Chapter 1 #2
March of 2000 was a record-breaking frigid winter in Minnesota.
My mom was pregnant with me, Tori was learning to walk, and my dad was playing in his 200th NHL game.
It was in that game that Erik Parker laid a dirty heavy hit from behind on my unsuspecting dad.
Not only did it take my dad out of the game, but he never returned to the ice that season.
With lingering post-concussion symptoms, my dad never played another hockey game in his life.
Erik Parker on the other hand went on to play over a thousand NHL games.
Now his son is picking up where he left off.
As I pass by the living room on my way to an early bedtime, the Freeze’s play-by-play and color analysts discuss Erik Parker’s
bid for a Hockey Hall of Fame induction. They call it an egregious oversight that he’s yet to receive the call and say that
this is his year.
Maybe it’s the sweetgrass Ivy’s burning or maybe it’s the hot spite that courses through my veins, but in a rare moment of
clarity, I’m inspired. Lots of people think they hate a player, but few do anything about it. “I’m going to kill him.” The
words flow out of my mouth as calmly as a pleasant miigwech. The idea and its consequences wash over me like a wave of relief,
and I settle into a closed-mouth smile. This must be how people feel at the end of yoga.
“Which one?” Tori’s gaze remains fixated on the game.
I sit down beside her and kick up my feet on the coffee table. “You’re right. Why pick when I can take down the whole family.”
“That sounds like a lot of work,” Tori says, peeking over at me. “I know you’re really hurt that mom sold the house, but are
you sure you don’t want to cut bangs and text a toxic ex instead?”
“I have scissors!” Ivy interjects.
It’s too late for their meek suggestions because I’m already lost in my phone’s contacts, frantically typing a small novel
that I will likely regret the moment I press Send.
“It was a joke! Don’t text any of those losers you dated in college.” Tori grabs at my phone, but I turn out of reach.
“I’m not texting an ex.” My thumbs tap frenetically to keep up with my train of thought.
“You’re not putting a hit out on him, right? Right?” Tori asks.
“I’m texting Uncle Derek,” I say. “I bet he’ll be able to get me a part-time job with the Freeze.”
Uncle Derek played with Dad for years—he’s not our actual uncle, but it’s what Tori and I have called him our whole lives.
Ever since Dad died of heart disease seven years ago, Derek carries some guilt. Hopefully enough to help me land a gig with
the team.
“This is great. I’ll kill two birds with one stone. The extra income will make finding an apartment easier and I’ll have access
to the Parkers.” I hit Send without proofreading. I’m sure the Freeze need part-time people to sell popcorn, shovel ice, or
scan tickets this season.
“What do you mean by kill?” Tori leans in, trying to get a look at my screen.
“He’s typing back!” I scoot up higher, giddy with anticipation.
“Just to confirm. You do mean figuratively?” Tori’s concern continues to fall on deaf ears.
Since my dad died, my relationship with hockey has been anything but healthy. Playing hockey became an impossible chore once
he was gone, but I had to keep my roster spot on my college’s Division I women’s hockey team if I wanted partial scholarship.
It’s been years since I’ve been to a Minnesota Freeze game. The only feeling strong enough to overpower the pain I experience
being around the game is the promise of revenge—and the thought of enacting it on the Parker legacy has me practically salivating.
Erik is not getting inducted into the Hockey Hall of Fame. Not if I have any say in the matter.
“Uncle Derek says to come into the office tomorrow. He’s got something for me.” I jump up and pump my fist in the air as the
Freeze lose a face-off.
Tori gives me a look, the same one she would give me as kids when she caught me doing something I shouldn’t.
Like the time I snuck a stray dog into the house, or pierced my ears with a sewing needle, or tried making moonshine and ended up in the ER.
She wants to yell stop, but she can’t. So instead, she distracts Mom, sterilizes the needle, and makes sure the vomit doesn’t get in my hair.
“I’m not going to kill anyone,” I say convincingly. “I’m not trying to watch the world mourn the death of hockey’s biggest
jerkwad father-son duo. I just can’t let the Parkers’ legacy intertwine itself into the Minnesota Freeze. I can’t let them
finish what Dad started.”
“Well then what’s the plan, genius? How exactly are you going to sabotage the Parkers by selling popcorn or ushering fans
to their seats?”
I huff. “Tori, you have no sense of whimsy or mischief at all.”
“And you never think things through.”
“That’s the advantage of an entrepreneurial brain—I’ll figure it out as I go. One step at a time.” I tap the side of my head,
like I’ve got a whole plan unfolding already.
Tori lets out a heavy sigh. She’s known me long enough to know that when I set my mind to something, it’s best to get out
of my way.