Page 63 of The Ex Puck Bunny
She clears her throat and gestures to her eye area and then at my face. “I just didn’t know about that.”
“I think the flight dried out my eyes.” I rub them. “I’ll stick to my contacts if that’s what you prefer.”
She exclaims, “No!”
Bunny whips around. “Mama?”
She gives her daughter’s head a loving pat. “Everything is fine. I was just telling Grady that he shouldn’t wear contacts. It’s bad for my health.”
Satisfied, Bunny turns back around.
“What?” I ask not sure whether to let rip a laugh or be concerned.
“I mean, bad for your health. Probably. Do we even know what contacts are made out of?”
“Hydrogel.”
“Yep. Terrible. Right? I mean, for me. Just wear the glasses,” she speaks in fits and starts like she’s flustered. Her cheeks are red and she can’t stop peeking at me.
My lips ripple with a smirk. “Heidi, if I’m not mistaken, I think you like me wearing glasses.”
“Very much so. I just didn’t know it until I saw it.”
Not going to lie, my ego pumps up a few notches. Who knew Heidi was a glasses girl?
While eating our sandwiches, I tell her about my video idea, featuring hockey players and their coffee orders.
And we are off to the races, er, the social media content creation races. In the next weeks, we do bowling videos with some of the guys, play wiffle ball, a first swim of spring at the lake—it’s frigid—and a blind cookie-taste test courtesy of the Milk Mustache.
Meanwhile, the regular season winds down, and the Knights clinch a playoff spot. We’re slated to receive the President’s Trophy, which means our team played best overall. However, that isn’t a guarantee of anything as we vie for the Stanley Cup.
As much time as I spend at the Ice Palace, whether it’s for workouts, practice, team meetings, or games, I’m in front of the camera nearly as often.
Heidi has become a machine, producing videos of us exiting the locker room, performing silly dances, answering questions, or doing gestures to a trending voiceover.
She has a way of making people, including the other players, feel comfortable on screen. Plus, everything she makes isfamily-friendly. Having gone from the LA Lions where the material was edgier, she explained that the Knights have a completely different vibe and now that we’re a family, she wants that to come across to potential new fans. She says to always know your audience and, man, does she know her stuff.
The videos with her and Bunny have become the most popular. My account has nearly a million followers, having quadrupled. She says a lot of them aren’t even fans of hockey, but the content is entertaining and things they can share with their kids to laugh, relate, or inspire.
When I swipe through, I realize it’s a scrapbook of these last few weeks of us building a relationship. The best videos are of Heidi smiling and laughing.
But Coach Badaszek is not when he calls me into his office after training.
It’s austere with an imposing oak desk and the force to be reckoned with seated behind it.
“Federer, have a seat,” he orders.
I set my backpack on the floor and lower into the leather chair, preparing for . . . I don’t know what. A pat on the back for the successful “Comeback Campaign?” Scrutiny over my crossovers and edge work? My stomach crimps. Or is this when the other skate is going to drop? When he’s going to confront me about what happened before I was all but kicked off the Pittsburg Generals? Then again, Heidi didn’t break up with me that day at the park, so maybe this will turn out okay, too.
He says, “You’ve done well so far. But there’s something important I want to discuss regarding your suspension.”
My positivity falters with an elevator plunge in my gut, but it’s best not to dance around the subject, so I dive right in—I’ve put some thought into how this was going to unfold. “Yes, sir. I’ve considered whether to come clean with the truth.”
“I’d like to promise you confidentiality.However, there would be some circumstances that I would not be able to keep between you and me.”
“I understand, sir.” I unzip my backpack and remove the hardshell zip case that I keep with me that contains a backup glucometer, batteries, lancets, insulin, basically anything and everything I’d need if something were to go wrong and I couldn’t stick to my usual routine. I also open the app on my phone.
He watches carefully, revealing neither surprise, curiosity, nor condemnation.
