Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Justin
“Great idea to get the kids new equipment,” Amy says. “Some of them have equipment that needs to be retired.” I look at her, and I’m almost tempted to fire her, but then who the hell would help run this shit.
“Have some respect, Amy,” I say under my breath as kids run out of the room like it’s Christmas morning. I walk in, looking for Dylan, but don’t see him anywhere.
“He went to his locker room,” Dan says while he helps a kid try on skates.
“Thank you so much.” One of the fathers comes to me and shakes my hand with his eyes filled with tears. “It’s more than you know.”
“It’s my pleasure,” I say, and then I point over at Dan. “He’s the one who made this happen.”
“Your parents should be very, very proud,” he says, and I smile.
I lean in and whisper, “I’ll remind my mother of that the next time I miss her curfew when I’m home.”
“Always her baby,” he says, and I nod. “Have a great day.”
“You as well,” I say and turn to walk down the hallway while I hear some of the kids freaking out.
“These are the newest skates on the market,” one of the kids says. “He has to mold my foot tomorrow.”
“This hockey stick has the best flex,” another says, and I finally find Dylan in one of the locker rooms all by himself.
“Hey there, did you get your stuff?” I ask, sitting on the bench and looking around.
“Justin, look at the new skates I got,” he says, taking them out of his bag and holding them up to me. “The laces are so white.” He looks down, and his smile fills his face.
“I saw. Did you try them on?” I ask. He comes to sit next to me and takes his running shoes off and puts his foot in one.
“Will you help me tie them?” he asks, and I get up and stoop down in front of him. “Usually, Mom helps me.”
“Does she tie them really tight?” I ask as I tighten the lace at the bottom.
“Yeah,” he says and then looks at me. “But the other dads do it tighter. Don’t tell her.”
I try not to laugh, and then my heart hurts for him to never have a father tie his skates. “I won’t tell her. My mom used to try also.”
“Not your dad?” he asks, and I look at him, grabbing the other skate and putting it on him.
“Yeah. Most of the time it was my dad, but sometimes when he had a meeting, it had to be my mom,” I say. “Sometimes, if I was really lucky, it would be my big brother.” I smile at him. “He used to come home and come to some of my games, and I would always try to score a goal for him.”
“Did you score?” he asks, not even realizing that I finished tying his skates.
“Most times,” I say. “What about you, do you score?”
“Yeah,” he says, getting up. “I even got a trophy for most goals in the season,” he says. “I got five goals in one game,” he says, and I get up.
“Wow, that’s better than me,” I say. “Walk and see how they feel,” I say. The bell rings, letting everyone know it’s time to get to your place.
“They hurt my feet,” he says, and I nod at him.
“That’s new skates for you. It’ll take a bit to get them worn in,” I say. “Let me go get my skates, and I’ll help you get ready for the ice.” I get up, and three kids come into the room who are older than Dylan.
“Is this group four?” one of them asks.
“Yes,” Dylan says, taking off his skates.
I walk outside and find one of the trainers.
Actually, he’s the one I picked myself. Ralph plays with me for Edmonton, and his contract is up next year.
He is the best on the ice, and you can’t even try to deny it.
Stats don’t lie and neither do the results once he hits the ice.
He’s also known as the pretty boy on the ice, and one of the few defensemen who still has all his teeth.
“Hey, Ralph,” I call him over. “Dylan Woods, he’s in there with kids who are twelve.”
“Yeah. Did you see him on the ice?” he asks. There were five people in the stands evaluating the kids to make sure they were placed in the right level to help them get better.
“That kid plays like a thirteen-year-old. He just doesn’t have the height,” Ralph says.
“He’s eight,” I say. I knew he had it, but I had to have someone else say it so I knew I wasn’t playing favorites.
“Yeah, well, the kid has it,” Ralph says. I walk away to the room to get my bag and wonder if I should go back to him or not. I grab my bag without thinking twice about it.
Walking back into the room, I see he’s almost already dressed.
He slips his jersey over his head and then steps into his skates again, and he looks up and sees the kids tying their own skates so he doesn’t say anything as he tries to tie his own skates.
“You good?” I ask, and he looks at me while he tries to tighten it.
“Here,” I say, putting my own skate on and showing him how I tie it. “You grab the one on the top and pull up.” I show him, and he ties it all the way to the top.
“I did it,” he says happily and then gets up, doing the other one. He grabs his new helmet and puts his mouth guard in.
“How did you get so good at skating?” I ask.
“I use the outdoor rink,” he says. “When Mom is cleaning the rooms, she lets me skate outside.”
“She cleans hotel rooms?” I ask, and he nods his head.
“Not all the time, just on Saturday and Sunday,” he says. “I have to go with her because she doesn’t have anyone to watch me.”
“She’s a good mom,” I say, my head swirling with the information he just told me. She works two jobs and doesn’t even have money to buy breakfast. I want to ask her all the questions, but who the fuck am I that she is going to answer me. I’m just some guy who took her to breakfast once.
Dylan walks over to the wall and grabs his new stick. “I’m going to tape my new stick tonight,” he says, and I smile, grabbing my own helmet and following him on the ice.
He gets on before me, and I’m expecting him to wobble a bit, but instead, he just glides on like he was born to be there. I get on after him and blow the whistle. “Two laps,” I say, twirling my fingers and then blow the whistle again and watch the kids take off. I stand in the middle with Ralph.
“Doesn’t it make you laugh?” He starts to talk.
“Some rich kids out there are paying two hundred dollars an hour for someone to train them, and they will never be as good as half of these kids.” I watch the kids go around in the circle, and I spot Dylan right away by the way he moves.
“Look at that kid,” Ralph says, pointing at Dylan.
“Look at the way he skates. He uses his whole body, which makes him even better.”
“What about if you put a puck on his stick?” I ask, and he smiles at me.
“My favorite part,” he says, going over and getting the pucks and throwing them on the ice.
I watch as Dylan slides over and takes a puck with the back of his blade and then kicks it to the stick like it’s no big deal.
He skates around and moves the puck right and left.
The whole time, his head is up, and not once does he lose control of it.
“His hands are better than the fifteen year olds. If this kid has the opportunity, he might beat your dad’s records. ”
I throw my head back and laugh. “If you’re right, I’ll pay you a thousand dollars.”
For the rest of the practice, I watch Dylan closely, and every single time he’s given something to do or works on a drill, he just excels and pushes himself.
When the hour is over, the kids skate to the bench and take a drink of water.
“Okay, three-on-three game,” Ralph says.
I watch as Dylan skates to center ice, and I stand back as he gets into position exactly like I do.
He skates in a circle and then leans forward with his stick in his hands.
He gets ready for the face-off, and he doesn’t look at the kid; he looks at Ralph who holds the puck in his hand.
He leans in just a touch and drops the puck.
Dylan ducks down, and his stick goes out winning the face-off.
He skates past the kid, going straight to the puck, and there is only one kid on defense, so it’s almost like a one-on-one.
He skates to the right and then to the left, and when he thinks the other kid is going back to the right, Dylan pulls his stick back and aims for the net, his puck hitting the back of the net.
“I should have doubled the wager,” Ralph says, skating to go get the puck.
“Hey, Justin, did you see that I scored?” Dylan says, skating to the bench and letting someone else take his place.
“I did see it,” I say. “Smooth.”
He just nods his head, smiling, while he takes a squirt of water. By the end of the game, he’s scored ten goals. He skates off the ice, and the only time I see him again is at the end of the day when he comes out of the locker room with his hair wet.
“Hey, is my mom here?” he asks, looking around.
I look toward the door and see her walking in.
I smile, just thinking about her, but when she looks up, I see that she’s been crying.
Her eyes look like they are bloodshot, and I look at Dylan, who sees her and runs to her.
She sees him and smiles at him, showing a brave face, and my heart can’t stop the hammering.
It can’t stop even if I told it not to, even if I know she has the ability to shatter it.
I don’t go to her. Instead, I watch how she buries whatever she is going through to smile at Dylan. “Did you have a good day?” she asks, opening her arms and kissing his head when he reaches around to hug her waist.
“Yeah, we got all new stuff,” he says, and she looks up and finally sees me.
“Hey,” she says, her voice coming out monotone. “Thank you so much for helping today,” she says, holding out the keys for the SUV. “And for the lunch.” She does a fake smile and then looks down at Dylan. “Let’s get going.”
“How are you getting home?” I ask, and my stomach somehow burns with anger.
She is about to answer me when Amy comes out, calling my name. “Justin.” She swaggers over, and I turn my head to look at her. “We are still on for tonight, right?”