Page 7 of My Best Bet

The joy of playing that slowly turned into the pressure to perform.

Round and round ‘til each group aged out or got burnt out.

Shit… My muscles locked up as I stared at the rink. Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to bring my daughter here.

“Daaad!We’re here! Let’s go!” Lucy yelled from the backseat.

I guess it was too late to back out now. Blowing out a resigned sigh, I unfolded myself out of the driver's seat and rounded the truck to let her out. She was small for her age and my truck was still too high for her to jump down from. I’d secretly miss the day she stopped needing me to help her out.

But as soon as her feet hit the cracked parking lot cement, she didn’t wait for me. She took off in a sprint toward the entrance.

“Lucy Grace Conover,” I scolded. I caught her in two strides, grabbing the handle of her pink backpack to lift her off the ground. She kicked her feet aimlessly in the air. “What do we say about parking lots, huh?”

“W-we have to h-hold h-hands,” she grumbled through chattering teeth right as a gust of cold wind blew into us.

“That’s right.” I arched a skeptical eyebrow at her. “You’re not cold?”

“N-no! You’re just slow. B-because you got a lead butt,” she accused, practically shivering.

I snorted. “Me? Lead butt? Who taught you to say that?” I knew the likely answer.

“Uncle Kappy,” she mumbled, her lips tugging up a bit.

“Yeah, well, next time he says that, ask him who won the All-Star race last year,” I said, fighting off a smirk. “And the year before that,andthe year before that.” The only reason I still bothered showing up to the NHL All-Star events was to put Kappy back in his place.

She released a reluctant giggle and kicked her feet more, motioning for me to put her down.

This time, she reached for my hand, and we trekked to the entrance together.

There’s still good here,I repeated to myself as I pulled open the heavy glass door. We had to risk the bad if we wanted to go after anything good in life, and Lucy needed some good. I had to bet on this. I had to believe this place could be good for her because I wasn’t sure what else to do.

As soon as we entered the rink lobby, Lucy tugged on my hand. “Look Daddy,” she whispered. “It’s you!” She pointed a delicate finger at a small Windy City Whaler’s calendar posted on the bulletin near the main office. “And Uncle Kappy! And Uncle JP!”

“Yupp,” I said with a soft chuckle, scratching the back of my head. “We practice here, honey.”

Her brown eyes went wide as saucers. “I’m skating on the same ice as you?” She came to games occasionally, but she’d never been to one of my practices before– it’d probably bore her to tears.

“Well, we practice on the back sheet of ice, way back there.” I motioned toward the back of the building. “You figure skaters won’t even notice us hockey boys,” I told her with a wink. I hoped she wouldn't noticeanyhockey boys for a long,longtime.

Housing our practice ice, a state-of-the-art gym upstairs, a solid pro-shop, and two other sheets of ice for youth sports, the Coliseum Arena was a massive building in downtown Chicago. While the walls were decked out in our team colors– white, dark blue, and light blue– beyond that, the average person wouldn't know we practiced here, which was by design. It kept things peaceful– as peaceful as they could be for an NHL team.

“The figure skaters are over there.” I pointed to Rink 1 on our left where some figure skaters were circling the ice.

Seeing that a squirt hockey practice was in full-swing on Rink 2, I pulled my hat lower. Signing autographs or taking pictures with kids wasn’t a problem, but I wanted to avoid conversations with hockey parents that’d pull me away from watching Lucy skate.

Hans, the rink manager, caught my eye as he shuffled back to the main office. He raised a hand in greeting and gave a rare smile to Lu. Lucy waved back shyly.

At close to eighty-years-old, Hans was still built like a hockey player, and probably still strong as an ox, but his movements were slowing down, and it was sad to see. I could still picture him twenty years ago, reprimanding me, Kap, and JP for getting into trouble back at Centre Ice where he used to be the rink manager. He had a way of shaking his head in disappointment that made players button it up and get back to work.

When JP caught wind that Centre Ice was folding a few years back, he pulled some strings for Hans to get this job. It was honestly the least we could do considering the three of us practically tortured the man with all our pranking and shenanigans through the years. I think he secretly missed usafter we left Centre Ice though, because he kept in touch with us through the years, always shooting off a text or two of advice after a bad game or a congratulations after accomplishments.

Hans was actually the one I talked to when setting up this lesson for Lucy. He reassured me that the figure skating club here was starting to gain some traction, and that every coach employed here had to run trial lessons before taking on students to make sure they fit the Coliseum’s standards. He told me this club was different from Centre Ice, where he had no control over employment.

Lucy took her little white figure skates out her backpack and pulled them on her feet, then waited for me to tie them up.

Last year, I brought home a new pair of hockey skates for her. She made an “ew” face and said they were for “smelly boys” – I should’ve known right then that I was in trouble, but I just thought it was funny. The offended look on Kappy’s face when she said that was priceless. She’d been using a toepick ever since– despite Kappy and JP continually trying to lure her into hockey by showing her women’s hockey games.

“You ready?” I asked after finishing one skate.

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