Chapter 2 #2
“Yeah, Ma, of course. I’ll be sure to bring Enzo over soon, or you can come here. We’ll make some plans once we get settled.”
Whatever it takes to get her off the phone now so I can get to my first training camp practice.
As captain, I need to set an example and arrive early to welcome the returning players and meet the rookies who will be joining us this season.
It’s the beginning of September, and early to start practicing, but losing the Stanley Cup to Edmonton in our first season gave us even more motivation to come back stronger this year.
It was unbelievable that we made it as far as we did in our inaugural season, so with a few roster tweaks and tightening up our training, we can have an even better shot now.
“Give Enzo kisses for me.” Mom makes loud kissing noises that have me pulling my phone away from my ear. “Bye, Sebastian. I’ll see you soon.”
“Bye, Ma.”
I hang up and turn as I hear running feet. I catch Enzo in my arms just as he runs in with his favorite stuffy, a worn-out black dog that he drags everywhere. The dog hits me in the head, activating the voice recording inside it.
“I love you, my darling boy,” Eliana’s disembodied voice says.
Hearing her, even the mechanized version of her, brings an acute sadness that tightens my throat and pricks the back of my eyes. I try not to stiffen up or give Enzo any indication I’m upset.
“Daddy, can we watch Paw Patrol?” he asks in his cute, high-pitched voice.
I smile through my pain. If it’s not Paw Patrol, it’s some other dog-focused show, movie, or game. The kid is obsessed with dogs. I don't know where he got it from. It’s not like we’ve ever had dogs of our own, not with my schedule being as crazy as it is.
But his mother loved them.
It’s weird what traits pass through biology instead of from modeling. He never got to see his mother’s love of dogs that mirrors his own, yet he’s the carbon copy of her in so many ways, including this one.
“Yeah, buddy, we sure can.” I clear my throat and blink back any remaining sadness so I can focus on my kid. “I have to go to practice soon, so Miss Sally will be hanging out with you, okay?” I walk with him into the living room to set him up with the show he wants to watch.
“You can’t stay? We just got home, and you have to go back to hockey already?” he whines, looking up at me with big hazel eyes that look so much like Eliana’s. His dark hair and facial features are remarkably like mine, but those eyes will always remind me of the mother he’ll never know.
A pang of remorse hits me square in the gut.
Goddamn, I can’t seem to do anything right today.
There’s so much riding on me, at all times.
I’m struggling with this single dad thing, and I’m always messing that up despite my best attempts.
My teammates look to me as their captain to be a leader, but my focus is so split they’re rarely getting my best. I have to be a perfect son to parents who can't seem to be happy with my choices, no matter how hard I try.
All those roles come with so many expectations that pull me in every direction.
But Enzo is my priority, despite the things that require my time and attention. I have to ensure he knows he’s important, even with my need to do the rest.
“Hey, bud, you’re always my favorite person to spend time with, and I hate being away from you.
You know I have to lead the team and get the guys to do their jobs on the ice.
Just like you have to take care of Mutt and be my amazing boy with the best hugs.
I could really use one right now. Think you have it in you to share one with me?
” I hold my arms out in invitation, hoping he’ll be in a forgiving mood and indulge me.
Enzo chews on his lip and looks at me with drawn brows, his pouty face strong with how much he doesn't like this development. Finally, he releases his lip and opens his arms, throwing them around my neck and smacking me again with the stuffed dog. I’m grateful it doesn’t activate the voice recording this time.
“I’m too little to hug you big,” he says, pulling back to look at me. “Can we go to the aquarium or the park after hockey?” he asks once he’s crawled out of my lap and resettled to watch his show.
“Of course, kiddo. We can do the aquarium and dinner tonight. Just you and me, okay?”
The smile he gives me lights up his little face, and I finally feel like I’ve done something right.
“Looking good, Cap,” Westin Dumont, or Westy to most of us, says as he bursts into the dressing room with a wide grin already in place.
I look up and take him in with surprise. “Wow, look at you! You’re not quite as pale. Did you actually see the sun and go somewhere tropical for your break?” I ask. Westy is from Québec originally. He’s really white during the season, but he looks good now.
“Damn, Monty,” he mutters as he passes, using the nickname the team has settled on, which is just the shortened form of my last name—Montenegro. “Way to give out backhanded compliments right out of the gate when I was being sincere. Ostie de trou de cul.”
“Hey, not all of us are multi-lingual, you dick. I can’t pick up on your Frenchie bullshit, but I know you insulted me. I’m still your captain, Dumont,” I call as he trudges to his stall, grin now replaced by a pout. Sensitive bastard.
“Westy hurting your feelings?” Rook Stephens asks as he enters with Nico Torres, who always has a killer tan with his South Florida upbringing and Puerto Rican heritage.
“No one’s hurting any feelings. We’re just catching up after the break,” I assure him, rolling my eyes.
“I’ll hurt some feelings. Rook, you’re still just as ugly as you were last season, you Dollar Store Channing Tatum-looking motherfucker,” Campbell LeRoux says in his standard snarly growl as soon as he enters the dressing room.
I turn and catch Campbell giving two middle fingers to Rook, who throws his rolled-up socks at Campbell in retaliation.
These two. Looks like a successful season on the same defense line didn’t magically make them like each other any better.
I sigh. Something has to break through their animosity at some point.
At least they work well on the ice now, even if they stay bitter enemies off it.
“Enough of the bickering, boys. It’s time to act like a team again.
Or if you want to keep at it, I’ll do to you what my agent did to Knox and me and make you live together for the season.
You’ll either figure out how to get along, kill each other, or fall in love, like we did,” Ryder Kingston, our goalie, grumbles as he strides in.
He’s a grumpy wall of muscle, and apparently, full of fresh ideas for the D-line to get over themselves.
“Fuck off, Kingsy. Not everyone wants to fuck their roommate like you do,” Campbell gripes as he throws his bag into his stall and begins pulling his gear off the shelf.
“Get your shit out of my space,” Rook snaps, tossing an elbow pad that tumbled over some arbitrary line into his stall back at Campbell.
Okay, these two are extra cranky, and we’re right back at the starting line, like last season.
Kingsy walks up to them while they’re snipping at each other, grabs their heads, and forces them together before they can stop him.
“Now kiss and make up,” he says. Their mouths smash together as they sputter and flail before jumping to their feet and springing apart, eyes wide and cheeks red as they look at each other and then turn on Kingsy.
“You bastard!” Rook shouts, spitting on the floor and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Motherfucker, I will end you,” Campbell growls, his fists clenched and shaking, on the very real verge of violence. As our enforcer, Campbell isn’t known for keeping his temper in check all that often, and Ryder is just as likely to get the mean end of it now for what he just did.
“Enough, all of you,” I shout over the noise.
Goddamn, these guys are children. “Kingsy, leave the boys alone. Being bi doesn’t give you a free pass to do…
whatever that was.” I turn to the enraged D-men.
“Rook, Campbell, stop fighting with each other, or I’ll have Coach bench you.
” I look around at the rest of the team that has filed in and taken their spots with varying degrees of interest in what’s going on.
“We have rookies joining us today, boys. We'd better look like a team they want to play for. No fighting in front of them. Get moving, and I’ll see you on the ice in ten.”
I put my gloves on, grab my stick and helmet, and leave the dressing room as murmurs of assent, “damn, he’s intense,” and “hard ass on the first day,” can be heard.
When practice finishes hours later, they’re cursing Coach Kennedy instead of me, and focused on hazing the new rookies—Johannes Virtanen, a Finnish forward we pulled from a European league, Cody Bischoff a center fresh out of college, and Kole Barrett, a young bruiser of a defenseman from Chicago who was traded for one of our players who didn’t get a lot of ice time last year.
They did well during practice, keeping their cool despite some guys giving them good-natured shit and playing pranks.
I think they’re going to be good additions.