Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
For the first time since the end of January, Eric and I are in the same city—Seattle. The hockey gods have been kind, demanding a competition for the ages.
Ever since I stepped off the plane at the airport, I’ve been vibrating with energy like a kid who’s had too much candy.
To mark the occasion, I stop for coffee at the place Eric recommended months ago: Bean There, Drank That, which is across the street from the arena where he and I will be facing off against each other in person.
Inside, no one recognizes me as a member of the opposing team.
Dressed in my game day suit, I appear to be no different than any of the other locals who work in the high rise buildings in the heart of downtown Seattle.
I order my go-to vanilla flat white and head back outside to the small patio seating area.
Before enjoying my drink, I fish into my messenger bag to pull out the stowaway I purchased from an airport gift shop when none of my teammates were watching: a plushie of the Seattle Seadogs mascot, Salty the Seapuppy.
Salty wears a blue and white sailor suit with the number 4 embroidered onto his back.
A blue sailor cap rests at an angle atop his furry head.
I situate the plushie beside my coffee cup, making sure the printed bean-shaped logo faces the camera.
Satisfied with the arrangement, I take several photos as if I’m a Pixstagram influencer.
Only the best of the best will be sent off.
To everyone else on the coffee shop’s patio, I must come across as a die-hard Seadogs fan, and I am, in some ways.
I type the message I’ve been crafting in my mind since I bought the plushie and add the picture.
Me
Look who’s giving me a tour of downtown
Eric
Hey! That’s our pregame good luck coffee shop!
Me
I was told this place had the best coffee in all of Seattle
Eric
Whoever told you wasn’t wrong
Salty better not be sharing all our team secrets
Me
Only the inconsequential ones
Eric
Oh, so the ones that really count then. He’s privy to some juicy secrets
I laugh and blush behind my phone. A bold idea pops into my head. I raise Salty the Seapuppy to my ear, posing the plushie as if it’s gossiping. Then, I send the picture to Eric.
Me
He’s telling me a few about a certain Seadogs’ goaltender
Eric
Oh really? Like what?
My heart thuds in my chest, my fingers hovering over my phone. I hadn’t thought that far. I have no idea what to write. I’ve never wanted to be as funny and clever as my dad as I do at this moment. How do people come up with something funny and flirtatious so spontaneously?
Me
He said you sleep with your goalie stick for good luck. Is that true?
Eric
You’ll just have to come over sometime and find out
Me
I’ll be waiting for my invitation
Our back and forth banter teeters on flirtation.
It’s hard to judge in light of what happened before the start of the playoffs.
I’ve tried not to overanalyze that phone call.
I’ve tried to resist recounting every detail from Eric’s voice, his responses, to his behavior in the time since, but it hasn’t been easy.
I’ve chalked most of what happened to my own pent up desire spilling over.
The most obvious explanation is likely the right explanation since Eric’s treated me no differently than before.
Eric
You should have mentioned you were swinging by the coffee shop. We could have met up for a peace summit
Me
Coming here today was kind of a spur of the moment decision, honestly
As much as I’d love to have coffee with you, I kinda wanted the first time I see you again in person to be on the ice
More than just a resurgence of nerves prompts a follow up text.
Me
Is that weird?
Eric
Not at all. I understand. I’m really looking forward to seeing you
My heart flutters, and I bite my lip to suppress my grin. Today’s going to be special.
Eric
How’s the coffee?
In my eagerness to send off texts, I completely forgot to try my drink. I take a sip, and thankfully the coffee’s still hot. Vanilla, sugar, and the strong taste of coffee envelops me.
Me
Delicious. I’ll definitely be coming back tomorrow. I hope that’s okay?
Eric
Of course, but watch out. The owner’s a serious Seadogs fan
As if I could miss this fact. The entire coffee shop’s decorated wall to wall, floor to ceiling in Seadogs memorabilia.
Me
Salty gave me a pass
Eric
Enjoy the coffee and nice weather. I gotta head over myself. I’ll see you soon, James
I place my phone onto the table, lean my head into my palm, and sigh. Soon can’t come soon enough.
This isn’t my first time in the playoffs, but this year’s different: I’m about to face my goaltending hero and friend on one of hockey’s biggest stages.
Everyone says playoff hockey is different, and they’re right. Standing inside the away team’s hallway, the roar of the crowd manages to shake the brick walls around us while we wait for the signal to burst onto the ice for warmups.
Anticipation hums in the air. My teammates are eager for the series to start, shifting and fidgeting with their gear. I’d say I’m as excited as they are, but there’s one last task to complete before I can consider myself ready.
An arena attendant gives Callahan the signal, and a line of guys stream ahead of me, joining the Seadogs on the ice.
I’m last out of the tunnel. I look to my right, hoping to find Eric coming out of their tunnel at the same time as me, but instead it’s jersey number 1 on the Seadogs, their backup.
I search the home team’s side of the ice where some players are already practicing passes.
Others engage with loyal fans at the glass.
To my dismay, Eric’s stretching inside his crease instead of at the red line.
Sandoval takes the crease while I linger around the red line, hoping Eric will notice and skate over. Instead, the Seadog who notices me is Braydan who skates over for a quick chat.
“Hey James, nice to see you again. Hope you’ve been well.”
“I have been. You?”
“Doing great,” Braydan says with a smile. He glances over his shoulder to the other end of the ice briefly then turns back to me.
“I take it you’re not standing here to catch up with me though.”
I blush under my helmet and laugh sheepishly. Nerves bubble inside me, making it hard to speak more than a few words. “Guilty, sorry.”
“You’re fine. I can practically feel his eyes drilling into the back of my skull anyways. Should I go get him?”
“If you don’t mind?” I ask, a little too eager. I have no idea if it’s ok to even be doing this, talking to players from the other team during the warmup before a playoff match. I don’t want anyone to get in trouble or to cause a scene.
My teammates notice I haven’t started warming up.
A few of them pause mid-skate to stare at Braydan and I before raising a brow in surprise before continuing on with their own warmup.
Callahan especially seems displeased, but a diplomatic wave from Braydan silences any chance of my own captain throwing a fit.
Braydan leans in closer so I can hear him better over the booming music. “Everyone knows you and Eric are old teammates from All-Star Weekend. I keep in touch with friends on other teams all the time. It’s fine. If a ref gets fussy I’ll speak up.”
“Thanks, Braydan.”
“I’ll go fetch your favorite goalie. I know you both are dying to catch up, though I’m sure you two were already—”
But Braydan doesn’t have to retrieve Eric, let alone beckon him over; Eric’s already skating to the red line as if he’s been watching us the whole time, waiting for the right moment to approach.
The sea of blue jerseys part for Eric, and my breath hitches as he glides over to Braydan and I. Even with his helmet on, there’s evidence of a broad, warm smile. We haven’t seen each other in the flesh for months.
“Hey, James,” he says, his voice a little muffled by his helmet and the music inside the arena.
Over the past several months, it’s become easier and easier to talk with him through texts or over a phone call. In person? I’m frozen, in total awe of him.
“Want to warm up together?” he asks, making it easy on me.
“I’d… I’d love that.”
“Hey, don’t have too much fun,” Braydan teases as he skates off, “we still have a game to play.”
Intentionally warming up along with the other team’s goalie doesn’t happen often during the regular season, let alone the playoffs, usually not without some degree of an ulterior motive.
Half of what makes a good goaltender is having a strong sense of mental fortitude and tenacity.
You can’t let chirping from the other team’s players or even the other goalie get into your head.
But Eric and I haven’t met at center ice to try to psych each other out. The neutral zone has become true neutral in its alignment, an unusual circumstance in the middle of the playoffs, but anyone watching this series should get used to the unusual with us involved.
In front of the team benches, Eric and I warm up, staying on either side of the red line.
These stretches are critical because they activate the muscles in the pelvis, thighs, and calves.
Most goalies stop direct shots with the butterfly technique: quickly dropping the knees to create a wall with the pads, then rising back into a crouch or at full height.
Hip mobility is a must, and performing these stretches the correct way before a game can be the difference between feeling limber on your skates and experiencing severe aches and pains in the middle of a period.
However, as I watch him from the corner of my eye, I realize I might have made a mistake by agreeing to this because some of the routine stretches are, well, rather suggestive.
Eric’s rolling his hips in a way that should have no business happening somewhere other than a bedroom, and yet, they’re somehow appropriate in this context.