Page 123 of Puck Happens

“I can’t believeyou came back for this,” I told my dad. I pulled the visor of my ball cap down low as if Dillon might see me up here in the cheap seats and come running through the arena for me.

“I wasn’t going to let you watch this man play all by yourself.”

We could have sat in the team suite with some of the other assistants and the wives and families of the players, but I didn’t want to have to make small talk while my heart was going through a grinder.

Every night since that press conference I got a text from Dillon wishing me good night. Sometimes he told me what he ate for dinner. Once I got a picture of the bread pudding from that restaurant we went to.

Dillon: I can’t eat all this without you.

He never pressured me for a response. He didn’t call me stubborn anymore. He didn’t beg me to talk to him. I had the impression that he could do this every night for the rest of his life. Like he was just stacking up blocks to tip the scales back in his favor.

And I was…frozen.

Part of it was work. Time flew by. I was learning and implementing new systems every day. Getting to know the team, figuring out strengths and weaknesses. Although now, I was doing it with way more confidence. Not feeling like I constantly had to prove myself.

I went to work energized and came home exhausted.

But the truth of everything I wanted to say to Dillon was too big for a text. We needed to be face to face. I needed to see his eyes to know if I could believe him.

I was skulking in the cheap seats so I could watch him play without anyone seeing my reaction to him. Then my plan was to find him after the game. What happened then? No clue.

Dad and I found our two seats in the last row and sat down. Dad had popcorn, a hot dog and a beer. I was too nervous to eat or drink anything.

“Honestly,” Dad grumbled. “I really think I am going to get a nosebleed.”

“Is this foolish?” I asked him.

“Sitting up here when you could be in a booth? Yes.”

“No,” I laughed, because he was right. “Believing he really means it. That he can change from a guy who only cares about hockey…to someone else.”

“Oh honey,” Dad said, pushing his glasses up his nose. “People change all the time. They learn and they grow and believing in that is a gift. It’s hopeful. Never foolish.”

“Do you think he’s changed?”

My dad thoughtfully chewed some popcorn, taking his time to answer. “I know certain things are facts. The sky is blue. The sun is going to rise in the east, your mother is the smartest person in the world, and that man down there on the ice is in love with you. He was in love with you in the coffee shop, too. He just didn’t have enough faith in himself to see it for the blessing it is.”

For a lawyer, my dad could be pretty poetic.

“You wearing that jersey is a pretty bold statement, Olivia,” he said.

“I know.” Another thing that had felt like a risk given my current employment, but I thought about how he might react when he saw it. How it would be able to tell him what I was struggling to find the words to say.

A cheap trick maybe, but I knew it would make him smile.

“If you saw his face, when he declared he wasnotin love with you, you might be a little more confident. After all, they call him The Heart.”

Maybe it was silly to put all this faith in my dad’s impression of Dillon, but I wanted to think it was true. I wanted to believe that Dillon had changed. That he missed me as much as I missed him. That I mattered most in his life, and not a sport.

That love was possible.

“Damn, they’re fast,” my dad muttered beside me, watching the men as they warmed up on the ice. He had mustard on the side of his mouth.

“Billy’s that fast,” I said. My brother might be going to college, but he could have gone pro if he’d wanted. For now he needed to bulk up and hone his skills on a feeder team, but some day he’d be playing for glory and a whole lot of money.

My dad looked at me, his expression serious.

“Don’t look so upset. Most parents are thrilled when they realize they have a child who is professional athlete caliber.”

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