Chapter 39
LOGAN
After dropping my mom at my house to make a redecorating/renovation to-do list that I’m sure will cost me a pretty penny, but be worth it to keep her busy for a day or two to give my sister a break, my dad comes with me to the team practice facility.
When we pull into the parking lot, Wilson's car already there. Of course he is. The man is always first to arrive. I have a moment of thinking maybe it’s not a good idea to antagonize him, but my dad is my dad first and foremost. The fact that he once played with my coach, for a brief period of time, and against him for a much longer time, and they don’t get along…
“Dad, listen…” I make a face. “Be nice to Wilson?”
He laughs. “Sure. Is that hard to ask?”
I sigh. “If we hadn’t gone on a heater and gotten into playoff contention, Tom was going to start working on a trade package. But since it looks like we’ll be buyers at the deadline, I need to not rock the boat.”
“I get it. Don’t worry about me.”
Inside, my dad greats the line cooks who are making us breakfast by name, which delights them. Then as my teammates arrive, one by one, he does the same. He's a legend, on and off the ice, for a reason.
Then the coach stalks in. I busy myself making a smoothie. Today’s featured ingredients: blueberries and bananas. Someone in the kitchen has a sense of humor.
"Good to see you," Wilson says stiffly. "Your boy played well last night."
"He always does," my dad replies with easy pride. “Looks like things are clicking under your system, too. You’ve got them on quite a streak now.”
It’s exactly the right thing to say. Not backing down from being proud of me, but giving credit to a narcissist at the same time. A necessary sacrifice for locker room peace for the next three months.
Wilson makes himself scarce before I join my father, which means we get to actually enjoy a visit together with my teammates.
After a quick team meeting led by the assistant coaches, my dad heads to the rink to grab a seat—and probably chat up the media—while I get changed.
I’ve just pulled off my shirt and have my base layer in my hand when Toth bumps my arm. “You think your dad might give Wilson some notes after practice?”
I shove him sideways. “Didn’t you hear what he said? He likes what Coach is doing.”
Across the room, Coop snorts. And that’s shitty timing, because Wilson steps into the room at that exact moment.
I yank my base layer over my head to avoid making eye contact with him.
Which means I don’t see Toth reaching for the chain around my neck. "What’s with the ring, Lego?”
I swing my arms down hard, a defensive reflex that only makes things worse by grabbing the attention of the guys around us.
“He was wearing it on his hand in Vegas,” Stevo says, laughing. “I forgot about that.”
Toth snorts. “What did you do, bud, get married to a showgirl?”