Page 47 of The Game Changer

“Nice to meet you.” He offers his hand to John.

“This, here, is for you, sir.” John hands him the bottle of Scotch. Dad looks it over, his bushy eyebrows raising up as he reads the label.

“Thank you, this is quite the bottle,” Dad tells him, setting it down on the counter.

“Only the best. I was introduced to that label by a former teammate. It took me a few times trying it before I really enjoyed it, but now it’s my go-to, even if it is expensive.”

“We can have a glass after dinner,” Dad says. “So, John, tell us about yourself.”

“I’m a pretty open book, what would you like to know?” he asks in return.

“Whatever you’d like to share.” Dad chuckles. “Just the basics to start will be fine.”

“Born and raised in St. Louis. I started playing hockey as a kid and quickly realized I had a natural talent. I let that talent lead the way, first by playing in the juniors, followed by being drafted and then heading off to college. Once I was out of college, I played in the AHL for a portion of my rookie season before being called up to play in the NHL. I just retired this past summer after suffering from a career-ending TBI.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” my mom says softly.

“It was definitely a hard pill to swallow, and I’ve had my moments since the injury, but for the most part, I’m healthy and I haven’t suffered debilitating symptoms like some TBI patients do.”

“I imagine you’ve got the top doctors in the area working on your case?” Dad asks him.

“Yes, the team provides all my medical and they only hire the best. I’ve been working with Dr. Price and he’s been amazing.”

“He’s one of the good ones. I’ve met him at a few functions over the years.”

“That he is,” John agrees.

“Shall we take our seats at the table?” Mom asks. “Dinner is ready,” she adds.

“Can I help with anything?” John asks Mom.

“Thank you for the offer, but I’ve got everything under control,” she tells him.

“All right.” He nods before turning to follow me to the formal dining room. He places his hand on my lower back as we make our way out of the kitchen.

Mom’s got a huge spread on the table already. A large pot roast is on a platter, surrounded by potatoes and carrots. On another plate is freshly made dinner rolls and a salad in a bowl next to that.

“Wow, this looks amazing, Mom,” I tell her as we all take our seats. John pulls my chair out, allowing me to sit before he helps me adjust it.

“Such a gentleman,” Mom whispers to me as John and my dad take their seats.

Once everyone has served themselves, Mom starts back in with the questions. We cover everything from his family—where I interject and tell my parents just how cute his nephew is—to his career and where we each see ourselves five years from now.

“John, would you like to grab that glass of scotch and have a few minutes alone on the back deck?” my dad asks him. It is the fatherly, “What’re your intentions with my daughter” speech that I’m sure every father that has girls prepares.

“He’s not going to grill him too much, is he?” I ask my mom.

“I don’t think so, dear. He can see how much the two of you obviously feel about one another. It’s cute, really, and at the end of the day, your dad and I just want you happy. If Johnathan makes you happy, then so be it. He seems like a good man, so I say go for it, m’dear. You only get one crack at life, so make the most of it.”

“Do you think our age gap is an issue?” I ask her.

“Does it bother you?” she turns the question back on me.

“I’ve never felt like it does, I just didn’t know if you thought Dad would have an issue with it.”

“He doesn’t get to have an issue with it since he’s eight years older than me,” she reminds me.

“I never even really thought about that,” I tell her, laughing at the fact that my parents have the same number of years between them that Johnathan and I have between us.

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