Page 5 of Say It Isn't Snow
Elijah
Anyway, is that your way of saying you miss us? I sent you guys tickets and bought you flights for my game in Tampa so you both could have a nice weekend.
Mom
Ignore your father, sweetheart. I told him not to tease you kids. And thank you for the trip, Eli. It was a great time. You know we love getting to watch you and your brother playing. We’re so proud.
Layla
What about me? Aren’t you proud of me? No love for the middle child? [Sobbing emoji]
Elijah
Wait, who are you?
Layla
Shut up.
Dad
Of course we are, sweetie!!!!!!! You are the light of my life!!!! I’m so proud to be your dad!!!!
Layla
Mom, take his phone away. No one needs to use that many exclamation points.
My lips twitch reading through their conversation. The tangled knot in my chest loosens slightly. With a wry shake of my head, I tap out a quick message to let them know I’ve landed and will see them for Christmas in a couple of weeks. Hopefully the media storm will have blown over by then. Once I get out of here, I’m heading straight for our cabin in the Vermont mountains to ride it out.
People online can put whatever bullshit spin on things they want. It doesn’t matter. I know I’ll come out of this on the other side. Whatever it takes, I’ll get back to the ice. To the game I love.
My stuff makes the slow parade around the baggage carousel, a small suitcase and an oversized equipment duffel. I cared more about making sure my gear was with me than packing clothes. I paid a service to ship whatever I left behind to a storage place in Candlewood, Vermont not far from my parents’ place.
I wait it out until they’re close, tracking the agonizingly slow crawl of the belt. At last, I grab my things and head for the car rentals.
Trevon calls while I’m waiting in line. I keep my voice low when I answer.
“Hey. What's going on?”
He snorts. “Not much, man. Just this player on my client list making me work for my dinner.”
His wide, shining smile is easy to picture. It always lifts his cheekbones higher to crinkle the corners of his warm brown eyes.
I squeeze the back of my neck. “I said I was sorry.”
“Didn’t mean it, though, did you?” he fires back.
After a beat, I grunt. He chuckles.
“I’m just messing with you. Don’t sweat it,” he says.
“Easy for the guy who retired from the NHL with a stellar record to say,” I reply.
His chuckle becomes a wheeze of amusement. “If I hadn’t messed up my shoulder, I probably could’ve played another year or two, but then where would that leave you? Shit out of luck, that’s where.”
I’ve always appreciated this friendly vibe about him since he became my agent. He’s like a big brother to me and it sets me at ease. I know he’s got my back.
“I’m sure your husband is glad you spend your days in that cushy office instead of getting banged up at work,” I say.
