Page 30 of Hat Trick

“I didn’t let you see it. I put on a brave face on the outside, but inside, I was shitting bricks. The last thing I wanted was to be treated differently, and I was convinced everyone was going to start walking on eggshells around me. I was afraid of the awkward conversations that were bound to happen because how is a moment like that not uncomfortable?”

“What happened?” I ask. “It didn’t seem awkward.”

“When I walked out of the kitchen, I froze, and everyone stared. You remember Jimmy Jackson, right?”

“Yeah.” I smile at the mention of the station’s former chief and one of Dad’s best friends. “Of course I do.”

“He walked up to me, stuck out his hand, told me he’d be pissed as hell if I didn’t dress up like that leg lamp fromChristmas Storyfor Halloween, and that was it. It was acknowledged, and we all moved on.”

“I’m worried I won’t have anything in common with the guys anymore. They have skating and hockey, and I don’t. Did you ever feel like that?”

“In the beginning. My goal was always to return to my job, and I eventually did, but even if I hadn’t, my friends would’ve stuck around. I had one less limb, but I wasn’t different from the guy they used to know. Your friends haven’t left you, have they?”

“No. I’ve been the one to shut them out and do the ignoring.”

“Because you’re still coping with what happened, and no one is going to fault you for that. If they do, they can fuck off.”

I laugh. “Thanks, Dad. I wish you and Mom were here.”

“We could’ve been if you hadn’t waited until this morning to send a text about what was happening today.”

“I know. That was shitty of me. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize for your grief, son. It’s hard as hell, but you’re going to make it to the other side. You know I’m here if you need anything. Questions. Complaints. Halloween costume ideas,” he says. “Your mother and I are so proud of you. We’ve always been proud of you, and we’re going to keep being proud of you.”

My phone buzzes five times in rapid succession in my hand, and I know it’s Coach blowing up my messages to ask where I am. “I gotta run, Dad. Well. Not literally. Can’t do that yet. It’s more like I’m going to limp inside with my crutches because I’m still unsteady on my feet.”

“They suck, don’t they? Give it a few more weeks and you’ll be done with those things except for when you’re not wearing your prosthetic.”

“I’m thinking about installing a urinal next to the bed just so I don’t have to use them in the night when I need to pee.”

Dad laughs. “Shucks, Ri. You’ve always been damn smart.”

“Love you.”

“Love you too, kid. Which jersey are you wearing tonight?”

“The retro one from two seasons ago the merchandise team designed for our fifty-year anniversary. I assisted Mav on three goals the game we wore these. First time in my career doing that. Maybe this thing is lucky.”

“That one’s always been my favorite. Chin up, son. The finish line is closer than you think.”

We exchange another round of goodbyes, and I shove my phone in my pocket, feeling less alone.

* * *

I’m shakingwhen I open the door to the Stars’ locker room, and my crutches aren’t helping my steadiness. I’ve avoided the space when I’ve been here for my rehab sessions, but there’s no way around it tonight.

I guess it’s as good a time as any to confront the reality of my future: being a spectator, not a player. Never putting on hockey pants again unless I join a beer league down the road.

I step forward and stare at my cubby.

There’s no gear. No sticks, no skates. I can’t find the water bottle I forgot to take home at the end of last season, and I wonder if it got tossed in the trash with my jerseys.

My last name and number are still etched across the wood, but it’s only a matter of time before someone from arena operations comes in and peels the nameplate away.

With the regular season starting in fifteen days, the team officially put me on the LTIR this week. It means I’m going to be out at least ten games, even though we all know I’ll never suit up in a Stars jersey again.

I get it.

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