Chapter 3 Bill
three
Bill
I sure didn’t expect it to look like this.
Tucked at the edge of the park, the frozen pond looks more like a Hallmark movie set than a tryout rink.
White string lights crisscross above the ice.
There’s even a snack stand with peppermint cocoa and soft pretzels.
It’s charming, but nothing like the sharp lines and plexiglass of a hockey arena.
Since my arena isn’t ready yet, this will do.
I can’t help imagining what my arena will look like when it’s finished.
Cushion seats, luxury boxes, a custom Jumbotron, an entire food court.
The kind of place kids dream of stepping into someday.
I'm halfway through mentally calculating the space in my luxury box when chaos breaks out right in front of me.
“Ah! Sorry! I slipped!” a voice calls from my left, perking my attention to where two kids have knocked over an entire tray of cocoa that a concession worker was carrying.
The concession guy is covered in cocoa, and his eyes grow wide with fury or maybe pain as I’m guessing that liquid is hot.
Styrofoam cups roll across the packed snow, while napkins flutter away in the light breeze.
I catch a napkin midair and peer at the concession guy, feeling his pain. “Why don’t you go ahead and get cleaned up. I can take care of this mess.”
“Are you sure?” He gives me an unamused grin.
“Totally, it’s my pleasure.” I wave him off.
“Thanks, and sorry,” he quickly replies as he spins on his heel, heading toward the bathrooms.
“You’re welcome,” I call after him as I crouch, hurriedly gathering napkins before they blow away.
I don’t have a bag or anything to throw them into.
A fast eye sweep tells me there are no trash cans on this side of the park.
I know for a fact there are some garbage cans by the bathrooms, so I stuff the napkins in my deep jacket pockets until I can circle around to the trash cans.
“Here’s another one,” a voice says, sounding amused and extremely close.
I glance up, and a jolt of electricity shoots right through me.
A woman is standing behind the railing, bundled in a pink coat with a white beanie that makes the whites of her eyes pop against the dark blue sparkle.
Her hair falls in soft curls, and a sparkle of laughter in her gaze hits me square in the chest. She holds out an empty cocoa cup. “I caught one for you.”
For me?
I blink.
Does she think I’m the janitor?
I give her a side-eye as I ponder this for a moment. I could correct her. Nobody has ever given me their garbage before, as most people—especially in Mapleton—know exactly who I am. It’s sort of funny. I take the cup, and a smile grows on my lips. “Thank you.”
She smiles back and turns her attention to the rink. Her side profile is even more beautiful or maybe equally. It’s hard to decide, but I find myself mesmerized by her pink lips pinching together like she’s nervous.
“Who are you watching?” I don’t plan on talking, but I guess my curiosity gets the best of me.
“Number nineteen.” She nods toward the ice. “My son.”
I follow her gaze.
The kid she’s pointing to is flying across the ice.
He gets the puck after only a few seconds, and he takes an open shot, missing the goal.
Rough. That was an easy shot. The kid has got raw speed, but not much else yet.
“He’s got wheels,” I say, as I don’t have the heart to tell her how bad that shot was.
She beams like I’ve handed her a gold medal.
“He’s played since he was three. I didn’t know anything about the sport.
He found an old puck at a yard sale, and the lady gave it to him.
He’s been obsessed ever since. Hockey's his dream, you know? But the scouts haven’t shown any interest in him.
I knew when I heard about these tryouts, it was meant to be. ”
I flick my gaze back to her kid but stay more aware of her than I probably should. There’s something in the way she talks about him as her voice fills with pride. Like she’s forcing herself to stay positive for him. “He’s lucky to have someone who believes in him.”
“That I do,” she says. “I believe in showing up. Even when it’s cold and my toes are numb, I’ve been at every single game.”
“That’s dedication.”
“I guess it is.”
Her hand hovers midair for a second before she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m Ruth,” she says. “Ruth Miller.”
I hesitate for a second too long.
I don’t usually have to introduce myself. I get I’m not dressed in my usual clothes, as I’m wearing a plain blue windbreaker and jeans. I don’t need her to know who I am for any ego boost, but something about her makes me want to tell her the truth. “Bill,” I say finally. “Bill Baker.”
She tilts her head, and I count, one second. Two. Then—bam—recognition hits. Her eyes go cartoon-wide.
I smile, bracing for the inevitable wave of awkwardness.
She gasps, a hand flying to her mouth. “Oh no! I handed you garbage!”
Chuckling, I smile wide. “You did.”
“I’m so sorry,” she says quickly. “I thought you were staff. I wanted to do my part to keep the park clean, and I didn’t see a trash can!”
“It’s okay,” I reply, amused. “Honestly? It was kind of nice to have a regular conversation. I don’t get too many of those. Most people are too nervous to say much around me.”
She groans, covering her mouth with both of her palms as she mutters, “This is so embarrassing!” She turns away from me, as if facing the other direction will make her disappear.
“Don’t be embarrassed.” I lean in slightly. “You made my night more interesting—”
“Hey, Bill!” One of the organizers is waving me over with a clipboard in hand. “Can you come look at this real quick?”
I sort of want to talk to her more. She’s facing away from me, but I can see the back of her cheeks growing rosier by the minute. It’s oddly adorable, but regretfully duty calls. “Excuse me, ma’am” I tell her, “I need to check on something.”
“Right.” She throws up her hand in a wave, still shaken as she’s struggling to not look at me.
I step to the side, calling back, “You’ve got a good kid out there, and he’s got a good mom.”
She tosses a quick glance over her shoulder, and my chest heats as she holds my gaze for a moment. “Thank you.”
I lift the empty cocoa cup in a little salute. “And thanks for the garbage.” Then I walk away, fighting the stupid grin that won’t leave my face.
The clipboard’s waiting for me before I even make it all the way across the ice.
Coach Carlson, my head coach, shoves it into my hands like he’s handing over a death sentence verdict.
“These are the cuts we’re thinking of for the first round,” he says.
“Bad timing, no control. We’ve got enough talent out here, we don’t need to waste time on these kids. ”
I scan the list. A dozen names. None of them are surprises, but I see #19 Noah Miller on the bottom of the list.
My gut tightens.
I flick my gaze across the ice. Ruth’s eyes are locked on the ice like she’s willing something magical into existence.
My gaze goes back to Noah.
The kid is fast.
I’ll give him that much, but Carlson is correct in his assessment. There are better guys here. Every shot he’s taken so far has either gone wide or died on his stick.
Still, there’s a niggling in the back of my head, saying to keep him around, to give him a chance to open up a little more.
If anything, making the cut will give him an ego boost, which might fuel his adrenaline and help him out.
“Hold off on cutting number nineteen,” I say, handing the clipboard back by shoving it into his stomach the way he did to me.
Carlson’s gaze drops to the board. “Are you serious?”
“Yeah, I agree with you that he’s raw, but there’s something there. I don’t think he’s shown us his full potential yet. Let’s give him one more round.”
“You’re the boss.” He blows out a breath before pressing his lips together.
My eyes are back on the ice, just as Noah takes a sharp turn. I hold my breath, hoping he shows me what I need, but he loses his balance and wipes out hard, landing flat on his back.
Carlson sees it too, and he groans, “C’mon, Bill. We’re wasting our time with that one.”
I don’t answer because my gaze floats back to his mother. Ruth’s expression doesn’t crack as she watches her son get right back on his skates.
My chest pulls tight.
Not because of the fall or that kid, but because of her.
There’s something about the way she’s bracing for disappointment and daring to believe in this dream that tugs at something I thought I’d buried under business plans a long time ago.
I don’t know what her story is.
I didn’t get where I am today by following the rules and the perfect clipboard plans. I trust my gut. My gut tells me to give this kid a second chance.