Page 113 of Thoroughly Pucked

Henry turns to me, arches a brow. “You like ducks?”

“Sure.”

“Don’t feed them then.”

“I won’t,” I say, grateful for the unsolicited advice.

Henry returns to his crossword puzzle book.

We leave, and I understand completely what Stefan did for me tonight. “Appreciate this, man,” I say to the captain as we stand at an intersection, the evening traffic passing us by.

“Anytime,” he says.

But when I’m home alone, wandering through my wide-open living room, the spacious kitchen, and the balcony with a view of all of Pacific Heights, I’m just that.

Alone.

48

CALICO JACK

Ledger

There’s a clean shot to the net. I take aim, slam the puck, and send it flying past the goalie.

Sweet!

It still feels good to score, even in practice. Nothing’s hurt much for the first few days of training camp. Empirically, that’s good, even if something’s been nagging at me all week.

Namely, this empty feeling in my chest.

“Looking sharp,” Chase says once we’re off the ice and in the tunnel. “You looked like you could play forever.”

I wince. But it’s not from the knee. “You never know,” I say evasively as we head to the locker room.

“I bet you are. Nothing can keep you down,” he says, and that’s Chase for you. Optimistic. Full ofsunshine. No wonder he’s the team captain. He’s like Dev, always seeing the positive.

“Let’s hope so,” I say, and eventually I’ll tell the team that I won’t play forever. I just need to tell Garrett first.

I hate letting him down.

But I’m not sure that’s what’s dogging me either.

After we shed our gear, we hit the weight room in the arena. It’s so familiar, all of this. The routine, the weights, the machines, and the random conversations about who’s looking good in football this season, or what new video game the guys are playing, or some rando debate about big questions in the universe—like Marvel versus DC. The weight room is like a dog park for men.

It’s fun enough.

I really should try to enjoy it since I’m sure I’ll miss it when I’m no longer here. At least I think I will.

But I’m missing something else more. Someone else.

After practice the next day, I spot my father waiting in the tunnel.

Shit.

He’s not entirely unexpected. As a national broadcaster, he’s got all access. But I don’t think he’s here to do a game play-by-play. Since, well, there’s no game.

He flashes me his big, TV smile. The friendly one that wins over the whole world. He’s wearing a suit, notie. He looks like me, except older and happier. He’s the social one. The outgoing one. “How’s it going? Can you believe they let me in here?”

---