Page 115 of Puck Happens

The sound of her daughter crying was like a siren. She pushed past me and ran across the living room, through the kitchen and down the tiny hallway to her daughter.

“Why is my sister crying?”

I’d clearly gone from hero to zero in the kid’s eyes. He also pushed past me, but made sure to bump his shoulder against mine on his way past.

Protective brother.

Her father pushed his glasses up his nose and also assessed me.

“If you’re the reason my daughter is crying like that, I would suggest we go someplace and have a conversation,” he said.

This small man, in his mid-fifties, with a dad-bod paunch was calling me out. Completely not afraid.

But like her protective brother, it only made me like him more.

“I can explain,” I said lamely.

“Yes, then you should do that,” her dad said.

* * *

Caroline and Billstayed behind with Liv, who was in no hurry to leave her bedroom. Miguel and I walked down the street to the Starbucks on the corner. It felt like a job interview and an interrogation rolled into one very strange experience.

We sat at a little round table in the corner and I didn’t know what to do with my knees or elbows, but Miguel sat there, patiently.

“Dillon,” he said. “Tell me what this team has done to my daughter.”

I told him about the pranks. The gloves left in her office, the puck fired at her ass.

“Yes, she told us about that,” he said with a dark frown.

But when it came time to explain the video on the Jumbotron, I felt my throat closing up.

Miguel clapped a hand on my shoulder like he understood what I was going through. When I was done, Miguel leaned forward, his dark eyes behind his glasses damp with emotion. I liked this guy. I liked that Liv had a dad like this.

“She’s never seen it,” Miguel said. “We made sure in the beginning while she was recovering. Brian insisted that we show her. He said it would bring her closure. I called bullshit on that. I think he needed to prove to her it wasn’t his fault.”

“The fucker dropped her,” I said. “Itwashis fault.”

Miguel lifted a hand like it was ancient history. “We refused. And when she was fully recovered, she had no interest in seeing it.”

“Why would she? Who wants to relive that?”

“Indeed. To be forced to relive it, in front of colleagues, and,” he tipped his head towards me. “Friends. Well, it’s especially cruel, isn’t it?”

“I’m going to find out who did it.”

“I appreciate that it matters to you. But all I care about is my daughter, and that working environment isn’t good for her.”

I couldn’t disagree. How could I? The Bruisers had put her through the fucking wringer, and she deserved so much more. So much better.

Miguel let out a long breath and looked out the window. “I remember it all too well. Imagine being in the stands. Imagine watching it happen in real time. I thought she was dead when I saw the blood. There I was. Her father. Sitting a hundred feet away and there was nothing I could do to stop it. I just watched it happen and I thought… my baby is dead.”

My throat closed up again and my eyes burned. I could not imagine the pain her family went through watching that live. The video was bad enough.

“But my Livvy, she’s a fighter. Always has been. She gets that from her mother. When they told her she was never going to skate competitively again though…” He stopped and took off his glasses, used his napkin to wipe his eyes. Watching this father pull himself together was humbling. “Well, for a while, Caroline and I thought she would never pull out of it. We encouraged therapy. Even medication for depression, but Livvy would have none of that. She told us she was grieving and to let her do it in peace. So we gave her that. Then she started working with Billy’s hockey coach to improve the teams’ skating. All the tips and tricks and bio mechanics her coach had drilled into her for years, and suddenly she was reborn. One thing led to another and she got the job out here. We thought she was taking too big of a leap, moving too fast. But we were wrong. The job offers prove she’s doing exactly what she needs to do.”

At this point I had to interject. “Offers? I know about Montreal, but…”

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