Page 2 of His Jersey

My problem is everyone in my father’s circle thinks they’re better than everyone else because of the zeroes on checks they write.

Then again, I am one of those rich guys, so don’t listen to anything I say.

I’d originally declined to attend because of my busy schedule, but due to the delay while I waited for the jet to be repaired, I had no reason not to go. I didn’t want to take any chances by leaving on a commercial flight. Hockey players can be a tad superstitious.

I’m just -stitious.

Instead, I snubbed Dad and his new wife. I’m still waiting for the fallout.

Back to the present day: Friday. I'm in the supply closet, hiding from overzealous fans. The Oklahoma Thunder just obliterated us. We should’ve won the game because the Thunder is just OK.

Now I’m really itching to leave. To break this losing streak and how it’s messing with my head. But more than anything, I want to spend the weekend at Jewel Island, alone, in my mother’s memory. Had I been able to do as originally planned, I would’ve had full forward line focus. Instead, I’m huddled next to a gungy mop bucket.

Still pacing in the hall waiting for me, one of the puck bunnies says, “If we don’t find him, I’m going to have a menty-b.”

The second one sounds frantic with worry. “Like a mental breakdown?”

A rapid cry of frustration comes from the other side of the door. “Yes! What other kind of menty-b is there? If thathappens, I’ll lose control and eat all the cookies. All of them.” Her voice shakes.

“No, no. Don’t do that. We have to save them for Jackie. Are you sure there’s not another exit from the locker room?”

“Just the rink.”

“Come on. Let’s see if he’s by the press area.”

Having given up for now, the puck bunnies retreat. When the clicking of high heels fades down the hallway, I peer out of the closet and dash in the opposite direction.

When I round the corner, several other players and members of management gather in a wide circle.

From a distance, I overhear Duffton, one of our defensemen, saying, “Anyone know where Jack went?”

Involuntarily freezing in place, I hope they didn’t spot me. Silently whistling, I’m just a man of above average height and build lingering over here in the hallway studying the bulletin board.

Doo-dee-doo-dee-doo.

Nothing to see here. Looks like the upcoming figure skating showcase is seeking volunteers.

Cole, our center, says, “He’s probably hooking up with his flavor of the week.”

No, this week I’m supposed to be mourning my mother and wondering how things would look in my life if she were still here. It’s the one time I let myself feel anything other than the high of being a rich and famous hockey star. Though lately, it’s more of a low, and not only because of the game losses. It’s like I’m playing a role.

My mind floats to that magical night at the resort when Jasmin and I snuck into the pool—though I'm pretty sure that's not her real name. She was like sunshine wrapped in a hug with bright eyes and a smile so sweet I couldn’t resist kissing her—a total dream girl. Way too good for me.

It may as well have been a fantasy with us playing different people. Yet, with her, I felt the most “me” I’ve ever been. Too bad I haven’t a clue how to track her down again.

That was the last time I felt anything other than this hinky. Something in my life is out of whack. I’m just not sure what.

If Mom were still around, my billionaire father certainly wouldn’t have had a three-quarter life crisis and remarried. She would’ve also kept him from applying the pressure that I say, “I do” to a woman whose family connections would benefit Bouchelle Luxury Properties.

I’m not looking for love, but if I were, it might be to the woman I saw at the resort with the ruby heart necklace, who I shared a milkshake with. The one who swam with me under the stars. The one who called herself Jasmin and smelled just as good. It will not be to Duchess Lucia von Fritsch of Denmark. Or is it Holland? Germany? I don’t know, but it’s whatever country my father wants to conquer next with his real estate developments.

Duffton’s voice floats my way down the hall. “Jack had better make himself scarce because Coach was not impressed tonight.”

Cole adds, “Number ten has been off lately.”

“Getting old,” Gunther, the goalie, jokes.

I don’t feel picked on because they’re in the crease, but I am a man, even if I occasionally hide from puck bunnies. Lurking over here isn’t a good look.

---