Page 10 of For Puck's Sake

“What’s wrong? Do you need me to come home? Why is Devan there? Is there something you two need to tell me?” I ask in quick succession. I’m such a dick.

“No. No, you don’t need to come home. Devan is always here. We . . . we— It’s Devan. You know how he is.” Lia fumbles her words as she struggles to answer my questions, and I can’t help myself.

“How is he, Lia? I have no clue what you’re talking about,” I tease, and she scoffs down the line.

“Look. Don’t worry about me. I’m just glad I know you’re safe. Your penthouse is flooded with paparazzi. I couldn’t reach you, Rid,” she says, the distress in her voice bringing us full circle, and my guilt for not letting her know where I was going comes rushing back.

“I’m sorry, Lia. I was so busy escaping, I dropped the ball. It’s not like me.” I sigh. “You know where I am if you need me. I’m staying at Tor’s so?—”

“You’re staying where?” she shrieks in alarm. I can hear more muffled conversation, followed by rustling. The phone goes silent for so long I think she’s hung up. “Ridley,” she finally says, the sound of sadness in her voice wipes the smile off my face.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, genuinely concerned by her use of my whole name.

“You’ve been doing so well lately. I just want you to be happy. Promise me. No matter what happens.” I don’t know what to say. This entire phone conversation has been cryptic as hell. Not sure how she wants me to answer or her meaning behind her words, but I give her my honesty.

“I’ll be at the community center every day, and Tor’s at night. I meant it when I said I am laying low. I have enough drama going on in my life right now, I don’t need any more. I promise, I’m as happy as I can be considering the circumstances,” I say reassuringly to her and to myself. I have no intention of drawing attention to myself whilst in Lark Bay.

“I love you, Rid. I’ll let you go. Keep me posted,” she replies after she hums approvingly at my words.

“I love you too, Li. Are you sure you’re okay?” I ask again. Sure, we never shied away from telling each other how we feel. Lia and I both know how fleeting life is. One minute our parents were there and the next they weren’t. When I got news of the accident, I thought I had lost all three of them. But Lia survived with only minor injuries. If I had lost her too, who knows where I’d be.

“All is well big brother. Now, go enjoy Lark Bay. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” she says suggestively.

“I promised to stay out of trouble, remember?” I lift a brow she can’t see and laugh.

“Bye, Rid.” She hangs up before I can question our conversation further. It’s not like Lia to rush off the phone, but I shrug it off and remind myself to check in with her later. Whatever is going on with her, she’ll spill it when she’s ready.

“Mr. Masters, sir, ah, welcome to Lark Bay Community Center.” A tall, bulky kid comes barreling towards me before I can reach the front door. Well, I say kid, but it is obvious by his height and size that he is far from it. He’s as tall as I am, but his baby face still clings to him. I clock him at nineteen, twenty-one tops. By the starstruck look in his eyes he is definitely a hockey fan and possibly a player. The kid is huge. He approaches with so much enthusiasm, he stumbles as he stops in front of me with an outstretched hand. Now that he’s in front of me though. I tilt my head, he looks familiar, but I can’t place where I’ve seen him before.

“I wasn’t expected until tomorrow,” I say quickly, stepping back in surprise by the way he rushed out of the building towardme. I mean, I know it’s a small town, but there’s no way news travels this fast. “I’ve just arrived and thought I’d drop in to see the new rink.” I hold out my hand and shake his in greeting. “You know my name.” I lift my brow expectantly. “And you are?”

“Oh wow, sorry, Derrick, sir. I mean, Mr. Masters. Derrick Shaw,” he says while shaking my hand vigorously, yet the grip is sure and confident. My arm jiggles from his enthusiastic hold, I feel bad for the kid and finally pry my hand away. Realization dawns and poor Derrick’s face flushes with embarrassment. He takes a minute to collect himself, taking a deep breath before speaking. “I was here for orientation. I was initially here to assist Tor, I mean, Mr. Bailey, but then he had a schedule change. When they told me I’d be assigned to help you this summer . . . well, I freaked out with excitement.” He rubs the back of his neck nervously. “It’s an honor. I was on my way home when I saw you step out of your car. I got a little carried away. My apologies. I’m not normally so awkward.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Derrick.” I smile, putting the kid out of his misery. I get it. I entered the NHL at around his age. I know all too well how awkward interaction can be when you have hearts in your eyes over players you grew up watching. I shift around him, gesturing with a nod of my head for him to follow.

Derrick is hot on my heels as we enter the community center. The smell of fresh paint still lingers in the air from the most recent renovation. With all the fundraising Tor does for this place, the town was able to replace the ice rink, add an Olympic-sized pool, and sponsor a new music program. It feels good to actually see your money at work, and although I haven’t been here in a while, I always donated to this cause. A sense of pride washes over me knowing I’ve helped in some way.

A brightly-colored mural of the cove at sunset is painted along the long wall to the right of the entrance. Lining the left wall are glass display cases, with bulletin boards encased insidelittered with leaflets and notifications of classes and events being held this summer. Hallways branch off in various directions from the main entrance leading to offices, the gym, classrooms, and of course, the hockey rink. It’s crisp and clean, smelling of fresh paint with an undertone of crayons and construction paper, you know the old school smell that catapults you back to Kindergarten. Okay, maybe it’s the smell I associate with school, sue me.

Like a beacon, the rink calls to me and my body turns toward it automatically. Derrick walks beside me, easily keeping pace with me as the brisk cold air flows toward us from the open doors. I study the young man next to me. Thinking of him as a kid initially was a poor evaluation, especially as we get closer to the ice. Derrick’s posture straightens, shoulders back, eyes scanning the ice with anticipation. I know that look. I smirk, I guess my assumption was right. “You play hockey, Derrick?” I ask curiously, brow quirked with amusement as we approach the ramp that leads to the ice. I mean, if I’m going to spend most of my days with him by my side this summer, it wouldn’t hurt to get to know him.

“Goalie,” he says matter-of-factly as we reach the boards. The loud hum of the Zamboni brings a smile to my face as I spot Rick. I wouldn’t necessarily call the older man a janitor, he is more than a caretaker of the ice. Super Ice Man is what I called him when we first met. The older man doesn’t spot us right away, he sits tall, eyes forward as he drives around the ice toward us. Some things never change.

I pause at the amount of bravado in Derrick’s voice. Gone is the nervous stumbling person who approached me outside. There is a surety in his voice, and it makes me nod my head in understanding. Yep, definitely a hockey player. Why do I get the feeling I’ve seen his face before. CNN? Sports Center? Damn it.

Just to see how he will respond, I push further. I keep my eyes forward, eyeing him in my periphery. “You any good?”

He scoffs, “I’ve been signed with The Toronto Stars for two years, but I attend university in Vancouver as a promise to my mother to get my degree first. I’m the first person in my family to go to college. I put my NHL goals on hold to honor her wishes. Plus, my coaches and Mr. Bailey thought it would be better for me to gain more experience working my way through some of the best hockey players a collegiate level has to offer. You know, goalies are rare, only two of us versus the eighteen other men on the team. As a rookie, I would be someone’s second, and probably not get a lot of playing time. It was the best decision I’ve made so far. When the time comes, I will be more than ready to take Stockman’s place when he retires. But yeah, I’m damn good,” he says confidently, finally glancing over at me with his own smirk in place.

Fucking Derrick Shaw. It all falls into place. This is the new rookie goalie taking over in Toronto at the start of the new hockey season. He’s been all over sports news as the new player to watch.

I lean in, just shy of nudging his side. “So, the same Toronto Stars who lost to us in the Stanley Cup Final.” I raise a brow, I’m such a dick, but I can’t help myself. I have to shake the kid up a bit.

Derrick straightens even further and gives me the cockiest smile he can muster. “That’s because they didn’t have me in the crease.” He shrugs like he didn’t throw a gauntlet down in challenge. Well, I see you, Derrick Shaw. He went from starstruck fanboy outside to don’t fuck with me goalie in minutes. I respect the shit out of that. We are going to get along fine.

I lift my eyes in admiration and shock. I’m impressed. Well, not impressed with my inability to place him, but hey, I’ve beengoing through some shit these past few months. I keep my expression neutral, giving him nothing. I make a note to self to kick Tor’s ass for not giving me a heads-up. I don’t miss an opportunity to jostle Derrick further though, I pull out the big guns. “I guess we’ll see what you’re made of then. We’ll have to test your skills against Bast this summer. He’ll be here next week.” I smile like the Grinch who stole the hockey sticks as the color drains from his face. Oh, young padawan, you have so much to learn. If you’re going to swing your dick around, keep it out and be ready to fight with it.

He coughs and sputters. “Ahh . . . Sebastian Bergeron, I mean, Bast . . . The Bast, with the most shutouts in the NHL. I . . . I . . . could never.” He shakes his head back and forth. “I’m nowhere near . . . there’s no competition, Mr. Masters?—”

---