the ice.

I didn’t talk a lot as a kid, but I came alive when I talked about hockey.

When I was eight, I met some of my idols at an event like this one. My parents spent all year saving up, forgoing Christmas presents to put money toward gala tickets, and Alana waspissedshe didn’t get the Barbie Dreamhouse she wanted.

I still have the signed photos from Kyle Calder and Jocelyn Thibault tucked in a closet at my parents’ house for safekeeping. They spent ten minutes with me, letting me chat their ear off about how I wanted to make it to the NHL too.

Their interaction with me taught me how professional athletes should interact with kids. You don’t rush them. You don’t look bored. You let them lead the conversation, and when they ask for a photo, you smile like you’re the happiest fucker in the world.

Because who knows what those kids might amount to. Could be the next Gretzky. Could be the next Maverick Miller. Could beme, and that’s a humbling thought.

“Thank you, Mr. Sullivan,” a small boy says when I hand him back his photograph. “I hope you win the Vezina Trophy.”

“I couldn’t do it without my teammates.” I stick out my hand out my hand and smile when he bumps his knuckles with mine. “Have fun tonight.”

He runs away, clutching the photo to his chest, and it still blows my mind people care about me as a player.

“Can I get a signed photo?” a voice says from behind me, and when I look over my shoulder, Piper is smiling at me. “Please?”

“Since you asked so nicely.” I rub my lips together to keep from grinning. “Do you have one with you?”

“I do. I carry it around in my pocket since I’m obsessed with you and everything.”

“Normal behavior.” I pat the stool next to me. “Come on over. I’ll personalize it for you too.”

“Player of the year right here.” She jumps on the barstool. “You look like you’re having fun.”

“It’s for the kids. The next generation of players and people who spend their allowance to come see me play. I’d rather talk to them than the owners with a minority stake in the club.”

“Eat the rich, am I right?” Piper puts a photograph on the bar, and I burst out laughing. “Look familiar?”

“Where did yougetthis?” It’s an image of me in college, tall and lanky. Before I learned eating protein will help me gain muscle. I look like a totally different person in the goal, and I shake my head at my poor knee positioning. “It’s a relic.”

“I had to do somedeepinternet sleuthing. The University of Wisconsin has some lovely academic programs, but they don’t keep many photos of past hockey teams.”

“Because they aren’t worth keeping.”

“I’d say photos from winning the Frozen Four are worth keeping. Especially when they feature the great Liam Sullivan.” Her fingers drum over the black-and-white image. “A signature, please.”

“Anything for a fan.” I uncap the Sharpie and look at her. “Any preference on how it’s addressed?”

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