Chapter 46
RAKE
I’m driving to practice early the next morning when my phone rings.
“Hi Dad,” I say.
“Hello, son. I saw your press conference the other day.”
I have no doubt he’s calling with criticism of some kind. But he’s not going to get me down.
“It was great, don’t you think? The whole team was happy for me, with the way things went.”
He clears his throat. Here it comes. “Rake, you’re being a fool.”
Don’t beat around the bush, old man.
“I had a feeling you might say something like that, Dad.”
He scoffs. “I bet you did. Now listen, you cannot go putting a woman ahead of your career. That is the… stupidest thing you could possibly do. You’ve worked too hard—”
“Dad, has it occurred to you that I can have both? A successful career and a woman?”
How many other people am I going to have to convince of this? First Petal, and now my father.
“Don’t be glib with me, Rake. And don’t be so na?ve—”
“Hey, Dad,” I interrupt, “I just arrived at the rink. Let’s talk later when you can show me some respect, okay?”
Click. Yes, I just hung up on my father. Something I thought I’d never do.
“Yo, Rake,” Tyler says when I get to the locker room. He slaps me on the back. “How’s your beautiful wife?”
I pull out my practice clothes, which stink to high heavens. “She’s fun, Ty. But I’m wondering why my practice stuff wasn’t washed.”
I look at the guys around me and they all turn away quickly. Tyler, on the other hand, does not, and is shaking with laughter.
“You did not,” I say, throwing my putrid workout clothes at him and everyone else around.
The guys are yelling and dodging the stench, so I take a particularly bad pair of shorts, and stick them right in Tyler’s red face. “You think taking my stuff out of the laundry is funny? Well, I think it’s funny as hell rubbing the scent of my sweaty ball sack and asshole right up your nose.”
Tyler wrestles my rank practice clothes out of his face and bends over, gagging, while everyone else in the locker room is in hysterics. I have to say, it feels good to laugh, even on the receiving end of one of Tyler’s practical jokes.
“Hey, anybody got any clean clothes I can borrow?” I shout.
“Nope. Sorry man.”
“Can’t help ya.”
“Hope you find something to wear.”
Everyone heads to the ice and I’m left with my dirty clothes from yesterday. “Thanks, assholes,” I yell after them, still laughing. Such are team hijinks, and if one of yesterday’s reporters was to ask me now about our team spirit, I’d say we’re doing pretty fucking fine.
When practice is over, I take a call from BJ. My second-least favorite person at the moment.
“Yo, BJ. I hear you and my dad are buddies.”
No reason to beat around the bush.
“You don’t sound happy I reached out to your father.”
“What tipped you off, BJ?”
“Look. I’m sorry. I’m looking out for you and thought it might help. I was wrong. But things are moving forward. You did good in that press con the other day.”
No thanks to him.
“What can I do for you, BJ?”
I know I’m sounding like a dick, but I’m really not happy with this guy at the moment.
“Hey, I’ve got a media outlet that’s interested in interviewing Petal. Good Morning San Francisco.”
“What?”
“I know this is unusual, and I didn’t even want to take it to Vince. I think it could be good for you guys.”
“Well, what do they want to talk about with her? She knows nothing about hockey. She used to be an accountant and now works in a bookstore, for chrissakes.”
“I know, I know. I’m getting the feeling that, since you guys are now the media darling couple, folks would like to hear from her.”
We’re media darlings? I’ve never heard anything so stupid in my life.
“I’ll talk to her BJ. No promises. In fact, I’m ninety-nine percent certain she’ll shoot the idea down.”
“Thanks, Rake. That’s all I can ask, that you’ll see if she’ll do it. If not, it’s not the end of the world.”
“I’ll let you know,” I say and end the call.
If I don’t get out of my overly stinky practice clothes, I’m going puke or faint.