19. Chapter Nineteen #2
Coach leads us through one last quick meeting. Video review of Vancouver. Their power play tendencies. How their defensemen like to jump into the rush. Special teams adjustments.
I barely hear it.
"—St. Clair, you with me?"
Gagnon's voice snaps me back.
Fuck, Kevin, get your mind on the game.
"Yes, Coach."
"Then repeat what I just said."
Ah. Yeah. Fuck again.
"Vancouver's top line cheats for offense. We need to stay disciplined."
Close enough. Coach nods. Moves on.
A few more minutes of review and game plan, and the meeting mercifully ends. Most of the guys filter out for lunch.
But Liam and Aiden hang back. Of course they do.
"You want to tell us what's going on?" Aiden's voice doesn’t push. He’s just asking. And I should appreciate the concern.
I could tell them everything. They'd have my back. But I can't tell them this. Can't tell them anything right now. "Nothing."
"Sunshine." Liam steps closer. The genuine concern and brotherhood on his face makes it that much harder. "Come on, man."
"It's nothing." I'm already moving toward the door. "Just need to eat and nap and get my head right for tonight."
"Kevin—"
"I'm fine."
I'm not fine.
But I can't tell them. This is Sarah's choice about who knows and when.
Even if keeping the secret in feels like I’m swallowing glass.
When I finally get home, Sarah's not there and she's taken Ranger with her. The only sounds are from the Austin traffic, nine stories below.
The guest room door's open now. I check immediately, even though I know I'm the only one here. I can't help myself. can't help myself. I feel just as empty as the room, as the whole condo.
I walk back to the living room, then head to the kitchen to make lunch. I find Sarah's breakfast dishes in the kitchen sink. Bowl's scraped clean. Mug’s empty except for a tea stain. Even the toast is gone.
She ate. She ate everything.
Relief floods through me. It's absurd that breakfast feels like a win. But it is, and I'm going to take it.
You still at the rescue?
Ranger’s Mom
Yeah. Helping with some afternoon adoptions. We have two dogs getting forever homes today. Makes it a good day.
When will you be heading up to the arena?
Long pause. I watch my phone like it’s a lifeline.
Ranger’s Mom
Probably around 4. I've got Ranger, so I'll leave him here with his friends and pick him up after the game.
I can pick you up and then we can get Ranger together after.
Ranger’s Mom
You have a game. You should rest. Vancouver's got you in their sights. Take care of yourself and be ready.
She's right. She's been watching for well over a year. She knows tonight's going to be personal.
But lying in my bed that holds memories of her, while she's across town...
Let me know if you need anything.
Ranger’s Mom
I will.
I lie on the couch instead. Stare at the ceiling. Try to breathe. Try not to count down the minutes until the third period starts and I can look for her in the stands, just like always.
Later, my phone buzzes just as I'm looping the knot on my tie.
Ranger’s Mom
Actually, I'm not feeling great. Diane and Barb are going to handle the booth tonight. I'm going to stay home.
Everything stops.
The air in my lungs. The blood in my veins.
She's not coming.
Are you okay? Is it
I can't even type it. The baby.
Ranger’s Mom
I'm fine. Just tired. I don't want to throw up on adopters or pass out on top of the booth. Really, it's okay. You need to focus on the game.
Sarah
I can't focus on the game when she's not okay.
Ranger’s Mom
I promise I'm fine. Just not up for the crowds tonight. I'll bring Ranger home and watch from your place. I'll make sure he's wearing his jersey.
She'll be in my home. On my couch. Alone — except for Ranger. Not feeling good.
And I can't be there to take care of her because I have to go play fucking hockey.
Okay. I'll text when I can.
Ranger’s Mom
Good luck tonight. Take care of yourself.
The same thing she said after Calgary when I could barely lift my arm. Before Vancouver when she knew I was playing hurt.
Take care of yourself, Sunshine. Please.
Like she's worried I'll get destroyed again.
Like last time.
I close my eyes. I am going to have to find something I can anchor to so I don't let her down.
I walk in the door just under three hours before puck drop. The parking lot's already got a handful of cars — early arrivals, fans hitting the lines outside to get in as soon as the doors open, families with kids in jerseys.
Inside, the arena's humming. Staff setting up. Security doing rounds. Ice crew making final passes.
I change into workout gear. Do some light stretching. Tape my stick — I always do two, one for game and another for backup.
Quinn's in the medical room when I pass. She waves at Dominic and signals that she’ll handle the pregame observation for me. Dominic gives her a thumbs-up.
"Sunshine. Wait up. Let’s do a quick check."
I detour in and peel off my shirt. Quinn's hands probe the AC joint as she rotates my arm through range of motion tests.
"How's it feeling?" She stands to the side, giving me a hard stare, then goes back to assessment.
I stare straight ahead. Sit up a little straighter. "Fine."
"You're tense." She works on the muscle, thumbs digging into the knot. "Everything okay?"
"Yeah."
She doesn't buy it. I can feel it in her body language. But she doesn't push. Just finishes the tape job.
"You're good to go."
Paige appears in the doorway as I'm pulling my shirt back on.
She taps her clipboard. "Kevin. Quick word?"
I follow her into the hallway.
"Media's going to be around tonight," she says. There’s no mistaking when she enters PR director mode.
"Vancouver always draws attention. We both know what happened last time.
If anything happens — fights, big hits — keep your answers clean.
No one wants a call from the Department of Player Safety, right? "
"Got it."
She studies my face. She's given me a variant of this look since college, since before either one of us came to the Stampede, since before any of this.
"You okay? You seem..."
I take her earlier advice and keep my answer clean. "I'm fine."
"Right." She doesn't believe me. No one believes me today.
I don't even believe myself.
We gather in the video room a little later for the pre-game meeting. The coaching staff runs through the game plan. Clips of Vancouver's recent games. Last reminders of power play setups, final details on how their defensemen jump into the rush.
I try to focus. Mostly I'm thinking about Sarah on the other side of downtown. In my place. Alone.
Not here.
It wasn’t that long ago at a home game where she was in the concourse with the LSP booth and I ran up there to tell her about Ranger's deal, about how we were going to save the rescue from going under from the increasing rent.
I got an assist when I knew she'd be watching. I'd found her in the stands during the third. Slipped the game winner to Sticks. Pointed right at her in 104. Took shit from Aiden.
Did you just dedicate that to your not-girlfriend?
Little did I know then I was dedicating it to the mother of my child.
Tonight there's no need to look around the stands. There’s no Sarah. Just the echo of her absence.
"—and St. Clair, I need you focused tonight. No mistakes in our end. Understood?"
Coach is looking right at me. He'd given me a pass on breaking protocol to see Sarah in the concourse before the game where Ranger got the deal.
No passes would be given tonight. I understood the assignment.
"Yes, Coach."
Meeting ends. Guys head back to their stalls.
I check my phone one more time.
Nothing.
I almost text her. Almost ask if she's okay, if she's watching, if Ranger has his jersey on, if she needs anything.
I throw my phone in my stall. Not enough to do damage, but enough that I grab my own attention. I have got to get my head on straight before I get to the ice.
She said she'd watch. I have to trust that.
Except how the fuck am I supposed to have my attention fully on this game when the whole world's gone and tilted sideways?
The rink's starting to fill. Fans finding seats. Music thumping. Energy building.
We take the ice for warmups.
I go through the motions. Stretch. Take shots on Bear. Work on edges, crossovers, getting my legs under me.
But every lap around the ice, I'm looking up to the concourse. Trying to see the booth, to see people checking in, maybe wanting to adopt a dog.
Of course I can't see it. Just regular concourse traffic. Fans in jerseys.
But there's no point anyway. Sarah's not here. And fuck it all, I know it.
Back in the locker room, Coach gives his final speech.
"This is our barn," he says. "They come into our house, they pay the price. Let's make them remember Austin."
The room responds. Sticks banging. Voices rising.
I stand with them. Bang my stick. Yell.
Inside I'm drowning.
Last time I played Vancouver, it started all of this.
Tonight, I have to pretend it didn't.
The horn sounds. Time to go.
We take the ice. Lights hit. Crowd roars. Music pounds.
I skate to the blue line for the anthem. Standing with my hand over my heart, I look up at the family section, 118.
It's full of faces I don't know.
She's at my home. Watching on TV. She's still here in downtown Austin, but she might as well be on the moon.
I have to be good tonight. Have to show her I can handle this.
Even if I can't tell her yet.
The anthems end. I pause in a brief half-moment of silence.
Then it's chaos. And, for my part, I have to get it all right. For the fans in the stands. For my team. For Coach. For Sarah.
And for one tiny little person who doesn't even know what hockey is.