Chapter 8
JAYDEN
I hardly know this woman and maybe sharing my unhinged contemplations makes me dumb as a box of pucks. Do I want to scare her away so fast?
I don’t say anything for so long, Stella prompts me. “You don’t feel lucky in hockey?”
I look at her and her eyes are soft and non-judgmental and she seems genuinely interested in what I’m saying, so I throw caution out the window and say, “I’d like to say it’s bad luck that the last few seasons have been so hideous.
But if I think that’s bad luck… it lets me off the hook. D’you know what I mean?”
“Yeah, I think so.”
“Like, if you believe in fate, do you believe your future is already set? I don’t like that idea. Which means I have to take responsibility for my part in the team trainwreck.”
She tilts her head and asks softly, “Do you feel responsible?”
“Not entirely. But I have to admit I haven’t been motivated the last couple of years. It’s tough when all you do is lose. It starts to feel hopeless. Nobody feels like playing and we all just want to get the season over with.”
“Yeah, it must be hard. Especially if you’re competitive.”
One corner of my mouth lifts. “And I am.”
“I thought so. And…” She pauses. “It’s also hard in hockey because your individual stats get dragged down by your teammates who aren’t playing well.”
I consider that. I’ve never been a player obsessed with stats, but they do mean something. And I definitely haven’t been the worst player on the team, even though I’m not happy with my performance.
“I wasn’t really thinking about my own stats,” I admit. “Lately, they’ve just been depressing.”
She gives me a sympathetic look. “Yeah, I get that. But it can help you with your training and development. Stats can tell you your strengths and weaknesses—”
“I think I know those.”
She dips her chin. “I’m sure you do. But if you’re interested in more targeted performance analysis, that’s what we help with. We also can help athletes manage physical stress and prevent injuries.”
“Hmmm.”
“Your coach also probably uses data to develop game plans and take on your opponents’ strategies.”
“I don’t know.” I make a face. “We have a new coach. They hired him over the summer, so we barely met him until training camp.”
“Right, I heard that. Marc Dupuis.”
“Yeah.”
“Do you think that’ll help with all the issues you have?”
I look at her and hesitate. “I probably shouldn’t talk about it.”
She nods. “I respect that.”
“Anyway. I was trying to figure out if it’s some kind of fate that we keep meeting up or is it just luck. I think it’s more than luck.”
“But you don’t like to think that your whole life is predetermined.”
“Exactly.”
“I wrote a paper in university about luck and hockey stats.”
“Whoa. Really?”
“Really.”
“What did you conclude?”
“Well… when someone doesn’t have control over the outcome, it’s luck. So in hockey, say a player wants to shoot the puck… his success depends not only on his own skills and decisions but also the skills of the defencemen and goaltender. Plus a bunch of other variables.”
“Okay. Yeah.”
“In hockey, there’s nothing that’s certain. Everything depends on variables, so we’re looking at weighted probabilities. You as a player can’t control outcomes—like, you can’t win the game all by yourself—but you can improve the odds of winning with your skill and decisions.”
“Right,” I say slowly. “So I’m not responsible for the whole team losing.”
She grins. “No. You’re not. All those variables outside your control are “luck”.”
“Like, how others are playing. Like a hot goaltender.”
“Exactly. Even players on your own team, like I said.”
I nod. It seems obvious. But saying I can’t control the outcome but I can control the odds… I haven’t thought about it that way before.
“You can affect the probabilities but you can’t control fate.”
My mind abandons hockey momentarily to consider the coincidences of running into Stella over and over. Obviously, I don’t have control over her, but I can affect the probabilities.
And yeah, same with hockey.
“Hockey is the sport with the greatest amount of luck involved in wins and losses,” Stella says. “Of the big five team sports.”
I sit back in my chair. “No shit.”
“There’s a mathematical approach known as true score theory that assesses how much luck contributes to a team’s overall success.”
“Stop. I’m getting turned on by your brain.”
She chokes on a laugh. “Oh my God. That’s the first time I’ve ever heard that.”
I grin. “I’m probably the only guy stupid enough to tell you that.”
Our eye contract stretches into a long moment.
“Anyway,” Stella says, “they estimated that luck contributes about 53 percent to a hockey team’s season record.”
“That much, huh? But I guess it makes sense. There’s a lot of random shit that happens on the ice, right? Like the puck gets deflected by a skate or a stick, or takes a weird bounce on the ice. But… that’s what makes the game exciting.”
She nods enthusiastically. “Yes! Exactly. But just because luck plays such a big role, that doesn’t mean there’s no point in trying.”
“Right. Right.” I let that sink in. “Absolutely. I can increase the odds, though. That’s kind of what I was thinking. I need to focus on what I can control and that’ll improve the team’s odds of winning.”
“And one way to do that is to look at the stats.”
She commented that before and I basically brushed it off. But listening to her talk about this stuff might be convincing me. “So you can look at my stats and tell me what I need to do better.”
“Yes.”
Her confidence is hot.
“But so can your coach,” she adds. “He has all those stats. What does he tell you?”
“Our coach is new,” I remind her. “And last year, our coach didn’t really talk to me about that. He was getting pretty frustrated with the whole team, I think.”
“Right, new coach. I’m sure he’ll be looking at all the stats and analysis for all of you to figure out what needs to change.”
I nod. Of course he will. But now I’m suddenly burning with a new desire to be better. This season has to be better.
I lean forward. “Tell me more about your business. How did you get started?”
She lifts her glass of sparkling water. “I guess I can thank my brother for that. When I used to get dragged to his games, I started studying the stats. I was a big math nerd in school.”
“Ha. A nerd. I don’t see that.”
“It’s true. I’d bring my laptop to the games and track things to make it interesting. At first, I made a spreadsheet, but then I started working on a program that made it easier.”
“Jesus. And you were a teenager?”
“Yeah. I got really into it. I started selling my hockey stats services to local teams. It…” She hesitates, dropping her gaze.
“It made me some money. I went to Simon Fraser and got an undergrad degree in math and computer science, and then an MBA. Some of my courses were on entrepreneurship and when I graduated, I decided I wanted to do my stats business full-time.” She shrugs. “So I did.”
“That’s amazing.”
“It’s been a lot of work. A lot. There were definitely some hard times. But I love what I’m doing.”
“That’s what matters.”
“Did you always want to play pro hockey?”
“Mmm… no. It wasn’t until I was about thirteen, fourteen that people started talking like I could actually do it. I was lucky; my parents just wanted me to have fun. They didn’t push the idea on me or anything.”
“That’s great. I knew lots of parents who did that. Like the only reason they wanted their kids to play hockey was to someday make it into the NHL. I saw some crazy hockey parent shit.”
“While you were sitting in the stands with your laptop.”
She smiles. “Yeah.”
“Just for the record, the image of you doing that is hot as hell.”
A laugh springs from her. “Oh my God. I was definitely not hot.”
“I have no proof that you weren’t. And since you’re fucking fire now, I think it makes sense.”
She really is. I’m not blowing smoke. I’ve been watching her across the table from me. The soft lighting out here from the small bulbs strung across the patio highlights the gold in her hair, while the breeze teases strands back from her face. Her skin glows and her smile is mesmerizing.
Now, she’s trying not to smile. “Do you have siblings? Brothers who play hockey?”
“I have two sisters. Both older than me.”
“Oh right. You mentioned that at the park when you were babysitting. I mean, you mentioned one sister.”
“Two is even worse.”
She chuckles again. “That bad, huh?”
“I love them to pieces, but it was hellish. They were close in age but very competitive with each other. The only thing that brought them together was picking on me.”
“Oh no.”
“I’m exaggerating. They were actually pretty good, but sometimes, it was like I had three mothers. They were so damn bossy. They dressed me in girl clothes and made me play house and Barbies. Ashley busted me to my parents when she found my porn folder on the family computer.”
Stella covers her mouth, eyes dancing. “Yikes.”
“It wasn’t all bad. They insisted on me learning what they called “girl stuff”, like dealing with asshole misogynistic guys and periods and cramps.”
Stella blinks. “Wow.”
“Once they pretended to beat me up so I would learn how to fight. They were worried about me since I didn’t have a brother.”
She rolls her lips in. “Were they good at fighting?”
“Not really. And they had way too much fun “pretending”,” I add. “Anyway, I always had lots of girl friends,” I say, emphasizing the two separate words. “I guess I learned how to be comfortable around girls from my sisters.”
Stella’s giving me a weird look that I don’t get.
“Are you and your brother close?” I ask.
“I guess so. More so now we’re older.” Her expression goes distant for a couple of seconds. “I used to whine about having to go to his hockey games and I complained about how godawful his hockey gear smelled, but we got along pretty well. He’s a good guy. He’s getting married next month.”
“You mentioned your mom. Are your parents not together?”
“Divorced.”
I make a face.
“Long story.”
I nod.
Betty rises from her resting place on the sidewalk and stretches.
“Ohhh, big stretch,” Stella says.
I grin. “I’m so glad you said that.”
“It’s required. I should get going, I guess. I think Betty’s had enough laying around here.”
“Yeah. Us too.” I look down at Frank. “Hey, Frank, buddy, ready to go home?”
I pull out my credit card, waving away Stella’s reach for the small cross-body bag she has.
When the bill’s taken care of, we stroll out to the street. We’re the only ones left here and I realize we’ve been talking for a couple of hours.
“Which way are you?” Stella asks.
“I’m that way.” I point toward my condo. “Would you be okay with me walking you home?”
She eyes me, lips pursed. “You don’t need to do that.”
“I know. But it’s dark and I’d like to make sure you get home okay.”
“I do this all the time. Betty takes care of me.”
I grin. “Good girl, Betty.”
I hesitate. I totally understand her not wanting a near stranger to know where she lives. I’d want my sisters to do the same.
“Okay, no worries. But let’s exchange numbers and you can text me when you’re home.”
Wrestling with a smile, she shakes her head and pulls out her phone. We enter each other’s numbers.
“I’ll text you about next weekend, too.” I shove my phone into my pocket. “I can walk over to Richards Street with you.”
“Where exactly do you live?”
“Richards Street.”
Her mouth opens. “Me too.”
“Perfect. One more coincidence. There are a lot, you have to admit.” We start walking. “We live in the same neighbourhood. We have the same dog and we walk them in the same park. We shop at the same store. And we both love chips.”
She laughs. “And you know my brother.”
“Yeah! I forgot that one. All that has to mean something.” I give her one of my most charming smiles.
“I already agreed to go out with you,” she says dryly. “You don’t need to convince me.”
She did agree to go out with me. Although our schedules don’t make it easy.
When we get to Richards, we pause on the corner facing each other, our park right across the street. “Sure you don’t want company the rest of the way?”
“I’m fine. Thanks for food and the conversation.”
“I had fun.”
“I did, too.”
I want to kiss her until she doesn’t know her own name. But after a beat, I lean over and kiss her cheek. “Remember. Text me when you’re home.”
She blinks a few times. “Okay.”
I watch her walk away, Betty leading the way like she knows exactly where she’s going.
Damn. I can’t wait till next weekend. I really like Stella.