Chapter 6 Rocky Ride #2
A few hours later, I’m sitting in the front row of the Columbia Green Arena with Gardenia.
The three boys are seated between us, which means we aren’t able to carry on a conversation.
That’s just as well. I’m fully aware of the dirty looks I’m getting from the team when they pass near the glass during warm-ups.
Jakob stops to tap his stick on the glass and smile at his boys and Noah.
His smile turns to a frown when he catches sight of me.
He nods curtly and skates away. Thankfully, Noah doesn’t notice the cold reception.
He’s too busy pointing at players and bouncing in his seat.
I haven’t seen him this animated since before his mom died.
I’m consumed by guilt that I haven’t brought him sooner considering his love for hockey. It was selfish of me, and for that I vow to do everything in my power to make this a memorable night.
“Can I have a jersey, Aunt Ari? Can I? Ryder and Rowen have one with their dad’s name and number.”
“Of course you can.” I’m grateful for a reprieve from the ice-melting glares the team casts my way. Usually, I’m in the press box and not in their faces as I am tonight.
The team store on the lower level of the arena is packed as usual. I guide him through the throngs to the kids’ jerseys. “Which one do you want?”
He studies the jerseys hanging on the racks with the seriousness of someone picking out their first car. I suppress my smile. This kid is something. Finally, he pulls one off the rack and holds it up triumphantly.
“This one.”
I stare down at it and go cold inside. “Are you sure? What about the captain’s jersey? Wouldn’t you rather have one with the C on it?” A C in hockey designates the team captain. The As are alternate captains.
“No, I want Drakos’s jersey. He’s my favorite player.”
“He is?” I’m blown away. He’s never mentioned this before, and my discomfort grows to epic proportions. Is it possible Noah feels an affinity to this asshole because of shared DNA he’s unaware of? I’ve heard of identical twins who’ve never met having unique bonds, but not a father and son.
“Yes.” His joy fades as he eyes me with suspicion, which has been his normal MO these past few months. Noah doesn’t trust anyone in his life right now. I can only imagine how it feels to lose the one person who cares the most about you in this world.
I point to another jersey. “How about this one?”
“I want number seventy-two.” He scowls, and a full-blown pout or tantrum brews on the horizon.
I heave a resigned sigh and take the jersey from him. I carry it to the line for the cash register with Noah on my heels. We manage to return to our seats while they’re still in warm-ups, much to my surprise.
Noah pulls the jersey over his head, and I shrink down in my seat, hoping Drakos doesn’t notice.
Unfortunately, within the next couple seconds, Drakos skates right past us.
He spots Noah, who’s standing on his feet with his hands and face pressed against the glass.
Drakos breaks into a broad grin. Taps the glass and hoists his stick over the plexiglass.
Noah is beside himself as he hugs the stick to his small body.
Drakos glances my way and does a double take. I don’t have to be a mind reader to know he’s wondering what the hell this kid next to me is doing wearing his jersey. I bet he thinks it’s some kind of trap I’m setting. I can’t blame him.
He points at Noah and then at me, mouthing the word, “Yours?”
I nod. He hesitates for a moment longer before skating toward the tunnel and disappearing. The boys are jabbering excitedly over Noah’s gift. I’m numb with fear. As soon as the season’s over, I should put in for a transfer back to California or somewhere, anywhere but the team Drakos is on.
With my luck, I’d change teams, and he’d end up traded to them.
I can’t move Noah now. He’s making friends and is doing better than he did even when his mother was alive. As much as I love my sister, I’ll be the first to admit she wasn’t a great mother. She loved her son, but she also saw him as an inconvenience more often than not.
Noah squeezes my arm. “Are you okay, Auntie?” His concern surprises me and warms my heart.
“I’m fine.” I force a smile and give him a quick hug, drawing a frown from him. He doesn’t want to be hugged in front of his homeys. I try not to laugh.
I’m unreasonably paranoid. Drakos doesn’t know a damn thing.
He doesn’t have a clue that Noah is the child he gave up, even if the woman he got pregnant and I have the same last name.
Besides, he probably has other kids out in the wild that he’s either disowned or denied paternity because that’s the kind of jerk he is.
Regardless, I can’t shake this niggling feeling of impending doom.
During intermission, we guide the boys to one of the concession stands for hot dogs. While we wait for the food, the kids stand in a circle talking hockey.
A middle-aged woman comes up to Gardenia, and they welcome each other warmly.
She radiates confidence in that fuck-around-and-find-out way that some women have.
I wouldn’t cross her. “Gardenia, I’m so sorry I haven’t gotten back to you.
Please know that your dad’s case is not being ignored, but we’re a little shorthanded right now, as our business is booming. ”
“Michella mentioned how busy you guys were. I understand. I’ve waited this long. I can wait a while longer.”
“I appreciate your patience. We’ll get on it as soon as possible.
” The woman notices something. “Oh. Sorry, I have to go.” She hurries away before Gardenia has a chance to introduce us.
As a journalist, I’m naturally nosy, but I don’t get a chance to pepper Gardenia with questions about her curious conversation.
It’s my turn at the counter. I order hot dogs and fries.
Not the healthiest meal, but sometimes a person has to live dangerously.
We return to our seats a few minutes later.
The score is tied one-one, and it’s been a brutal battle so far.
They’re leaving it all out on the ice, and it’s a toss-up who’ll win this one.
Their goalie, Roman Daniels, is dialed in.
He’s incredible when he’s confident, but if his confidence erodes, he loses his shit.
Inconsistency is his biggest issue, which is all mental and nothing to do with ability.
I want the Icehawks to win more fervently than expected.
Normally, I stay disconnected from a team I’m reporting on, but these guys are different.
I’ve been reporting on the Icehawks since their initial expansion draft, and I’ve been with them every step of the way since they officially became a team.
If they win this one, I’m going to write a positive piece about perseverance and the difficulties of building a playoff team from scratch.
That’ll shock ‘em. Except for Drakos. He’s not given me any good things to point out.
He’s played his game but hasn’t contributed to the score in terms of a goal or assist. Some would say I should cut him a little slack since he saved my ass over a week ago, but that’s not happening.
So far, the Icehawks’ lone score comes from Camden Hale, a guy I’ve been almost as critical of as I am Drakos, but Camden has really stepped up lately. He may turn out to be the biggest waiver steal of the season. His old team literally got nothing for him.
At second intermission, Gardenia slides into the seat next to me. When I glance questioningly at her, she grimaces. “I need some adult interaction.”
“I hear you.”
We share a laugh and talk while waiting for the third period to start. I decide to ask about the woman who came up to Gardenia earlier. Maybe it’s none of my business, but I feel that if we’ve become good enough friends, she’ll tell me if that’s how she feels.
“Who were you talking to earlier, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“That’s Carla Edwards, she’s the lead PI at Gone Missing Detective Agency and a retired Portland PD homicide detective.”
“Oh.”
“She’s Michella’s boss. Her agency was crucial in unmasking the Rose City Killer, Desmond Hall.”
“Oh, wow.” I’m embarrassed to say I’m woefully behind on local news. I knew of the serial killer and his capture, but not the details. “I guess she’s a hockey fan?”
“Yes. Michella and Briggs often give her tickets.”
“What case is she working on for you?” I immediately regret my words. I’m being too pushy, which I have a tendency to do, and I really want to keep Gardenia as a friend. “I’m sorry. It’s really none of my business.”
“I don’t mind talking about it, as long as you promise I won’t be the subject of an article.”
Her words sting somewhat. I’m fully aware of my reputation as a reporter who’ll report anything to get clicks. “I promise.”
“My dad allegedly killed himself. My stepmother took everything, including the life insurance and my college fund because Dad hadn’t bothered with a will.”
“Allegedly?”
“Yes, I’m not convinced. That’s where Carla and Michella come in.
I talked with him the day before he died.
He’d seen a divorce lawyer that morning as he discovered my stepmom was cheating on him.
He sounded hopeful and ready to start a new chapter in his life without her.
His biggest concern was his children, and how she’d use them against him. ”
“You believe she had something to do with it?” I guess, which isn’t hard to surmise.
“She had an alibi, of course, but that doesn’t mean she didn’t hire someone. They lived in a rural area outside of Portland, and the local sheriff’s office didn’t see a reason to investigate any further.”
“That sucks. Where’s the stepmother now?”
“Not sure, but I heard Florida after she sold everything he owned of value. She threw everything else out before I had an opportunity to stop her.” Gardenia manages a sad smile.
“I hope Carla and Michella find time to work on the case soon, but they have other time-sensitive cases that get priority. I’ve waited for years. I can be patient.”
“I’m so sorry.” I’ve never been good at comforting people, but I’m giving it my best shot because Gardenia deserves it. She’s offered friendship when no one else associated with the team would, though I can’t blame them.
Before I can ask any more questions, the team bursts onto the ice for the third period. Gardenia focuses her attention on the puck drop, and I do the same.
The last minute of the third period is a nail-biter.
Overtime is beginning to look like a distinct possibility.
Every soul in the arena is on their feet.
The cheering is deafening. The boys are yelling at the top of their lungs, as is Gardenia.
I’m the only person not going wild. I want them to win in the worst way, but I’m a journalist first and strive to maintain some professionalism, though I’m guessing a lot of Icehawks would debate that point.
Gardenia glances over at me curiously. I can only imagine her wondering why I’m so subdued.
After all, most consider me nothing more than a hack who writes clickbait and sensationist pieces with a lack of substance.
Unfortunately, they’d be right in their assessment.
I’d love to find a different job, but well-paying journalist jobs are next to impossible to find.
I could become an influencer, but chasing likes and constantly marketing myself doesn’t appeal in the least. I guess I’d rather write gossipy crap.
I won’t be doing this forever. In fact, before my sister died, I made plans to leave All Hockey News, but supporting a young boy changed all that. The truth is I need this job.
I turn my attention back to the game as the clock ticks down. Thirty seconds. Twenty seconds. Ten seconds…
Drakos slams Sullivan into the boards, dislodging the puck.
Trent controls it and gallops down the ice.
At the last minute, he passes to an open Dash, who doesn’t even pause before sending a laser toward the net.
I clap my hands over my mouth and stop breathing.
The puck hits the crossbar, takes a wild bounce off the goalie’s shoulder, and goes into the net.
The lamp lights. The goal horn goes off. The entire arena erupts.
This time I don’t hold back.