Page 133 of Puck Happens

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“That’s right, gentlemen,”I said, with a proud smile on my face. “He’s skating faster than he ever has. You’re welcome.”

“Smug much?” My brother nudged me with his elbow.

I looked at him like maybe he’d mistaken me for someone else. “Uh, yes. Have you met me? I’m taking basically ninety-nine percent of the credit for Dillon’s full recovery and speed improvement.”

“So Dillon did nothing?” Wendy asked, chuckling. She had a plate full of food that I did not understand how she could eat. I was a nervous wreck. This wasn’t just a game. The tension was so much more elevated being in the finals.

“Dillon did…this much.” I turned away from the ice to look at Wendy and pinched my finger and thumb together.

Everyone in the team suite knew I was full of shit. Dillon had killed himself getting back into hockey shape once his tendon had fully recovered. He’d become my best student, improving on every metric. Speed, agility and power.

Dillon was a freight train on that ice and no one could touch him.

By the second half of the season he was stronger, faster and playing at his personal best. Which was a big part of how the team got to the playoffs, then the championship series, and now… Game Seven.

Tied up at three games apiece with the Seattle Sea Titans.

“I don’t think I can take it anymore,” I said. We were surrounded by family in the suite. My family, Dillon’s and the extended Bruisers’ family. Skalsberg’s sister was here from Sweden with a stunning friend who watched Skalsberg on the ice with rage in her eyes. I would have tried to find out more about that, but I really was sick to my stomach.

We were only up by one with the third period to go. My nerves were shot. My hands were clammy. My stomach was in knots.

Game after game, I lived every breath through Dillon’s play. Reveling in every win and despairing every loss. Dillon was surprisingly sanguine about the losses. Especially in a seven game series. He was only ever irritated if he thought he’d missed an opportunity, but otherwise he would shrug when I met him outside the locker room and say that we’d get them next time.

Alwayswe.

Like we played these games together. His team, but also our team. I broke my contract with Montreal and came back to Portland once he rejoined the team. We’d decided the long distance thing was not for us.

The sports world was calling Dillon and me: An NHL Love Story.

We’d said no to all the media that wanted to interview us, but if The Bruisers won the Stanley Cup, we’d have to say yes to something. I was thinking People Magazine. Dillon would grumble, but it would be nice to get a good picture of us. Something to put up on his wall with his jerseys. Honestly, the peewee jersey had to go.

This, I realized, was love. I felt his ups and his downs because they were mine too. It was the same for him. My victories were his and so were my disappointments. Though professionally, these days there weren’t many disappointments. Skalsberg was asking for private coaching this summer and I told him I’d only consider it if he came to Calico Cove, where Dillon and I were planning on spending the whole off season.

To my surprise, he agreed.

Calico Cove might never be the same.

My dad came over to stand next to me. “It’s always harder to watch from the stands.”

“Tell me about it. The result of this game is out of my control and it’s absolutely maddening,” I said.

“You’re with him though. Down there on the ice. Tucked inside his chest because he knows, win or lose, you’re still going to love him.”

I hugged my dad because he was the bomb and love made him a poet. “You are so right. But winning is better.”

He laughed and we all stood and crowded the front of the suite as the team took the ice.

The guys, I thought, all looked a little ridiculous in their full beards. Poor Cody had tufts of hair coming out in patches on his face and looked like a troll. His wife hated it.

The core of the team was still together. Tighter and better than they’d ever been. We vacationed in the off season with O’Rourke and his wife. Skalsberg and Novek came over for barbecues in the summer. Their favorite thing was to heckle Dillon when he worked behind the bar. Of course, they all got selfies with his dad’s picture in the background.

This team was a family. And they took Dillon’s lead whenever he was on the ice. A lot of the time off the ice, too. O’Rourke, especially, seemed to look up to Dillon like an older brother.

The best part, they all seemed to sense when Dillon was about to get hot.

Like now.

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