Page 47 of Pucking the Grump

“There you are, Remy,” Dad says as I round the corner into the living room. He’s in his favorite armchair. Stone and Justin occupy opposite ends of the leather couch. All three are nursing fancy whiskey, the only kind Dad buys, and which he only pulls out on momentous occasions.

My heart starts racing again, even before Dad arches a brow and adds, “It’s not like you to be late. Is everything all right?”

“Sorry, we’re having a supply chain issue with parts for the backup Zamboni, but we’ll get it sorted before the season starts. Hey guys.” I manage a tight smile for Justin and Stone as I perch on the edge of the large ottoman near Dad, hyper-aware of Stone’s presence just a few feet away.

Meanwhile, my golden retriever boyfriend looks perfectly at ease…at least to the untrained eye. But I know Stone well enough to realize that the hint of tension in his jaw is a tell that he’s pretty fucking stressed.

My boyfriend…

Just thinking about our new status is still enough to make me flutter a little inside…

“Hey, Remy,” Stone rumbles with a carefully friendly smile. “Glad you didn’t get into trouble in the rain. It’s nasty out there.”

“So gross,” Justin agrees easily. “And looks like we’re under a flood watch until tomorrow morning.” He looks comfortable, too, sprawled on the couch in a way I’ve never managed in this house.

But Justin’s notoriously chill and excellent at navigating complicated social situations. It’s part of what makes him such a good captain.

“Your dad was just telling us about the first time he got you out on the ice,” Justin adds, surprising me. Dad usually doesn’t talk about me at dinners like this, especially not personal stuff.

I fight to conceal my surprise as I ask, “Really?” I glance Dad’s way to find a small smile curving his lips.

Strange…

“You were only eighteen months old, the youngest toddler at the rink,” he says, sounding proud. “But you raced right out there, and kept getting up and going again, no matter how many times you fell down.”

I exhale an uncomfortable laugh. “Glutton for punishment, I guess. Even as a kid.”

“Determined and formidable, I’d say,” Stone counters.

“And impressive,” Justin says, wrinkling his nose as he adds, “Makes me think I need to get my little menace on skates sooner than I thought.”

“Would you like a drink?” Dad asks me, already rising to fetch. “I have that pinot noir you like.”

I almost say no—alcohol and anxiety aren’t always the best mix—but decide I could use something to take the edge off. “Sure, thanks.”

As Dad heads to the kitchen for the wine, I study Stone and Justin, trying to read the room. They both seem fine. Normal, even.

Stone gives me a subtle thumbs up and mouths, “It’s all good,” and Justin hisses, “Glad you’re here. If we don’t eat soon, I’m going to be crunk off this whiskey. I barely drink anymore. Libby and I are tired old parent people who go to bed sober at nine.”

“I’m a big fan of a nine p.m. bedtime, and I don’t even have a kid as an excuse,” I whisper with a smile. “We should eat soon. Dad doesn’t like to have dinner too late.”

Justin nods, seeming relieved, and Stone continues to look calm and reassuring.

Maybe I really am worried about nothing...

“Here you go.” Dad returns with my wine, and I accept it with a more relaxed smile. “Now, I’m sure you’re all wondering why I asked you here tonight. So, I’ll get right to it. My daughter needs your help. Rather urgently.”

I sputter and almost choke on my first sip of pinot.

Before I can recover and demand to know what the heck he’s talking about, he continues, “In just a few weeks, Remy has the interview of a lifetime with the Seattle Sirens, a team that stands to be the best in the new women’s league. But if she wants a shot at being competitive during that interview, she needs to show she’s got what it takes to skate with the pros.”

Finally regaining my voice, I ask, “What are you talking about, Dad? And how did you even know about the interview? I wanted to keep that private until I knew I had the job.”

“Hockey’s a small world, Remy. You should know that by now. Word gets around, especially when your father’s in the NHL,” he says in a way that makes me feel about two inches tall. As if he can’t believe I ever thought I could make a move in this sport without him knowing all about it. “But that’s neither here nor there. The point is, you need to be properly prepared. The women’s pro league is expanding, but there are still only seven teams. Competition for coaching positions isn’t just fierce, it’s cutthroat. You’re going to need more than a few solid seasons with an amateur team to stand out.”

The casual way he dismisses the Bushtits makes my jaw clench. These women work their asses off, juggling demanding jobs and family responsibilities while still showing up to every practice ready to give their all. They might not be pros, but they’re skilled athletes who deserve respect.

And it’s not like they could have played as a career, even if they’d wanted to. Women’s hockey is just now going pro. Right now, a good six years too late for me and most of my players I coach to have a shot at making pro dreams come true. Cecelia’s the only one both young enough and skilled enough to give it a shot, and she isn’t sure she’s ready to take that step. Her family and friends are here, and for most people, that means a lot.

---