Page 179 of Say Yes to the Nemesis
I clear my throat and try again. “Most of you know me as a hockey player. Some of you know me from that reality show where I made a complete ass of myself on national television.”
That gets a laugh, and I feel some of the tension leave my shoulders.
“But before I was any of those things, I was just a kid trying to figure out how to take care of his little sister.” I find Ellie in the crowd, and she gives me an encouraging nod. “Not to get too deep here, but after my mom abandoned us, Hope Pantry saved us. Sometimes you can’t afford groceries and rent and everything else life throws at you.”
The arena has gone completely quiet.
“Hope Pantry was the place that made sure we didn’t go hungry. Not just once or twice, but for months. I used to hide food in my backpack so Ellie wouldn’t see how little we had at home. I was young and trying to be the man of the house and I was failing.”
My voice catches and I have to pause for a second. Wren is watching me from the sidelines with tears in her eyes. Jay has stopped pretending to look at his clipboard and is staring at me with something that might be respect.
“The people at Hope Pantry didn’t just give us food. They gave us dignity. They never made us feel ashamed for needing help. They treated us like neighbors, like family. And when we got adopted by the Thompsons, the staff at Hope Pantry celebrated with us.”
I take a deep breath. “I never thought I’d be in a position to give back to them. Hell, five years ago I was still too proud to admit I’d ever needed help in the first place. But being here today, with all of you, supporting this organization that gave me and my sister a chance to survive and thrive… it means everything.”
The crowd is silent, hanging on every word.
“This isn’t about hockey,” I say, my voice getting stronger. “This isn’t about reality TV or celebrities or any of that. This is about making sure the next scared fifteen-year-old kid gets to eat dinner without feeling ashamed. This is about community. This is about taking care of each other.”
I pause, looking around the arena at all the faces watching me.
“So let’s play some hockey and raise some money and make sure Hope Pantry can keep doing what they do best. Taking care of people when they need it most.”
The crowd erupts. People are on their feet, cheering and clapping. I hand the microphone back to Wren, who has to wipe her eyes before she can speak.
“Thank you, Ryan,” she says into the mic. “Now let’s play hockey.”
The next hour is controlled chaos. The scrimmage is supposed to be a friendly game between reality show contestants, current and former players, and family members. What it actually turns into is a beautiful disaster.
Jake spends most of the game behind his camera, documenting everything from the sidelines. Calla cheers from what we’ve dubbed the penalty box, even though nobody’s actually getting penalties. Ellie scores three goals and trash-talks everyone who gets in her way.
“Come on, Jake!” she yells at one point. “Put the camera down and get out here!”
“I’m documenting!” he calls back.
“Document from the ice!”
Jay “accidentally” bodychecks me twice, and I let him because I figure I probably deserve it for something. The second time, he grins and says, “Just making sure you’re paying attention.”
“Message received,” I tell him, picking myself up off the ice.
Wren is everywhere at once, playing defense and directing cameras and making sure the donation boxes are visible in every shot. She organized all of this because I asked her to. Because Hope Pantry matters to me, which means it matters to her.
When she skates up to me during a break in play, I can’t resist trying to trip her. She sees it coming and dodges, laughing.
“Really mature, Haart.”
“You love it.”
“I really don’t.”
But she’s smiling when she says it, and when play resumes, she checks me into the boards.
“Penalty!” I call out dramatically. “Unnecessary roughness!”
“There are no penalties in charity hockey,” she calls back, skating away.
“Then I surrender,” I announce, lying flat on the ice with my arms spread wide. “I am defeated by the superior athletic prowess of Wren Rustin.”
