Chapter 3 #2
They walked into the rink together, and within seconds, Tank was surrounded by young fans, all the boys and girls jostling for position.
He smiled, promising to sign all their stuff as they slowly made their way to the side of the rink.
The stands were filled with parents and grandparents, all excited to see their kids spend time with an NHL player.
This was the best part of his job, Tank decided… after playing games, of course.
The coach walked over and introduced himself.
“Jason Burrows,” he said, shaking Tank’s hand effusively.
“Really nice of you to take time out of your day to help the kids celebrate. I thought my wife was pulling my leg when she said someone from the Stingrays had called and Tank Phillips wanted to come meet the team. I swear it took her a good twenty minutes to convince me it was really happening.”
Tank chuckled, waiting for the man to take a breath so he could enter the conversation. Right now, he wasn’t sure who was more excited. The kids or their coach.
“I’m glad to be here. After all, winning a state tournament is no small feat.
” While he was talking to the coach, he was aware the kids and parents were hanging on his every word, so he spoke up.
“Told my boss I needed to meet the team that pulled off such a big win, especially after struggling last year.” McKenna’s shared wealth of information was helping him win back any fans he might have lost in this group with that video.
McKenna smiled and played along, then did what she’d done on all their other press stops. She took charge.
“It’s very nice to meet you, Coach Burrows. I was the one who spoke with your wife, Janet. Tank and I thought it might be fun to start with a little bit of skating. He’s offered to teach the kids some of the drills they do in the NHL.”
That comment was met with lots of oohs and aahs, and more than a few kids started high-fiving each other, saying “all right!”
Tank walked over to the metal bench to quickly pull on his skates. He’d dressed appropriately in athletic gear. McKenna sat next to him, placing her own skates on the floor.
“I’ll stay on the sidelines for this part and take pictures and videos while you drill. Then, I’ll join you on the ice, and we’ll set the kids up for the photos. I suspect they’ll all want a picture with you on their own, along with the group photos.”
“That sounds great.”
“Cool. I also told the coach’s wife you’d sign one thing for each kid, as well.”
“You didn’t have to put a limit on it.” Tank got the sense McKenna expected him to balk at what she’d set up, though he wasn’t sure why.
He hadn’t grumbled about any of the other things they’d done, genuinely enjoying the time he spent with the veterans at the VA, the cancer patients at Hopkins, as well as chatting with the fans who’d shown up at the sporting goods store. “This sounds like a lot of fun.”
McKenna tilted her head. “Really?”
“Of course. I love playing hockey with young kids. Figure when it’s time to hang up my skates, somewhere way, way down the road, I’ll see about volunteering to coach my own Pee Wee team.”
“That’s sweet,” McKenna said. “I’m totally including that future goal in one of my posts about today.”
Tank tapped McKenna on the nose, enjoying the way that silly touch always made her blush. Rising from the bench, he faced the kids and gestured toward the ice. “Who’s ready to tear this thing up?”
The kids cheered, clambering to the ice, clad in helmets, sticks in hand. Tank joined them, and for the next hour, he ran the kids through a whole series of drills before initiating a quick game of pickup.
McKenna was the one to guide them to the photo shoot portion of their plans, even though Tank and the kids still weren’t finished playing.
The parents laughed when Tank complained to McKenna the loudest, begging for “just five more minutes.”
McKenna played along, putting one hand on her hip, assuming a motherly tone. “We still have pictures to take and things to sign,” she said, “and it’s a school night. We need to make sure they have time for dinner and homework.”
Tank led all the kids in a bit of playful booing over homework, then McKenna herded them—as best she could—toward one end of the rink.
She was a natural on skates, gliding across the ice with ease as she organized them for the group picture.
Quite a few of the parents joined them on the ice, standing near McKenna with their phones, grabbing their own photos of Tank and the team.
He cheesed it up, then McKenna had the kids grab the items they wanted signed.
Tank autographed them, then took the individual photos.
More than a few parents—clearly Stingrays superfans—asked if they could pose in the pictures with their kids.
One mother exclaimed the shot of him with her entire family was going to be included in her Christmas card next year.
The signing took longer than it probably should have, but everyone was having so much fun they didn’t seem to care.
Once he posed for the last picture, he pointed to McKenna. “Isn’t McKenna great?” he asked the kids, who cheered for her.
McKenna brushed off Tank’s compliment, laughing when he skated over to wrap his arm around her shoulders. “Look how tiny she is,” he joked. “Like a little mouse.”
The kids laughed.
McKenna played along. “I’m not tiny. You’re just a giant.”
“He is a giant!” one of the younger kids yelled out.
“A giant?” Tank held his hands over his head, like he was a giant from a children’s book, playfully chasing McKenna around the ice.
She skated around the kids, some of whom got into the game, chasing him as he continued trying to capture her.
When he caught her, they tussled, Tank messing up her hair as she tried to bat his hands away, much to the amusement of the kids.
“Bad giant!” she chastised, laughing. “Behave yourself.”
“Never,” he retorted, giving her a quick, impromptu kiss on the cheek.
McKenna flushed bright red, and Tank caught sight of more than a few of the mothers grinning at them, as if they were the cutest couple ever.
Tank didn’t have a clue what had prompted him to kiss her, because that sure hadn’t been his intent. It was just…she looked so adorable, rosy-cheeked in the chilly arena, grinning widely at him. Then he caught a whiff of strawberries in her hair, and he’d felt a stirring of something…
Something he had no business feeling for McKenna Bailey.
He chalked up his lack of judgment to the fact that he wasn’t used to abstaining from sex.
Slowly, the parents began to collect their kids, everyone heading home. He suspected at least fifty percent of the families would be stopping at McDonald’s to grab dinner on their way.
Coach Burrows walked out with McKenna and Tank, his wife and their two sons already waiting for him in the car.
“I can’t thank you enough for tonight,” Coach Burrows said, shaking Tank’s hand again. “Suspect half the team now wants to play hockey professionally after that.”
Tank chuckled. “Nothing wrong with that. Given what I saw out on that ice, quite a few of them have what it takes.” That wasn’t completely true, though there were two kids on the team who were absolute brutes, with the skills and mindset to go far if they applied themselves.
The coach shook McKenna’s hand next, then said good night.
He and McKenna climbed into her car. Before she started it, she turned to him. “You were great in there, Tank.”
“I really love playing hockey with kids. It’s fun. There’s no stress, and it makes me remember why I fell in love with the sport to begin with.”
“It shows. I’m sort of sorry we didn’t line up more promotional opportunities like that one for you. I didn’t realize you were such a natural with kids. I don’t think a single person who was here tonight isn’t now officially a Tank Phillips fan for life.”
“Are you included in that group?” He wasn’t sure what made him ask that question, but after spending the last two weeks with McKenna, Tank hated that he’d made such a shitty first, second, and thirty-eighth impression on her.
There had been plenty of opportunities for him to welcome her to the Stingrays organization the way his teammates had, but instead, he chose to act like a swaggering ass rather than get to know her.
McKenna didn’t reply to his question immediately, and he started to fear she’d tell him no.
Finally, she put him out of his misery. “Yeah. I think I am.”
Strangely relieved and pleased, Tank leaned back—as much as he could in this damn small car. “You think, huh? Guess I’m going to have to go the extra mile until you’re sure. Let me take you to dinner,” he said. Quickly adding, “Since I kept you out so late on a school night.”
McKenna started to shake her head.
“Do you have other plans?” he asked.
“No.”
“What do you intend to eat for dinner tonight?” Tank wasn’t going down without a fight.
He was riding high from the fun afternoon, and he wasn’t in the mood to go home and eat alone.
He’d done that too much since the video, not in the mood to deal with the damn hecklers, trolls, and reporters.
It was easier to toe the line if he wasn’t out and about, but there was no way in hell he’d manage to keep this up for six months.
Unlike McKenna, Tank was a very sociable person, who fed off crowds and attention.
“I subscribe to a meal delivery service. I think tonight’s easy-prep meal is maple Dijon salmon.”
Tank reached over, playfully tugging on her ponytail. “I can do way better than that. How do you feel about fish and chips?”
“I love it,” she admitted.
McKenna had joined the team at Pat’s Pub a few times for victory drinks after big wins, but she typically sat with the wives and girlfriends. “Pat’s Pub has the best in the city.”
Her eyes lit up. “Oh. I love that place, though I’ll admit I’ve never eaten there. I’ve only ever gone for drinks after the games.”