Page 14 of Bite Your Tongue

It seems scary, but then I weigh the other side of it all. I may be settling. And while I do love Portland and the hospital I’ve been at for a while now, I’m not sure if it’s my happily ever after because I’ve never been anywhere else. I didn’t grow up in Portland, but I did grow up a few hours away from here, so I might as well have because Maine is … well, Maine. And after everything that happened with Rowan and God knows how many other Bay Sharks saw that video … this place seems tainted now. Not to mention, my best friend lives in California anyway. It would be different if she were here too; it would make it harder to leave.

I think it’s time for me to start thinking about my next step. And depending on how this visit to Charleston goes … that may be my fresh start.

At the very least, while I’m in Charleston, I’m going to stop into Sewing Down South and get myself a pillow from the one and only Craig fromSouthern Charm—that’s for damn sure. After all, it is my favorite show.

Tripp and I lace our skates up, and judging by the sighs that keep coming from his direction, he’s not happy to be here. Recently, the team started doing this thing once a month where two players donate their Sunday to come to the arena and work with kids who are aspiring hockey players. Today’s session was actually supposed to be me and Kolt, but since he’s still recovering, Tripp had to step in. He’s not irritated because he’s a dick, but instead, he’s always nervous he’ll say something in front of the public that will land him in hot water. Whatever we do or say gets turned into a fucking headline. I don’t worry about it, but Tripp is a whole other story, and I think that probably stems back to whatever he left behind in Alabama.

“Ready?” I say, standing up.

“No,” he grumbles but slowly stands.

“Dude, it’s kids,” I say. “Pull the stick out of your ass. They are children. It’s not like they are going to ask you about your season or how many sexual partners you’ve had. Relax.”

“Yeah, well, did you ever think that some of the parents who bring their kids to this have ulterior motives?” he grumbles. “You really think everyone has good intentions? No. They are using their snot-nosed little brats to get info.”

“You’re fucking weird,” I utter before turning away from him and toward the door. “Come on. Hurry the hell up.”

I can hear him coming behind me leisurely. I understand his concerns. As professional athletes, we do have to be careful about who we trust, but, goddamn, he takes it to a whole other level of crazy. These sessions are very controlled. Only so many people are allowed in; it’s first come, first serve; and every person goes through a security check. He needs to calm down.

As we make our way onto the ice, the parents in the stands erupt into cheers. Kids gather in different parts of the arena, assembled in small groups so it’s not too overwhelming and each child gets the most out of this clinic.

I love kids, so I wasn’t mad when I found out this weekend was my turn to be here. Growing up, I had been lucky to have the opportunities to play sports at the levels I did. When I told my parents my dream was to be in the NHL, they did everything they could to help me get here. For some of these kids, their parents don’t have the means to do that, and that’s why I love this program. It gives kids a shot who otherwise wouldn’t get one.

Skating toward my first group, I grin as their eyes grow wide and their smiles spread across their faces. I never thought I’d be someone’s hero, and I have to say, I don’t think I deserve it, but it makes me feel damn good.

After a few hours, the clinic is getting ready to end, and overall, I think most of the kids did well, and they all seemed to have a great time.

While the kids get their participation shirts, which the entire team signed prior to today, Tripp comes next to me.

“That kid wearing the Sterns jersey is really good for a ten-year-old.” He jerks his chin toward the boy who was undoubtedly the standout today.

“Cash,” I say, referring to the kid’s name, nodding. “He was good. His grandfather owns that bakery downtown that Sawyer is always going to.”

“You mean the one he goes to weekly to buy out their doughnuts to feed the homeless but thinks he’s doing it secretly?” Tripp says, smirking.

“Yeah, that’s the one.” I chuckle, watching as the kid skates off with the T-shirt in his hand.

When he starts to exit the arena, a pretty woman is there to greet him. She gives him a high five before pointing toward Tripp and me.

“Who’s that? His sister?” Tripp says, clearly intrigued. Not that I can blame him. She’s stunning in a natural sort of way.

“I’d say it’s his mom,” I guess just as Cash starts skating back toward us.

“Thank you for today,” Cash says, beaming at both of us. “I really loved being here.” His eyes actually gloss over, making my heart melt in my chest because I can tell he means every word. “This was the best day of my life.”

Raw talent is great and all—and this kid certainly has it. But he also has that spark inside of him that pushes him to want to be the best. To ask questions, to take corrections graciously because he wants to improve. Those are qualities that make a champion.

It’s hard for me to keep it together in moments like this, but doing my best, I grin at him and squeeze his shoulder. “You’ve got a lot of talent, kid. Don’t give up, okay?”

I don’t expect Tripp to say anything because it’s just not who he is, but he surprises me when his deep voice speaks. “You’ve got something special, Cash. Hell, I think you’re better than I was at your age.”

“Same,” I utter with a laugh.

The kid’s eyes grow wide, and he looks like he may pass out. Keeping my hand on his shoulder, I skate beside him, back toward his mom—unsure of why Tripp is hot on my ass because,a few hours ago, he was bitching about having to be here at all. Now, he’s eager to stay and chat with parents.

“Your boy isn’t just a great athlete; he’s polite too.” I smile down at Cash before lifting my gaze to his mom.

She doesn’t appear nervous, the way some people might when they meet a professional athlete, but instead, she swells with pride as her son makes his way off the ice and to her.

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