Page 10 of The Ex Puck Bunny
“Hockey is a small world.”
“It’s the entire world,” I say, lightening the mood.
“And so is my family.”
“I had no idea Heidi has a kid. That makes you an uncle.” I clap him on the back. “Congrats.”
“And a guy with a criminal record for assault.”
I take that to mean he defended his sister’s honor.
“The rare times I see Trey are at games.” Knowing this now, his name leaves a bad taste in my mouth.
The guy plays center for the LA Lions. While Derek and I remained friends, Trey went his own way, swept up in fame and the perks that come with being a professional athlete.
“You let Trey have it?” I ask, referring to the assault charge comment.
“Considering he broke my nose, he gave it back.”
“Your nose was already broken.” I recall a backyard hockey game. We thought we were invincible. A puck to the face is no joke. After that, I always wore a helmet.
“I’m also in physical therapy for my wrist.” He presses the cold soda can on it.
“Old man,” I joke.
He’s twenty-eight. Same as me.
“Just looking after my joints.”
I snarl. “You should’ve told me. I would’ve helped.”
“You need your wrists.”
“So he’s out of the picture? Not in Heidi or the baby’s lives?”
“And missing out. The loser.”
This information puts Trey permanently in the penalty box.
Derek tells me about the kids’ hockey league he coaches, Grow Together—his landscaping/hardscaping business—and catches me up on how his parents still haven’t taken the cruise they’ve been talking about for years.
“You sound busy.”
“I’m also Heidi’s manny.”
“Her what now?”
“I babysit Bunny while she teaches figure skating on Tuesday and Thursday evenings.”
I chortle. “Manny? Never say that word again.”
“Like a man-nanny.” He punches me softly in the arm.
Giving it a mock pat, I say, “Figure skating? But she works at the Fish Bowl.”
“Being a single mom isn’t easy.”
I know this is true along with the difficulty of being the son of a single mom—well, at least, my mother. “Doesn’t Trey help?”
