Page 114 of Thoroughly Pucked

The senior McBride can get in anywhere. “I can,” I say, wishing I knew why I felt so apprehensive about seeing him.

“Practice looked good. You’re playing strong,” he says.

“Thanks,” I say, hoping the conversation ends there.

He claps me on the shoulder. “Listen, have you thought any more about going into the booth with me?”

And it doesn’t end. I haven’t even told him I’m going to retire and he’s planning my next career, wanting what’s best for me.

“When it’s right,” he adds. “I’m sure you won’t hang up your skates for a while. But when you do, we’d be a great team.”

I wish I could say I was surprised by the suggestion, but he’s been dropping anvil-sized hints for some time.

“I haven’t really thought about n—” I stop myself from sayingnext year. “About then.”

As if my retirement is some nebulous time in the distant future.

He seems to take this fable for truth. “You should. It’s good to prepare.” He sweeps out an arm, indicating way down the road. If he only knew. “We never got to play together, but if we could call games together…can you imagine?”

I’m not sure I can. But he takes me out to dinner and chats about it all through the meal. When I go home, all I want is to tell Aubrey how weird this makesme feel even though I don’t know why. She’d know what to do. She’d know what to say.

The next morning, I wake up sweating, heart pounding. I try to blink off the remains of the dream. If you can call it that.

This time I couldn’t make a sound. I was stuck in some too-silent land, unable to make a noise.

Back on McDoodle Island Aubrey said when it happened to her she’d try tovisualize something pleasant.

I think of her. And I hope those thoughts will keep the nightmares at bay.

The next night after a day doing drills on the ice and lifting weights in the gym, I head over to Sticks and Stones, where Garrett’s waiting for me at the bar. He’s got a beer in front of him and is chatting with Gage as I join them—dad stuff, from the sound of it. Gage is telling my agent that his daughter is playing softball and he’s trying his best not to beone of those coaches.

“The kind who intervenes and stresses them out?” Garrett asks the man behind the bar.

I sit on a stool and nod a hello.

“Exactly. I’m the cool dad,” Gage says to Garrett, and I scoff.

Gage arches a brow my way. “You doubt me?”

“No. I just think every dad thinks he’s the cool dad, but really, aren’t dad and cool antithetical?”

Gage pokes his sternum. “No. I’m the cool dad. I’m the hot dad. I’m the best dad.”

I turn to Garrett, laughing. “We really need to work on his confidence.” Then back to Gage, I say, “All right, where’s bartender dad? Can you find him and tell him to get me a pale ale?”

“Maybe if you’re nice to me,” Gage says, then parks his elbows defiantly on the counter.

I roll my eyes. “Fine, fine. You’re a cool dad.”

“I know,” he says, then pours me a beer and heads to tend to some customers down at the other end of the bar.

Garrett meets my gaze, his agent face on. “Tell me stuff. How’s the knee doing?”

“It’s fine,” I say, but is it? Sure, technically the knee feels good.This week.But will it feel good in a year? That’s the big what-if. Ah, fuck it. Telling Aubrey and Dev was such a relief. Keeping it from my dad the other night was stressful. “I’m going to retire after this year.”

Blinking, he sits up straighter. “Oh. Yeah?”

“Yeah. Sorry, man,” I say, feeling like shit. I hate disappointing him.

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