Epilogue 2
After the Stanley win and the honeymoon, I’m ready to relax back home.
It’s not that I need a vacation from the vacation—we had a fantastic time touring Ireland. I wasn’t quite ready to go back to Concordia, but we’re planning a trip there next summer. I’d just like some time alone with my wife. To do life together. To go on runs, eat breakfast, heck, I’ll even go to a party supplies store with her.
Which is where I find myself. We’re in Omaha and she’s sourcing some unique paper goods for an upcoming anniversary party. She and the store owner are getting very geeky over card stock weight and texture treatments, so I go outside to wait. I don’t want to loom.
She’s never said that I loom, but I know I loom, hulk, whatever.
Next to the “Paper Bar” is a smoothie shop, so I grab one for each of us, adding extra protein powder because shopping requires stamina.
I sit down on the wooden bench outside, waiting for my bride—Margo will always be my bride. I never want to forget the fullness of love I felt for her on our wedding day nor how it grows day by day.
Her sister’s take was that I could’ve had any woman—between being in 5PRNZS and an NHL player, they’ve thrown themselves at me. I’m not good at playing catch. Just blocking. Must come with the goalie territory.
The woman I chose delights and fascinates me. I like watching her do the most mundane things like she’s an exotic creature I’ve discovered. Through the shop window, she’s talking with her hands. I love holding her hand. She brushes a piece of hair out of her face. Her hair is so soft.
Her smile lifts as she thanks the shopkeeper and makes her way toward the door. I’ll die a happy man having been completely fulfilled only seeing that smile once, never mind every day. It’s like sunshine. Like starlight. It’s a look of kindness and enthusiasm.
When it lands on me, sitting here, her eyes also smile in a way that I’ve noticed is solely reserved for me.
“I see you made a friend.”
I frown, not understanding what she means.
Crouching down next to the bench, she says, “You’re a vicious-looking creature but a very good boy sitting here so nicely next to Beau.”
I glance over to see my wife petting an animal that looks part mastiff, part husky, and all growly smiles. Grunts? They’re happy sounds even though the animal is a beast.
My hackles lift though because if that mongrel so much as harms a hair on her head ... it opens its mouth and starts to lick her hand profusely. Nuzzling his head against her, Margo scratches his ears and then the whole thing devolves into a love fest as she uses a baby voice to tell him how good he is.
“You really, really like dogs.”
“See? We’re still learning things about each other.” She looks up at me, squinting slightly against the sun at my back.
I shift to provide her and the dog shade. “Got you a smoothie. Berry Bonanza.”
“Ooh. My favorite.”
“It is?”
“No, but you are.” She pops to her feet and pecks me on the cheek. “I’m going to go into the smoothie shop and see if I can get this guy water.” She pauses. “No collar. I wonder if he’s lost or alone.”
I sit back down on the bench and wait. The dog whines when Margo leaves, but then nudges my hand with his muzzle until it’s on top of his head forcing me to scratch his ears.
She appears moments later with a plastic container of water. “The kid working in there said the dog has been hanging around here all week. Someone brought him to a shelter to see if he has a microchip, and I guess he doesn’t.”
“Why isn’t he still in the shelter?”
Margo shrugs. “He said everyone thinks the dog escaped.”
“Does he have a name?”
The dog looks up at us with puppy dog eyes.
“Where are your people?” Margo asks.
“Seems a little thin.”
“And dirty.”
I nod. “No offense, dude, but you smell.”
We park ourselves on the bench as if we’re both reluctant to leave the animal alone.
“I can’t believe Micah retired,” I say, still getting used to the news.
“I wonder who’ll be tapped for captain.” Margo sips her smoothie.
“He’s in the family way.”
“How many kids does he have?”
“Three. Maybe one more on the way. He has his suspicions, but Meg hasn’t said yet.”
“How long do NHL players usually last?” Margo asks.
“Hopefully a long time. Hopefully, an average lifetime.”
We both laugh.
“Career length depends,” I explain. “The forwards and defensemen tend to have more wear and tear. Injuries can take a guy out.”
“And goalies?”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“Any idea who’s replacing Micah?”
“Badaszek has his eye on Cruz, but as far as I know no contracts have been signed.”
“Doesn’t he play for the St. Louis Liberators?”
“Did. He was on the Kings, then the Liberators, and now the Cascades.”
“I’m still learning.”
“You’re doing amazing.”
“Juniper has been begging me to join her fantasy hockey league. I think she has fantasies about finding a hockey guy of her own,” Margo mutters.
“She should come to Hockey Town.”
“Perhaps there already is. Someone on the bench. Sometimes she has a look. I can’t tell if it’s love or unabashed hatred.” I pause for a moment and then say, “I realize I’m drawn to people like you and Juniper who’re unapologetically yourselves. Not false, shallow, or arrogant.”
“As it should be ... and who love hockey.”
“There are far worse things to love.”
“Like losing Ted to Maple Falls, Washington.”
“To the Cascades? That traitor.”
“More like small town living with his wife. There’s an Olympic training facility up there. Nice place to raise a family. That kind of thing.”
“Who’d take his place?”
“That’s entirely up to Badaszek, Vohn, and the powers that be. But if I were a betting man, and I’m not, I’d go with Grady Federer. We shall see. But for now, I want to enjoy the offseason with my wife.”
The dog climbs up onto the bench, couching himself between us.
“Sounds fun. This guy doesn’t want to be left out. What should we do?” Margo asks.
“We could check the shelters again. Sometimes people will report a missing dog.”
“Hang signs around the area.”
“Share about a found dog on social media, though I’ll pass that task off to you and give him a bath,” I say.
“And what if we don’t find his owner?”
Our gazes meet over the dog’s head who pants and smiles at the same time.
“I’m not sure about the pets policy at the condo.”
“We have been talking about buying a house.”
“There’s one available in Micah’s neighborhood.”
The dog barks at the same time a sound comes out his other end.
Margo waves her hand in front of her nose. “I think we’ll have to address his diet.”
“And his manners.”
We both laugh again.
“What should we name him?” she asks.
“How about Jack?”
“You can’t name a dog Jack. That’s a human name.”
“What about the nickname Jacky Boy?”
“Jolly Buddy.”
“Sounds like a Christmas elf.”
We dissolve with more laughter and the dog barks with approval.
That’s how we wind up with a massive mutt named JB which is short for two different names, depending on who you ask. He wears a Knights jersey with the number three on the back while playing fetch in the backyard of our new house on Flint Street where we plan to live happily ever after.