Chapter 24
TWENTY-FOUR
Claudia
Noelle finally gets the night off, and we decide to cook dinner for the girls and Paul, who are all coming to watch the Utah game.
I’m exhausted from working two full days of ‘onboarding’, but am confident the team, who all seem to share Dr. Benetti’s feelings on the contracted psychiatrist. I also have a good idea of how things will go on Wednesday when the Bears return home.
I have a good idea of what will happen when the Bears return on Wednesday.
After getting Savannah into her pajamas, I look up at the flowers lining the dresser in our room.
Three vases, one from the girls for my first day, one from Lydia and Maya, saying how proud they were of me, and one with a card addressed to Savannah and me, with no signature.
I sent Deacon a text and thanked him for them.
I scoop my little one up, knowing that in minutes she would be asleep. She is even more exhausted today than she was yesterday, which somehow breaks my heart. I hold her tight and tell myself that I am not going to cry… again.
“Two down and three to go, then it’s the weekend, and I plan on doing nothing else but snuggling you for two days straight,” I say as we head back down the stairs.
When I walk into the kitchen, Nalani is staring at the pierogi we made, “They look good, right?”
“They look perfect. Paul will appreciate our effort.”
“Is that code for they look like shit?” she asks, and we both laugh.
But when they arrived, and we sat down to eat, Paul got a bit emotional, “Patsy used to make perogies and minced meat every Sunday that I was home.”
He looks at Nalani and then me, “You two did good.”
“What the hell is minced meat?” Sofie asks, then scowls at Noelle, who had obviously kicked her under the table. “Ouch.”
He chuckled and nodded to the French doors leading out to the henhouse, “It’s not chicken.”
I whisper, “Hamburger,”
“You sure?” she asks, cutting in to it and looking disgusted.
“Try it, Sassy,” Paul points his fork at her. “You’ll like it.”
And she did.
“Look at that!” Paul barks, waving his cane at the TV. “This guy’s crying to the ref because someone nudged him into the boards. Pathetic! Back in my day, the refs would have told us to suck it up. You took your hits like a man, or you didn’t, and they scraped you off the ice.”
He’s wired tonight, I think.
“Helmets with all this fancy padding,” Paul scoffs.
“You’d think these boys were getting ready for war, not a hockey game.
We had helmets so thin you could fold them up and put ’em in your back pocket.
Elbow pads? Forget about it. And when you took a puck to the face, you spat your teeth out and finished the damn play. ”
When Noelle snorts, we all laugh, including Savannah and Paul.
He doesn’t stop the entire game. The best part is, he’s dead serious, and after looking at team film from decades ago to learn the Bears’ history, I know he’s absolutely right.
“Look at ’em, prancing around in shoulder pads so thick you could crash a car into them, and they wouldn’t feel a thing. Back then, we had gear that barely covered your bones. Took a stick to the ribs? Good luck, kid; see you back on the ice in two minutes, or you’ll be cut from the roster.”
“Those players would be crying for their mommy if they had to wear the garbage they gave us back then. But no, these pretty boys are out there in bubble wrap and helmets that cost more than my first car.”
Sofie asks, “They’re faster now, right? The game’s faster. Players are fitter.”
“Faster, my ass!” He chuckles. “And if they are, it’s because they’ve got rinks smoother than glass, skates made out of goddamn space-age materials, and trainers feeding them organic kale smoothies every morning.
We were fueled by coffee, Camel cigarettes—the ones with no filters—and whatever booze we could sneak past the coach. ”
“Yeah, ’cause alcohol makes everything better,” Sofie grumbles.
“And don’t even get me started on the money.” He waves his hand around the room. “You know what I made my first year?”
“No, tell us.” Noelle smiles.
“Six thousand bucks. Six grand! And I was lucky to get it. Today, these rookies are signing deals with more zeroes than I can count before they’ve even grown chest hair. And for what? To sit on the bench and cry when they break a nail?”
All of us, even Sofie, crack up at that.
“If I’d been paid in today’s dollars, I’d own a house like this, maybe two.” He winks at me. “Tough game; tell those boys to put away money for their knee and hip replacements now.”
The game may not be as bad as when Paul played, but it is brutal all because of one goalie, and not the one who makes my heart stutter.
In the last period, the Bears’ two-goal lead is down to one. Why? Because Johnson receives a penalty, Dash is sent to the box in his place.
“That son of a bitch is working for the other team!” Paul shakes his head.
“Certainly seems so, doesn’t it?” Nalani agrees.
“No, kid, I’m telling you that he’s either getting paid off to play like that, or he’s begging to get traded. That Costello kid paid way too much money for what he’s getting out of him.”
“How do you feel about the other goalies?” I ask.
“I think when Moretti finally stopped pouting, that girl coach played him more and gave him his balls back. And that kid they keep pulling up, he’s as good as Moretti was at his age. I’d cut my losses and put that little shit on the bench—permanently.”
I don’t tell him that Deacon is not even on the bench, or that he’s not playing due to his injury, that would undoubtedly raise questions I just don’t have answers for.
What I do know is that a five-minute penalty means the Bears are playing the rest of the game a man down.
“Defend the damn goal!” Paul yells when we can see that one of the Utah players has a clear shot.
Rivera and Koa end up somehow saving it, but they’re all over them. Koa gets the puck and rails it to Aleks Kilovak, aka The Killer.
“Don’t do it, Killer,” Paul says, seeing something before the players on the ice even do.
Killer winds back and slaps the puck from center ice, making a goal and giving the Bears back the lead.
“The Bears are up!” Sofie throws a fist in the air.
Nalani is tapping in her phone with a smile on her face, and I nudge her.
“Looks like you’ll have a very happy fiancé coming home to you.”
“It sure does.”
When the buzzer finally sounds, the cameraperson catches the perfect shot of Koa, his eyes locked and narrowed at Johnson.
Yep, I know what to expect. I just hope Johnson isn’t one of the players I see first.
On Wednesday, the medical team and support staff were told to take half a day off. The team would be back tonight, and tomorrow would be busy. I messaged Nalani to let her know and asked if she wanted to go to Noelle’s bookstore.
She picked Savannah and me up at noon, and we swung by Paul’s, visited for a bit, and then decided to walk to Pembrook Books from there.
She seemed a bit off, but I don’t ask why: “Are you sure you want to keep walking?” I ask Nalani when she starts to lag behind on our walk to Noelle’s bookstore on 78th street.
She glances down at Savannah’s new stroller. A ridiculously high-end model that feels more like a status symbol than baby gear. The thing has more configurations than I imagine a Kama Sutra book has. Koa has a major baby gear addiction.
“It’s only three miles. If my legs turn to mush, I’ll climb into the stroller and let you push us both.”
I can’t help but laugh. God, she is so happy, and I am so happy for her, for both of them.
Before Savannah, I ran five miles a day for my anxiety and mental health. “Sounds like a plan.”
“Speaking of plans, did you notice the plans laid out on the Island next to yours? Paul loved the entire—”
I cut her off, “I cannot believe you gave him the notebook.”
She looks ahead with eyes narrowed slightly in thought. “I hope you take this the way that is intended.”
“Go on,” I encourage her.
“I think he adores you and Savannah, in a way that—”
“He adores all of us,” I assure her.
“He does, but there is something so special about how he is with Savannah,” she says, then adds, very softly, “And you.”
“I think there’s something special about him, too.” I admit, “He’s —”
We both say, “Come alive,” at the same time.
And he is, he’s using just a cane now.
“And you know you are welcome to stay with Koa and me for… ever.”
I nod, “And I appreciate that so much more than I can even express, but—”
“The hen house feels like home.” She states.
“It does. And you, Paul, all of you feel like family.”
“And we all feel the same about you and Savannah. And Paul.” Her smile softens, “he would love nothing more than to watch you and Savannah grow as a family.” She sniffs. “Dear God, I’m emotional these days.”
I look at her, waiting to unpack whatever it is she needs to, but I don’t press. Sometimes we need to hold those things close until we internalize and digest all our thoughts and feelings so they don’t get diluted by others.
“If he says he wants you to set up an office downstairs and have a dream kitchen, then I can guarantee that’s exactly what he is envisioning too.” She pauses. “But if you don’t, and you want—
“I’d love nothing more than that, but I can’t allow myself to live in a fairytale where I allow myself to believe Kyle is not going to get visitation, and I can’t pretend the minute that when she’s old enough that they can force summers or—”
“He’s not going to win this.”
“I can’t allow myself to—”
“Get too comfortable?” She asks.
She’s not wrong, I think. “I’d like to change the subject.”
“Okay.” She nods. “What subject should we tackle now?”
“Something imminent. Like, what are we going to do to help Noelle after the inevitable breakup with Lauren?”
“Exactly what we’re doing now, be there for her.”
When Noelle’s bookstore comes into view, we both pause and take a moment to admire Pembrooke Books. Then a sleek black vehicle pulls up in front.
“Sofie has arrived.” Nalani giggles.