Page 22 of Three Pucking Words
“Because of your dad or all the hot people with thick thighs and tight butts that you’d get to see all the time?” she asks knowingly, propping her chin on her palm as she leans her elbows on the edge of the counter. “If you ask me, that sounds like heaven. And how often would you see your dad anyway? He’ll be coaching. You’ll be doing…whatever comms and social media people do.”
Which usually involves the players, from some of the team’s social feeds I’ve seen pop up on my personal accounts. “I have a feeling I’d be seeing him more than you think.”
That doesn’t deter her. “I get that your dad was kind of a shitty one growing up. He was way too focused on his career when he should have prioritized you. Just like Max. But you know what? I’m selfish enough to admit that I liked it because that meant we got to spend lots of time together. And even though your douchebag ex-husband messed up, and that makes me mad for you, you’re here again. And I think you should take advantage of your connections to get your life whereyouwant it for once.”
I don’t know if I can come up with a clear reasonnotto ask my father about a job. Am I going to let him or Bodhi be the reason I hold myself back? I’ve learned my lesson already about not letting men do that. I don’t plan on making the same mistake twice. “They’re probably not even hiring. The season is about to start. They usually have all the employees they need by now.”
Her eyes roll. “What did I just say, Honor?Useyour dad. If he asks, I’m sure they’d find something for you to do.”
I hate the way that makes me feel. I’ve always prided myself on working hard to earn things. Nepotism goes against everything I believe. “I’ll consider it,” I relent.
She claps. “Yay. Now that’s out of the way, are you ready to go? I finally have a day off and I want to get froyo with all the extra toppings. Screw the calories I just burnt at the gym.”
I snort, sliding off the chair. “Let me get Puck ready and then we can leave.”
As I gather his leash, my best friend says, “You deserve to be happy too, Honor. Max isn’t the only one who’s allowed to have what he wants out of life. Go after what’s going to make you smile again. Because I miss your smiles.”
I swallow at her words, tipping my head once in acknowledgment, but not knowing what to say.
*
When I stepinto the stadium that I’ve only walked into a few different times in my life, a heavy feeling enters my stomach. Most of the time I’ve been inside MSG involved concerts, not my father’s games. I’ve never let myself think too much about it until now, because I’m hereforhim.Becauseof him.
Puck must sense the mood shift, because he looks up at me and wags his tail. “I’m all right,” I reassure him quietly as we approach the security desk.
“Can I help you?” the middle-aged man says from his chair, looking between me and Puck. He examines Puck’s service vest before turning to me. “Are you Erikson’s daughter?”
My lips twitch at the question. “Did my service dog give me away?”
The security guard unlocks the top drawer and pulls out a badge with my name on it. “He did mention you have one, but it’s the eyes. Around here, we call it Erikson brown. You share the same intensity, same seriousness.”
I’ve always been told I’m my mother’s twin, which I used to consider an insult. She was pretty, at least before the alcohol took over. But I didn’t want to be anything like her.
Maybe looking a little like my father is a good thing. I can have the Erikson eyes to go along with the Erikson stubbornness that my mother used to loathe. She said it reminded her of my father, not that there was much I could do about it.
“Good to know” is all I reply with, shifting on my feet.
He passes me the badge. “I’m Cal, by the way. I’ll be around if you need anything. You’ll need to get a photo for your badge by the end of the week, and your dad can tell you where to go for that. He told me to show you to his office when you got here.”
The walk is quiet as I examine the back halls I’ve never seen before when I’ve come here for shows. Puck’s paws clicking against the floor is comforting as we wind down halls covered in signed photographs of celebrities and athletes.
It’s probably been close to four years since I’ve been here. Max used to ask me to get us tickets to the games because he was a huge hockey fan, but I’d never reach out to my father about it for a few reasons. One was pride. I didn’t ask my father for anything—not until today. So, reaching out for Max wasn’t high on my to do list.
Cal stops us at a closed office that has my father’s full name on the door in bold lettering.
Devin Erikson. Head coach.
“Here you are,” Cal says with a big, friendly smile. “Tell the big man I said hi and I’ll see him later.”
I murmur a goodbye and stare at the doorknob before taking a deep breath and reaching for it.
My father is sitting behind a large desk staring at something on the computer and jotting down numbers on a piece of paper. It isn’t until I stop next to one of the chairs that he points theedge of his pen toward the seat. “Sit,” he tells me, still focused on what he’s watching.
When I asked him at dinner a few nights ago about meeting up to discuss work, he’d been speechless for about two minutes before agreeing. Yesterday, he left a message on my phone telling me to meet him here for an opportunity. He didn’t give me details, but said I’d be expected when I stopped by security.
After sitting, I realize it’s a game on the screen that has his full attention. “Are you trying to figure out plays?” I ask before I can help myself, glancing down at the X’s and O’s and arrows beside numbers on his paper.
The numbers are his players. I only know that because my online search of Bodhi Hoffman included his jersey number. What I didn’t tell Bodhi was that I looked him up years ago, after the night at the bar. And possibly a few, okay adozen, times since. So what if I know his number? It means nothing.
