3. Dan
CHAPTER 3
DAN
I admit it’s weird to be back in my hometown for a full six weeks, rather than for just a handful of days. Of course, I’ve been back since I left: holidays, birthdays, stolen long weekends when I could fit them in. My parents, Emmy, and my grandma Mimi, all still live here, and sometimes it’s nice to have a place to retreat to when I need to get away from the NHL and everything that goes with it.
But in all those visits, I’ve not met up with Keira, not even once in all the years since I left. I’ve not even bumped into her accidentally. Maple Falls isn’t a big place, so it’s weird, almost as though she’s been actively avoiding me.
But that makes me sound paranoid. I guess the truth of the matter is, our paths simply haven’t crossed.
If I have my way, all of that is about to change.
I park on the leafy street outside my parents’ house, the home I grew up in. The big tree in the front lawn still has a swing hanging off it, and the white picket fence, although freshly painted, is the one I used to jump over after school each day.
Sometimes it pays to be tall.
The front door swings open and out strides my dad, trailed by my mom. Their faces are beaming, happy to see their oldest son home.
I climb out of my rented SUV and bound over to them, jumping right over the white picket fence, just like I used to. I collect both my parents in a bear hug.
“Mom, Dad.”
“It’s good to have you back here, son,” Dad says as he slaps me on the back.
“Let me take a look at you.” Mom holds me at arm’s length, looking me over. “How’s your wrist, honey?”
“It’s getting better.”
“I wish you’d have let us get you from the airport,” Mom scolds.
“I had to pick up my rental anyway. I saved you the trip,” I explain.
“Do you have time to stay a while? I know you’re busy,” Mom says.
“Your mom made her famous pumpkin pie,” Dad adds.
As if I need convincing.
“Is that my grandson?”
I turn to see Mimi standing in the doorway, her silver-gray hair tied up in a neat bun at the nape of her neck where her habitual string of pearls rest, her face crinkled into a wide grin .
“Your favorite grandson is home, Mimi,” I say as I place a kiss on her forehead, breathing in her familiar floral scent.
“I don’t see Ethan,” she replies with a wink, naming my brother.
“You always were the comedian of the family, Mimi,” I reply with a smile. “Is Emmy here, too?”
“Your sister is too busy running that bookstore,” Mimi pronounces. “She works too hard, and then she spends the rest of her time looking after me.”
I wrap my arm around her waist, and together we walk into the house. “It’s only because she loves you. How’s your arthritis?”
She waves my concern away. “Oh, you know how it is, sweetie. Any day I’m upright is a good day.”
“How about that pie, honey?” Mom asks when we reach the kitchen.
My mouth waters at the thought of one of Mom’s home-cooked pies. “Sounds good to me.” I look around the kitchen, at the old linoleum floor, the tired cabinets, and the old-fashioned oven. “The place hasn’t changed. You know I’m happy to buy you a new kitchen.”
“Spend your money on yourself, son,” Dad says, his chin held proud. “You’ve done more than enough.”
“Your father is right. You’ve done a lot for us,” Mom agrees.
I open my mouth to protest, but we’ve been down this road before. I’ve offered to replace their kitchen many times, but the answer is always a firm but polite “no.” It’s a miracle they allowed me to pay off their mortgage for them. It’s a small win, but I’m taking it.
“Now, we’ve not told your sister you’re in town yet because we thought it’d be nice for you to drop by the bookstore and surprise her,” Mom says as she slices up her pie.
“I’ll drop by tomorrow.”
“Oh, Emmy will be thrilled,” Mimi says .
We sit around my parents’ kitchen table, catching up on each other’s news over Mom’s delicious pumpkin pie until it’s time for me to go.
“Your old bedroom is waiting for you if you want it, honey,” Mom says as I ready myself to leave.
“I know, Mom, and I promise I'll come back and visit whenever I can. But Troy wants the team together to bond quickly, since we’re only playing five games total. We all play on different teams, so there will likely be some rivalries. It kinda goes with the ice hockey territory. I know this isn’t the big leagues, and all the money we make is going to charity, but you know me. I want to win our games. We’re more likely to do that if we know how the others tick—at least on the ice.”
“We’re so proud of you coming home to play to raise money for the Happy Horizons Ranch,” Mimi says. “It’s such a worthy cause, teaching disadvantaged kids farm skills and the like.”
Dad asks, “Will you be able to play with your wrist injury?”
“That’s the plan, Dad. I’ve got a month to fit in as much physical therapy here as I can before the first game. My PT back in Chicago seems to think it’s doable, and Coach gave me the go ahead to come here to play for the Ice Breakers, so if all goes well, I’ll be fine for the first match.”
“You’re the captain of the team. You need to be fit and ready to lead,” Dad says.
“Yeah.” I know there’s a lot riding on me being fit and able. I just hope I recover fast enough.
“Don’t we have such wonderful children?” Mom says with a smile, her eyes glistening. “We’re lucky to still have Emmy here in Maple Falls, though we don’t see enough of you and your brother.”
“I watched Ethan on that show of his,” Mimi declares, and we all look at her in surprise.
“But Mom, it’s a violent fantasy show. I wouldn’t have thought it was exactly your cup of tea,” Dad says .
“But Ethan is my cup of tea. I watched it on the Netflix,” she replies proudly.
My grandma watches It Came One Winter on Netflix? And she calls it “ the Netflix?”
“How, Mimi?” I ask.
“Emmy showed me how to watch it on television. I’m hooked,” Mimi says, her eyes bright.
“It is a good show,” Dad agrees, shooting me a look.
I wrap my arm around her shoulders and give her a squeeze. “Good for you, Mimi.”
Soon, I tell them I need to get going, and promise to catch up with them all again soon. I wave goodbye and head to the Hawk River Lodge, the place Troy and his wife Kelly own, and where they’re putting up the guys on the team.
Like my family home, it hasn’t changed.
When I push through the glass door to the lodge’s reception, there’s a brunette at the front desk, who begins to flick her hair and adjust her top when she spots me.
I don’t recognize her, but it’s clear she has some preconceived ideas about me. In my line of work, I get that a lot.
Glancing at her name tag, I smile as I place my suitcase on the tiled floor beside my feet. “Morning, Denise. I’ve got a booking for?—”
“Dan Roberts,” she finishes for me, her eyes bright. “I know who you are. Everyone knows who you are. You’re ‘Dan the Man.’ Dan Roberts. Chicago Blizzard center. Maple Falls born and bred.”
“Thanks,” I reply as she gives me my life story. I never know how to respond when people say things like that. And anyway, what exactly am I thanking her for?
Thanks for knowing who I am?
It’s great that I’m famous enough for you to recognize me?
Nope.
“It’s so good to have you here as part of the Ice Breakers, Mr. Roberts. ”
“Dan, please.”
“Dan,” she repeats, letting out a giggle. “Everyone is so excited that you’re here. You’re one of the first player to arrive, in fact, Dan Roberts ,” Denise continues, weirdly using my full name.
“I like to be early. Get the lay of the land before all the excitement starts.”
“Get the lay of the land? You grew up here, Dan Roberts!” she points out.
Why does she keep doing that?
“True, but I’ve never stayed here at the resort. And you can call me just plain Dan, you know. It’s only one syllable. Nice and short.”
She winks at me, her face starting to shine. “Sure thing! No one told me you’d be funny, too.”
When she continues to grin at me, her face warm enough to fry eggs, I ask, “Do you need me to sign something to get the room key or something?”
“Key. Right,” she exclaims as though just now working out that I might need one of those to access my room. “Coming right up.” She rummages around behind the desk until she produces an actual key, attached to a large wooden key chain in the shape of a maple leaf.
“Wow. An actual key. You don’t get those a lot these days,” I say as I inspect it. It’s surprisingly heavy.
“We’re old school here. Old ee world ee charm and all that.” She pauses before she adds, “ Dan .”
“Sure. Well, thanks, Denise. You’ve been real helpful.” I turn to leave.
“Don’t you want to know where your room is? I gave you the best one at the lodge. The billionaire guy isn’t staying here.”
She must mean Troy’s brother, Zach Hart, the billionaire involved in financing this whole thing. I’ve met him a few times. He’s a good guy, and not what you’d expect a self-made billionaire to be .
“I appreciate that. Where is it?”
She tells me the room number and says, “You’re right next to Dawson Hayes. Do you know him?”
“Sure do. We played on the same team back in college.”
It’ll be great to see my old college teammate. He played for the Carolina Crushers last season, but I heard he’s moving to a Seattle team next. It’ll be like old times, out there on the ice with the guy.
“Nice. Your room overlooks the river. I could take you there, if you like? Everyone here knows you’ve got an injury.”
“They do?”
“Of course they do. Your team coach mentioned it and now everyone knows. You’re our hometown hero. We pay attention to that kind of news.”
I give her a self-effacing smile.
“Let me carry your suitcase.” She stands bolt upright, her chair crashing to the floor behind her in her haste.
I raise a hand. “No, it’s fine. You’re needed here, I’m sure, and I’ve got two hands.”
She beams at me as though I’ve said something incredible. “You bet.”
“Has Dawson checked in yet?”
“Not yet. Most of the players are booked in from tomorrow. I can check, if you want?”
“No need. Thanks.”
She grins. “Sure. Will you be heading to the arena after? Check it out again after all this time?”
“Absolutely. A lot of great memories at that rink.”
“I know. My mom told me.”
Her mom ? How old does that make me? I’ve only just turned twenty-eight.
I throw her a smile before I turn to leave. “That’s … err … great. Thanks.”
“Have a great rest of your day, Dan .”
After locating my room, I drop my bags, grab my hockey bag, and head to the arena. I haven’t caught up with Troy in quite some time, and I’m eager to see him—and the rink where apparently Denise’s mom remembers me playing.
I really admire Troy and I’ve always viewed him as a mentor. He’s very generous with his time and his resources. I’ll never forget how kind he was to me when I was starting out as a rookie. He’s a good guy. One of the best.
When I enter the arena, there’s a kids’ figure skating lesson going on, taught by a pretty brunette I recognize from my high school days, Ellie. I catch her eye and wave at her, and she grins back at me.
I glance around until I locate the offices. Figuring Troy will be there, I make my way around the rink. As I approach a group of people, who I assume are the figure skating kids’ moms, there’s an audible titter among the group, and every eye seems to land on me.
“Hey, there,” I say with a smile, to more tittering.
“Dan Roberts, as I live and breathe,” says one of them, a woman with dark blonde hair, probably in her early thirties. She’s holding her hand over her chest, her face beaming. “Would you look at you.”
Which is exactly what she does, her eyes roving over my hoodie and tracksuit.
“Well, aren’t you the hometown hero come back home to roost,” she declares.
I’ve got no idea what that even means.
“We are so pleased you’re here, Dan,” another woman says, this one older, with salt and pepper hair and thick-rimmed glasses.
“Mrs. Nelson?” I ask.
“You remember me,” she says with a smile.
“How could I forget you? You taught me all I know about Shakespeare, which isn’t a whole lot, I’ll admit,” I say to my old high school English teacher. “Do you have a kid skating right now? ”
“A granddaughter. That’s my Violet in the fuchsia.” She points at the group of kids, and I spot a short, dark-haired girl in pink, concentrating hard on her teacher’s instruction. Beside her is a girl with a tear in her tights, performing a pretty dang-perfect-looking turn.
Not to be outdone, the woman with dark blonde hair says, “My daughter’s the one with the bright yellow headband. Dani’s her name. She loves figure skating, and we all love hockey, especially you, Dan.”
There’s a murmured agreement among the ladies.
“That’s so kind of you to say, and I’m so happy to be back here, playing for such an important charity,” I reply, and they all titter some more, agreeing with me.
There’s a sudden thud and a woman screeches at the back of the group, half laughing, half in shock. “What are you doing?!”
A few heads turn, and I think I spot a couple of sneaker-clad feet, under the seats.
“Why are you lying down? You’re silly!” a young boy says with a laugh.
“Is someone hurt?” I ask, dropping my bag and bounding up the steps two at a time.
There’s an audible “Shhh!” before someone mutters something I can’t quite hear.
“Keira? Are you okay?” says a woman with curly red hair, sitting directly in front of the sneaker-clad feet as she turns to see what’s going on.
Wait. Keira?
“I’m fine,” comes a muffled but stern and familiar voice.
Is that …? Could it be …?
Keira’s here? My Keira? Well, not my Keira anymore, but you get what I mean.
With my pulse quickening in my temples, I climb the final step to see a figure lying flat on her back beside the bleacher, a hood obscuring most of her face, some sort of baked good that looks a lot like a cinnamon roll clutched in her hands. But what I can see of her mouth, the cut of her jaw, the blonde hair falling down her shoulders, I know it’s Keira.
What I can’t work out is, what the heck she’s doing, lying down on the cold, hard floor between two benches of the bleachers, surrounded by a group of chortling moms, here at the arena on a Saturday afternoon.