Epilogue
ZEKE
Seven months later.
I leaned forward in my seat, a dozen rows up from the glass. At the Dragons’ end of the arena, Callum blocked a shot and sent the puck out across the blue line. Play swirled and headed back toward the Knights’ net, a Dragons’ forward leading the rush.
Next to me, Jos muttered, “Go, go, go.”
His robotics-club friend Isaac cheered from the next seat over.
On my other side, Roy leaned close to say, “Exciting, eh?”
I could’ve used a little less excitement for Callum’s first regular-season NAPH game— like Aakvaag scoring a hat trick for the Dragons to take the pressure off— but this tied one-one game was a goalies’ exhibition with great saves at both ends of the ice.
I clenched my teeth on a shout as Aakvaag’s great chance was deflected just enough to ping off the crossbar.
Roy patted my knee. “Relax. I’ve been watching the kid play for fifteen years. There’s always another game.”
“You have stronger nerves than I do.”
“Maybe so.” Then he half-rose in his seat to yell, “Ref, you blind? That was hooking.”
I laughed. His words were echoed around us, but the play continued.
Chicago drove back down the ice, one of the Knights taking up a position half in Callum’s crease.
I could almost hear Callum thinking about taking his stick to the player’s ass, but he’d been working on collecting fewer penalties.
Instead, he followed the play, always in position as the Knights passed the puck around.
He got his glove on a shot and cleared the loose puck onto his right winger’s stick.
Aakvaag took off up the ice, dodging one hit, poking the puck between the skates of a defenseman, and collecting it on the other side.
This time, he lifted the shot over the Chicago goalie’s blocker and beat him clean.
The red light flashed, the goal horn sounded.
All around the arena, fans’ cheers blended with the fight song on the sound system.
Jos bounced up and down. “Did you see that? Aakvaag’s the best!”
“Not Callum?” I teased, tugging on his “Fitzpatrick” sweater.
“He’s okay.”
Roy laughed and I hid a smile.
Then we heard over the sound system, “Dragons’ goal scored by number seventeen, Elias Aakvaag, assisted by number ninety-three, Callum Fitzpatrick.”
The boys cheered loudly.
“He got an assist,” Roy said. “He should be pleased.”
“We might have to enlarge the trophy case.” We had a cabinet in my study where we put Callum’s hockey prizes.
Stuff his grandfather had held onto from juniors.
A puck from his first Foxes’ shutout, and from game five of the division semifinals with the Foxes last spring, where he pulled off another shutout to win the series.
Nothing from the division finals, sadly, where they were beaten three games to one.
But his name went on the trophy for best PHL goalie of the year, and the small replica he got to keep sat front and centre, across from my desk.
Going to the awards ceremony as his date had been a bit of a trip.
Mostly a good one, as players rallied around him, with just enough cold shoulders and icing-out here and there to make it entertaining.
When his name was called, he stood up on that stage and said, “I couldn’t have gotten through this year without the help of the two best men I know— my grandfather, and my boyfriend… ” I admit, my eyes went a little damp.
Now, the Knights pulled their goalie for a sixth attacker as the game moved into its final minutes. Jos eyed the empty net. “Hey, Callum could score a goalie goal.”
Roy shook his head. “Let Callum focus on his job.”
That job took a ton of focus as Chicago swarmed the Vancouver net. The Knights managed several shots before Callum smothered the puck underneath his chest. Then his team failed to clear it off the faceoff again.
Hannah, sitting beyond Roy, covered her face. “I can’t watch. This is why I never go to games. At home, I can get up and make coffee, and by the time it’s brewed, it’s all over.”
There was a pileup in front of the net and a player from each team fell. Whistles blew. I held my breath. If the Dragons were getting a penalty, Callum would be facing six on four.
“Chicago, number twenty-four, two minutes for tripping,” the ref announced.
Thank God, I thought and then laughed at myself because I doubted any deity was controlling the score in hockey games.
The penalty seemed to take the heart out of the Knights, and although the Dragons didn’t find the empty net, the last minute wound down without any more dangerous scoring chances against Callum. When the horn ended the game, Callum had his first NAPH win.
Jos’s scream just about broke my eardrum. Isaac cheered and waved the foam dragon banner he’d bought.
Roy smiled and said, just loudly enough for me to hear. “That’s my boy.”
The Dragons skated over as Callum took off his mask, delivering hugs and head pats and stick taps. On the Jumbotron screen, I could see the big grin on his sweaty face.
That’s my man.
Then they called him for first star of the game, and we cheered louder as he lumbered in a circle on the ice in his bulky pads, waving his blocker.
When he was opposite us, he paused, searching the audience.
I waved back, and Jos jumped up on his chair.
When Callum spotted us, he grinned and raised his stick in salute.
Then he headed for the gate. The announcer asked the usual First Star questions, mostly of the “How did it feel when you stopped that shot?” variety, while Callum fumbled for synonyms for “great.”
Then, with one last wave and a roar of applause, he stepped off the ice and was gone down the tunnel. The audience lights brightened fully.
Hannah stood and stretched. “I’ll drive the crew back home, Zeke, if you’re going down to meet Callum.”
“I want to go see the players,” Jos pouted.
“Hey, we talked about this,” I told him. “It’s a school night. You and Isaac will be getting home late enough as it is. You got to meet the guys on opening night, and we’re going to the family skate next week.”
“Yeah, but he won—”
“I’ll tell him congratulations from you.”
“I guess.”
I turned to Hannah. “Thanks for doing the chauffeur duties.” Since Roy had broken his hip five months back, he didn’t do much driving.
“No problem. Sully’s playing in Phoenix tonight, so there’s no one at home but our cat.”
“Your cat is awesome, though,” Jos said. “Hey, Isaac, you have to see this thing. He looks like a leopard.” He pulled out his phone and began scrolling through photos.
Roy said, “No need to hurry home, Zeke. You go enjoy yourself with Callum and the team. I’ll get Jos’s lunch ready for tomorrow and turn in myself.”
Around us, the stands were slowly emptying out. I waited till Roy pushed to his feet, then hugged him. “You’re the best. I’m so glad you decided to move in with us.”
“Well, let me see. A luxury ground-floor mother-in-law suite with someone to do all the chores, or a house full of stairs I’d have had to go up and down on my bottom with the damned hip surgery. Tough choice.”
“Even so. I’m glad you’re staying.” Originally, Roy living with us was supposed to be temporary, till his hip healed.
But our household worked best with all of us in it.
Jos loved having a surrogate grandfather, Roy wasn’t rattling around a big house by himself, and Callum wasn’t torn between two homes.
I came home, a month after Roy’s hip replacement surgery, to find a For-Sale sign on the lawn next door.
The new neighbours’ kids were too young to be playmates for Jos, but maybe he’d have a babysitting job on tap, a year or two down the line.
Roy told me, “I’ll see you at home. If Callum drinks a lot, remind him to follow it up with water. He’s crabby when he’s hungover.”
I smiled as I watched them head up the steps toward the exit.
Jos and Isaac had their heads together over the phone, to the hazard of the person in front of them.
Roy moved slowly but steadily, far better than he had just a few weeks ago.
Hannah climbed behind Roy, not touching him, but ready to offer help if he needed it.
I’m such a lucky man.
Once the stairs had cleared out, I headed down to ice level instead of up, and worked my way around to the family waiting area, showing the security guard my ID.
Going from the PHL to the NAPH was a huge step up in everything— facilities, travel, security, and let’s not forget money.
Salary and endorsements. Callum’s face under a tipped-up mask glared down at passersby from a big billboard near the arena, hawking an online security firm.
“The scammers won’t score on you…” He’d made some nice change off that ad campaign, and now we were into the regular season, his agent expected more offers to come in for his pretty face.
I was a kept man, and while I wasn’t going to let that last forever, I had no complaints.
“Hey, Zeke,” one of the wives called to me as I entered the room. “Callum had a great game!”
“Yeah,” another woman said. “When I heard Anosov was retiring rather than rehabbing his knee, I figured this would be a rebuilding year with a new backup goalie, but Fitzer’s hot right out of the box.”
He’s always hot. I smiled and nodded. I wasn’t yet friends with the gaggle of mostly blond, mostly pretty women who partnered Callum’s teammates.
They weren’t quite sure what to think of me either, although I wasn’t the first boyfriend in their mix.
Of course, considering the last one was fucking two different players and ended up costing the team both of them, a little reticence was understandable.
Vicki Davison, the captain’s wife, came over. She broke the mold by being a short redhead, but she had a lot of natural authority. “Yay! Chalk one up for the gingers,” she told me.
“I’ll let Callum know you’re claiming him for the redhead league.”