Page 105 of Puck Happens

Three years. More money than I’d ever made in my life. My meeting with them this morning had been the kind of meeting a person dreams of. Red carpet. Donuts. I met the staff. I met the team.

Everyone from the maintenance guys to their star center forward had been excited to meet me.

Did I mention the money?

On the private jet back from Montreal I’d forwarded the contract they emailed to my dad.

He’d gotten back to me pretty fast with a,looks good to me,and,is that salary a misprint?

So why didn’t I sign right there?

Instead I came right here to the facility from the airport so I could see the tail end of practice.

Which was bullshit. I came down to see Dillon. I needed to be honest with myself. Brutally honest.

I wanted to talk to him about that interview. About the city. About that salary. The office with the window and the chair with wheels that didn’t squeak. I wanted to know what he thought and if he still thought me leaving was the best idea.

* * *

The team was workinga battle drill and everyone looked tough. Especially Smith, who wasn’t letting in a single shot. Novek went up against O’Rourke and they went tooth and nail at that puck, but Novek squeaked it out in the end and the two of them bumped fists (that was new) and got back in line. Dillon won easily against Ron.

Coach blew the whistle and the guys headed my way to get water.

I took the opportunity to trash talk them all. With love, of course.

“O’Rourke, that looked like you were pulling a carriage behind you. Novek, those crossovers were so flat I’m surprised you didn’t trip.”

The guys all smiled at me and it felt like I was finally being embraced by some of them. Like a big pack of older brothers. Some infuriated me, some baffled me, but they were mine.

That’s why I hadn’t signed the contract.

You’d feel that way about the guys in Montreal too. It would just take time.

But what if none of them were as smart and coachable as O’Rourke? Or as hard working as Skalsberg? Or as funny as Smith?

Or as captivating as Dillon?

“Where have you been?” Novek asked, and then squeezed water in his mouth. The guys were all catching a breath, leaning on their sticks. “Why are you dressed like that? Were you at a funeral? You look like you were at a funeral. Or court. It is very ugly.”

I was wearing my navy-blue pant suit, the only thing I owned that wasn’t athletic gear.

“Thanks, Novek. I ah…had an interview. In Montreal.”

“For what?” Skalsberg asked. He took off his helmet to squirt water over his head and then shook like a dog, spraying everyone around him.

“A job.” The guys didn’t seem to be catching on. “Skating coach.”

“For Montreal!” Smith said, like I’d said I was taking a job for Satan. “Those guys are assholes.”

“Are you taking it?” O’Rourke asked, and the guys all echoed the question.

“Please say yes,” Ron muttered under his breath as he skated past me.

Except, of course I heard him, which naturally only made me get my back up.

“I’m considering it,” I said, making sure I did not look at Dillon, even though all I was aware of was Dillon scowling at me.

“Why are you leaving?” Novek asked. “Is it him?” Novek pointed at Dillon, whose eyes went wide.

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