13. Eric
Chapter thirteen
Eric
I t’s game day, and I should be feeling focused. Dialed in. Ready to hit the ice and prove that I deserve to be here, that the trade to the Avalanche wasn’t a mistake. Instead, my mind’s been buzzing since I got that message from Kip, asking me to meet him in his office before the game.
I make my way through the arena, past the rows of framed jerseys and photos of past victories. The place is alive with energy—staff hurrying around, equipment managers prepping, the distant rumble of early fans filtering in—but there’s a tightness in my chest that I can’t shake. I tell myself it’s the usual pre-game jitters, but deep down, I know it’s more than that.
When I get close to Kip’s office, I hear voices. At first, I think nothing of it. Kip’s always meeting with someone, and it’s probably just business. But then I hear a familiar voice. Jason. Jessica’s boss. I stop in my tracks just outside the door, the sound of their conversation drawing me in.
“…doing her job,” Jason says, his tone low and conspiratorial. “It’s what we agreed on. She’ll make sure everything stays under control with Warren. She’s… well, let’s just say she’s keeping a close eye on him.”
What the hell? I lean closer, heart pounding in my ears. They’re talking about me. And Jessica. My mind races, piecing together what little I’ve heard. “Doing her job”? “Keeping a close eye on me”? What the hell does that mean?
I feel the burn of suspicion crawl up my spine. Jessica and I are fake dating—that much is true. But that was for PR, for the team’s image. Wasn’t it? Why would Jason be talking to Kip about her like she’s working some kind of angle? My gut twists at the idea that Jessica’s involved in something I don’t fully understand, something that might be about me.
I step back, my chest tight, and swallow hard, trying to push down the anger bubbling up. I don’t want to jump to conclusions. Hell, I don’t even know what I’m jumping to. But the seeds of doubt are there, planting themselves deeper with every word I overheard. I don’t have time to dwell on it though, not right now. I need to keep my mind on tonight’s game.
I knock on Kip’s door, hard, and step inside before my thoughts get the better of me. Jason’s already on his feet, nodding to me as he scoots by me by the time I walk in. Kip looks up at me with a casual smile, like nothing’s out of the ordinary.
“You ready for tonight?” Kip asks, leaning back in his chair. His tone is easy, but my muscles are still wound tight. I force a nod and we go over a few details about the game and the upcoming holiday events for the team. He doesn’t mention Jessica or Jason, and I don’t ask.
After the meeting, I head for the ice. It’s clear to me that the meeting Kip asked for was bogus. He just wanted to put eyes on me and hear it from me that I was keeping my nose clean. The smell of the rink hits me as I lace up my skates—cold, sharp, and familiar. I let it purge my mind. This is where I belong. Out here, everything makes sense. There’s no noise, no politics, no fake relationships. Just the game.
Once I’m out on the ice, the sound of my skates cutting into the surface gives me a feeling of control I haven’t felt all day. I look around at the guys on the team—my teammates, my bros on the ice. These are the only people I need to prove myself to, the ones who have my back when it counts. I nod to a few of them, signaling it’s time to start drills. If I’m going to lead my line as one of the forwards for the Avalanche, I need to show them I’m all in.
“Alright, boys,” I shout as I move to the center, getting everyone’s attention who is on my line. “We’ve got a big game tonight. Let’s leave everything we’ve got out here today. No holding back. We play fast, we play smart, and we win.”
They respond with a mix of grins and nods. The team captain, who is nominated by the coach to be the go-to guy on the ice, echoes the sentiment to us all. Everyone’s hyped, ready to push themselves for the night ahead. I motion to my guys on my line to start skating, watching as they tear down the rink. They’ve got speed, but they need to clean up the passes.
“C’mon, work those passes, tighter!” I shout, skating alongside them. “Keep your heads up, look for the play!”
It’s like a switch flips when I’m on the ice. All the doubts, all the shit running through my mind—it fades. This is my space, my sanctuary. I push the team hard, moving from player to player, correcting angles, shouting encouragement, calling out plays. It feels good to take control, to be the one driving them forward.
We practice for nearly two hours, running through play after play, fine-tuning the moves we’ve been working on for the past few weeks. This game tonight isn’t just another game. It’s part of a trio of holiday matches, and we’ve got to come out strong. We’ve been on a roll, but there’s no room for complacency.
I lead a fast break, cutting through the defense, faking left, and sending a perfect pass to one of our defensemen, Jan, who slaps it in for a goal. The sound of the puck hitting the net gives me a rush. That’s how we’re going to play tonight. Fast, aggressive, and relentless.
“Hell yeah!” Jan shouts, skating over to give me a fist bump. “We’re gonna kill it tonight.”
I nod, catching my breath, feeling the adrenaline surge. “Damn right we are. We play like this, and there’s no way we’re losing.”
I skate back to the bench for a quick break, leaning on my stick as the guys keep running through drills. It feels good to be part of a team again, to be relied on as the leader of my line. But as much as I try to stay in the moment, my thoughts keep drifting back to what I heard earlier. I wonder what Jason meant. If Jessica’s in on something I don’t know about, I need to figure it out.
“Warren!” I hear a shout from Coach Bill, pulling me out of my thoughts. “Get back out there!”
I nod, skating over to start the next drill. No time for distractions.
“Let’s run that power play again,” I say to the guys, getting back into formation. “I want to see clean transitions from defense to offense, and quick puck movement.”
We run through the power play like a well-oiled machine, moving the puck around the perimeter, then cutting to the net for a shot. It feels good to see it come together, to feel like we’re a unit out here. That’s the thing about hockey—when you’re in sync with your team, anything is possible.
By the time practice winds down, I’m drenched in sweat, but I feel lighter, more centered. There’s nothing like working through shit on the ice. But as I hit the showers and pull off my gear, the weight of that conversation starts creeping back in. I have a sinking feeling that sooner or later I’m going to have to talk to her about it. Why can’t anything just be easy for me on and off the ice?
***
By the time I get back to the house, it’s late, and the excitement of the game has worn off, leaving me feeling hollow. Jessica’s asleep on the couch, the glow from the Christmas tree casting soft shadows over her face. I stand there for a minute, just watching her, the warmth of the holidays making me nostalgic.
I don’t know what it is about this time of year, but it always pulls me back to the past. Usually it’s been in a bad way, but with her I feel the sadness a little less. Maybe it’s the decorations, the lights, or just the way everything feels a little softer, a little more sentimental with her nearby. Or maybe it’s that damn photo album, the one with the picture of my mom and that note scrawled on the back.
The note that could change everything.
I grab a beer from the fridge and sit down at the kitchen table, my mind feeling jumpy and disorganized. I’ve been putting this off for too long, and after hearing what I heard today, I need answers. Not just about Jessica and whatever deal she’s got going on with Jason, but about my own past. About my mom.
I don’t even know where to start. I was told my parents died when I was five, but that note… it doesn’t add up. There was a date, a location. It was from when I was still a kid. If my mom really was alive then, why didn’t anyone tell me?
Jessica stirs on the couch, blinking awake as she stretches and glances over at me.
“Hey,” she says, her voice groggy. “You’re back. How was the game?”
“We won,” I say, trying to keep my tone light, but I can’t hide the edge in my voice. She senses it immediately, sitting up and pulling the blanket around her shoulders.
“You okay?”
I let out a slow breath, running a hand through my hair. “I’ve been thinking… about that photo I showed you, the one of my mom. There’s a date and a place on the back of it, and I can’t stop wondering if she’s still alive.” I say it bluntly, knowing it sounds nuts.
Jessica’s eyes widen, and she leans forward, clearly caught off guard. “Wait… what? You think your mom could still be alive?”
I nod, the weight of my suspicion settling heavily in my chest. “I don’t know. But I have to find out. I’ve been putting it off, trying to ignore it, but I think it’s time to start looking into it.”
Jessica’s quiet for a moment, her brows furrowed in thought. Then she looks up at me, her expression softening. “I can help. I mean, if you want me to. We could start by looking into your grandparents. Maybe they were hiding something for a reason. If they didn’t tell you about your mom, there has to be more to the story.”
I nod, feeling a strange rush of relief and apprehension. Part of me wants to dive headfirst into this, to finally get some answers. But another part of me is terrified of what I might find. Still, I can’t keep living in the dark.
“Yeah,” I say, my voice quiet. “I think that’s a good idea.”
For the first time in what feels like forever, I feel like I’m not alone in this. Jessica’s here, offering to help me, and that means more than I can say. I trust her, and I tell her as much.
“I’m glad I can trust you,” I say, meeting her eyes.
But something flickers across her face—something quick and almost unnoticeable. It’s gone before I can even process it, replaced by a warm smile. I push the momentary doubt away, chalking it up to my own paranoia. There’s no reason not to trust her. Not after… everything.
Right?
I finish my beer and we start talking about how to begin this search, brainstorming ideas about digging into old records, tracking down any clues we can find. It feels good, like we’re working toward something real, something important. But I can’t dismiss the feeling that there’s more going on beneath the surface—both with my past and with Jessica.
I just hope I’m not making a mistake.