Chapter Eight
Saint
I find some time in November to head down to North Carolina to see my sister and the kids.
There’s a ball of guilt lodged between my ribs that refuses to move because it’s been too long since I’ve been here to visit.
Sure, they made it up to a few games this season, but they’re busy too, and I really need to make more time to see them.
This season has swallowed me whole—again. Training, travel, film, and games create an endless churn of a season that demands every piece of me. And I still feel like I need to give more.
But today, I’m here.
I missed Remy’s entire baseball season. He’s into hockey now and has just started to play in a league. I make my way into the arena, the cold air following me inside to the rink. I have a Titans cap pulled low, so I can just be Uncle Saint today.
Making my way over to the plexiglass so I can see the rink closely, I see a group of seven-year-olds in oversize hockey pads wobble across the ice like tiny, armored penguins. And somewhere out there is my nephew, Remy.
I see a small body in a black and red jersey break away from the group, skating with determination toward the puck.
Number ninety-six.
Remy.
My chest tightens.
I might be a hero in some people’s eyes because of what I do on the field, but this right here—Remy using my number—hits something deep.
“Come on, bud,” I mutter as I watch him.
He’s not exactly fast, but he’s focused. His little brows pulled together under his cage mask, stick clutched tight in both hands.
Another kid bumps him from the side, and Remy teeters, but recovers quickly.
“That’s it,” I say under my breath.
He reaches for the puck with his stick, misses, spins halfway around, somehow staying on his skates, then smacks his stick hard enough to send it sliding across the ice in the wrong direction.
I can’t help but laugh.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see a blur of pink and purple coming toward me.
“Uncle Wyatt!”
I look down just in time for my niece to launch herself at me like a glitter bomb with limbs.
“Ry Ry,” I say, clutching her under the arms before she can take my knee out. “Easy, there.”
She gasps, offended. “Easy? I’m fierce.”
“Absolutely. My mistake.” I smack a kiss on the side of her head.
She’s wearing light-up sneakers, sparkly purple leggings, a pink puffer coat, and what looks like a cape. Her dark, curly hair is in a ponytail that probably looked nice and neat before they left the house, but now looks like a bird’s nest.
Her little face is flushed from excitement, her eyes wide and bright.
Savannah appears, carrying two coffees and looking like she’s already ready to call it a day.
“You made it,” my sister says with a smile.
I set a squirming Rhyan down and pull Savannah into a one-armed hug. “Told you I’d be here.”
“You did, but you told me you’d be here for baseball too.” She says it lightly, but I hear her disappointment underneath.
There it is. A hit to the ribs.
She says it lightly, but I hear her disappointment underneath.
“I know,” I say quietly.
Her expression softens. She can cut me open with one sentence, then try to put me back together within minutes.
“Hey,” she says, squeezing my arm. “I’m not trying to make you feel bad.”
“Yeah, well, too late.”
“It’s just because I miss you, you know?”
I huff a laugh. “I miss you too.”
She hands me one of the coffees. “It’s black, like your soul.”
“How thoughtful. And also needed.”
“I know.” She winks at me.
“Chris working today?” I ask.
“Yeah, he was supposed to be off, but he got called in. Emergency C-section.”
I nod. I like my brother-in-law, but I hate how often my sister is alone.
Rhyan tugs hard on my hand. “Uncle Wyatt, you have to watch Remy. He’s a beast on the ice.”
“A beast, huh?”
“Yes.” She nods seriously. “But not as dangerous as me.”
Savannah sighs. “She told her teacher yesterday that she plans to rule the dragons by combat.”
I look down at my niece. “Smart. Diplomacy only gets you so far.”
“Wyatt,” Savannah warns.
I shrug. “What? I fully support leadership development.”
My sister points at me. “Please don’t encourage the monarchy.”
“Honestly, I’m surprised she’s still in this phase. I thought, by now, she would have moved on to something else. Maybe something dance related?”
“Oh, she’s still in dance, and surprisingly hasn’t kicked anyone lately. But I think we’re in the dragon phase for a while. She asked Chris if she could have a throne for Christmas.”
“Who wouldn’t want a throne?”
“Her throne is currently the laundry basket.”
“Look, every empire needs to start somewhere.”
Savannah groans. “I should have known you would just egg this on.”
I grin and lift Rhyan into my arms again, settling her on my hip. She grabs my hat and turns it backward.
“There. That’s better.” She declares.
I look back to the ice and see Remy spot me. The moment he realizes it's me, his face lights up behind his cage.
He lifts one gloved hand.
I lift mine and wave.
Then he slips while waving and falls right on his butt.
I wince.
Savannah laughs. “He’s fine. Happens every four to five seconds.”
Remy pops back up and skates back to his team, now huddled in a circle.
Pride hits me hard. He’s probably not the best player out there, but he has a determination I can see in his eyes. And to me, that matters more than skill.
I follow my sister up the bleachers, with Rhyan in my arms.
The game starts a few minutes later, and it’s like organized chaos with snack breaks. Kids chase the puck in clumps. Sticks fly. Some kid skates in the wrong direction. Another kid stops and waves at his family mid-play. The other team’s goalie sits down in the crease and refuses to get up.
But Remy?
He’s playing like every shift is game seven of the cup. Even when he falls, he gets up. When he misses the puck, he chases it anyway.
He finally gets the puck away from another kid and sends it toward the boards. I stand so fast that Rhyan almost falls on the floor.
“Yeah, Rem!” I shout. “That’s it, buddy!”
Rhyan cups her little hands around her mouth. “Destroy them, Remy!”
Savannah jerks her head toward her. “Rhyan Grace.”
Rhyan blinks. “What?”
“We say good job.”
Rhyan turns back to the ice. “Good job destroying them!”
I cough into my fist, which earns a glare from my sister.
“Do not laugh.”
I place a hand on my chest. “I’m not.”
Her mouth twitches despite herself.
By the second period, Remy is sweating and skating with more confidence. He’s still wobbly, but every time he looks at the bleachers and sees me, he stands a little taller.
It guts me in the best way.
I need to be here more.
I should have known he’d switched to hockey before my sister sent me a picture of him wearing his gear, with a caption that read, The Future Aiden Griffith. Aiden is Aston’s older brother and is a hockey superstar.
Sure, I have reasons why I can’t be here more often, but that doesn’t change the fact that kids associate love with presence. Not intention. Not promises. Presence. And I’ve missed way too much.
After the game, Remy comes barreling out of the locker room with damp hair, red cheeks, and a wide smile. My sister is behind him with his gear back on her shoulder. The bag alone looks bigger than Remy.
“Uncle Wyatt!”
I barely have time to brace before he slams into me.
“There’s my guy.” I wrap my arms around his little shoulders.
“Did you see me out there?”
“I saw everything.”
“Did you see that I almost scored?”
“Sure did.”
“I missed though.”
“You’ll get it next time, bud.” I ruffle his hair. “You were tough out there.”
Rhyan pushes between us. “It was like a battle, Rem. I can also fight good.”
I look down. “I’m sure you can.”
“I’m a warrior in my heart.”
This kid.
“Absolutely.”
Savannah closes her eyes. “Can you please stop validating her battle instincts?”
Remy looks up and whispers. “She bit a boy at school this week.”
I look at my sister.
She rolls her eyes. “She didn’t break skin.”
“Uh-huh.” I try not to smile.
Savannah points at me. “Get in the car.”
We end up at a pizza place. It’s loud and busy with music playing, and other tiny athletes fill the place. Remy slides into the booth beside me, and Rhyan climbs onto my lap without asking.
“You’re my chair,” she says simply.
“I had plans to eat.”
“You can still eat, Uncle Wyatt.”
“How generous of you, queen.”
She nods. “Dragon Warrior Queen.”
“Right, sorry.”
Savannah sits across from us and shrugs out of her coat, smiling at us. “It’s good to see you with them.”
My throat tightens.
I look at Remy, then at Rhyan, who is making my napkin into a cape for her fork.
“Yeah,” I say gruffly. “I’m glad to be here.”
Remy interrupts by launching into a detailed explanation of icing, which I’m pretty certain he makes up most of it.
I listen anyway and ask questions. I also promise to introduce him to Aiden Griffith someday.
He came to one of our games this season to watch his brother, my teammate Aston, play.
His eyes are wide, his mouth hanging open.
You would have thought I was telling Remy he was meeting Santa.
“He’s like my hero on ice,” Remy says.
It’s sweet, and I make a mental note to tell Aston about it.
Rhyan interrupts every thirty seconds to explain dragon law.
By the time lunch is over, I have tomato sauce on my sleeve, a sticker on my phone, and a plastic ring on my pinky because Rhyan said it meant I was a member of her army.
It’s the best afternoon I’ve had in months.
When we get back to Savannah’s house, Chris is home from the hospital. He takes the kids outside to burn off what was left of their energy. And I think to give me and my sister some time alone. I’ve always appreciated that about him.
I stand at the sink, looking out the window, watching them.
Rhyan’s going to be a force. Her battle cry, even through the glass, is … significant.
Savannah walks over to me and puts a hand on my shoulder. “Want some coffee?”