Chapter 9
Jax – Transitions
“Hear me out, man. From what I’ve seen over the last few weeks, you’re a natural coach and mentor.
Something I’ve wanted to do for a while to give back to the community is to develop a youth hockey team.
And we need an official team ambassador.
Someone to represent us at key events and liaison with the community.
I think you’re a perfect fit for both.” Trevor is doing his best to convince me to take on a non-playing role with the team.
The role of ambassador does not sound like anything I want to do. I hate talking to the press and it sounds like that’s an integral part of the job. Not my idea of fun. No doubt, the look on my face states my case. And it’s as if he read my mind about the press aspect.
“It’s not like you’ll be the team spokesperson. We’ve got PR people for that. The ambassador’s role is to interact with kids and community organizations. Just be your charming self. It’s a great way to transition into retirement, but still keep you connected to hockey.”
“I’ll think about it,” I reply in order to get him to stop talking.
I’m not in the right headspace to think about all that right now.
It’s tough not being able to play, although I’m proud of the way Cole has become more of a team player and is encouraging everyone to rally around the replacement Captain.
If we win the next few games, we’ll be well-positioned for the playoffs.
I’m attending tonight’s game as a spectator for the first time. Even though I’m far above the action in the owners’ box, I find myself itching to coach the players and give my team mates advice.
Earlier, I toured the player tunnel installation with the rest of the team and management.
Elise was in her element, showing off the design and answering questions.
The more I interact with her, the more my attraction grows.
She’s so different from the puck bunnies and West Palm society women with their fake nails, hair, and boobs.
Elise is a natural beauty, genuine and down-to-earth, which I find incredibly sexy.
At the same time, she’s comfortable in an environment like that charity event we attended a while back.
Her classic, understated look was more appealing to me than any of the supermodels or socialites in designer gowns and jewels.
Speaking of Elise, she just entered the suite, still glowing from the accolades during the private tour earlier.
She’s wearing my jersey again tonight, and when I see her in it, I feel pride, like a high school kid whose girl is wearing his class ring.
Shortly after she sits down beside me in the seats overlooking the rink, Cole drives the puck into the net and the siren blares in celebration.
Elise jumps up from her seat cheering, then wraps her arms around me in a hug.
I’m having more fun watching her get into the spirit of the game than if I had scored the goal myself.
For the first time ever, I’m seeing the game through someone else’s eyes, reminding me that there can be pleasure in hockey even if I’m not actually on the ice myself.
After the game, Elise and I take a walk through the tunnel display again, filled with hockey fans, local dignitaries, and the media.
I’m so proud of her as I note all the smiles and comments from observers marveling at the integrated artwork.
Tuning everyone else out, it feels like it’s just her and I walking along.
I know I can confide in her about my fear of change and my hopes and plans for the future.
“Trevor has made me an intriguing offer. But I don’t know if I can handle it, being around hockey, but not actually playing. I’ve never done anything else.”
“I know how you feel about fear of facing the unknown. I’m excited about the potential opportunity in Canada, but being in another country where I don’t know anyone?
And I worry about not measuring up to expectations.
Am I good enough? Is my art good enough?
Will I be successful? Will this secure my future? So many questions.”
As she’s speaking, her hand brushes mine. It feels natural to intertwine our fingers. Our hands seem to know one another instinctively, acknowledging the growing connection between us, despite our uncertain futures, possibly in two vastly separate places.
As the arena begins to empty out and shut down for the night, I’m reluctant for our connection to end.
“Will you have dinner with me tomorrow night?”
“Yes.”
“How about coming to my condo? It’s a secure building, so hopefully no photographers will be lurking around,” I say with a wry smile.
The next evening when Elise arrives, I look around, trying to visualize my minimalist space through her eyes, noting the sharp contrast with her cozy, eclectic home.
The key word being home. She has a home, a space that reflects her personality.
I have a million-dollar storage unit with amenities where I lay my head down whenever I’m not traveling for hockey.
As I’m pouring Elise a glass of wine, I get a text alerting me to a visitor.
“That must be our dinner. I ordered from the Golden Palm.”
I grab my wallet in order to tip the delivery person and open the door wide.
“Mom! I wasn’t expecting you tonight.”
My mother has been hovering over me since my surgery, trying to do everything for me. Even though I really don’t need her help, I humor her because I know she loves me and wants to take care of me.
“Hi, honey. I forgot my key. And I figured you need to eat.”
She steps across the threshold, then stops when she sees that I’m not alone.
“Mom, this is my friend Elise Kinney. Elise, my mother, Diane.”
My mother walks over to Elise and embraces her in a warm motherly hug. “Nice to meet you, Elise.”
“It’s nice to meet you, too.”
If she’s surprised about finding a woman in my condo, she doesn’t show it. “Well, I should get busy whipping up dinner for three.”
“Dinner’s already on the way, Mom, and there’s plenty.”
I inwardly groan. Not that I don’t appreciate my mother or mind her being here, I was looking forward to spending time with Elise. Oh well. Dinner for three, it is.
“You two sit and talk. When the food arrives, I’ll set everything out and let you know when it’s ready.”
Once we’re gathered at the table eating, my mother is critiquing each dish like a judge on one of those cooking shows, amusing us with her detailed reviews.
She’s always enjoyed cooking, so I’m not surprised when she reveals that she recently enrolled in culinary school—a dream she put on hold for many years because I was always her number one priority.
“Mom, I’m so proud of you. You’ll do great, and I’m glad you’re finally taking time to do something for yourself.”
Later, after we tell my mother goodnight, I turn to Elise. “Would you mind helping me with something? The Blades are putting together a youth program fundraiser, and rather than giving a donation, I thought I’d offer up some things from my own collection.”
She follows me to the spare bedroom which I use as an office and storage space. I open the closet door and begin sliding out boxes. Elise doesn’t hesitate to offer a hand.
“Should you be moving these? Let me get them.”
Soon, we’re both sitting on the floor surrounded by boxes. “I have no idea what’s in some of these. My mother saved everything from the time I was a kid, and when she downsized and moved to the States, she shipped them all to me.”
“They do appear to be numbered, so perhaps we start with the first one.”
She points out the side of one of the boxes that’s labeled in black marker Jax Hockey #1.
I open box number one, removing several scrapbooks and what I’m fairly sure is my first pair of hockey skates.
“Those are adorable,” Elise exclaims.
She scoots closer to me so we can both see the pages of the first scrapbook. Each album is marked with dates and my age.
As I thumb through page after page of memories, I reflect on the tangible evidence of my life that’s been totally dedicated to hockey.
It’s my entire identity. Instead of finding childhood drawings or school records, everything in these boxes centers around the sport, including the souvenir of a hospital bracelet and a photo of me proudly sporting a cast on my arm at age nine due to a hockey injury.
The emotions build as I reflect on all of the memories, good and bad. Elise listens without judgment, leaning into me, and resting her head on my upper bicep.
Before I know it, several hours have passed and we’ve set aside a pile of game jerseys that I can sign, as well as a number of souvenir pucks for the auction. The childhood keepsakes are tucked back into the boxes.
I stand and offer a hand to Elise to help her up.
Likely compensating for my injury, she bounces up with some force, and I wrap my arms around her to keep her from falling.
She looks up at me, and I’m hit with a wave of desire.
The desire builds rapidly to a need. The need to strengthen our bond, to further explore and deepen the intimacy we’ve steadily established over time.
Our lips move closer until they’re touching, the warmth of her mouth and the slight tingle of wine and pasta still on her tongue as we leisurely taste each other through kisses.
At some point, I walk us backward to lean on the wall, relieving some of the pressure of standing for both of us.
Of their own volition, my lips move away from her mouth, finding the crook of her neck.
As I nibble softly, I inhale the sweetest scent that is uniquely hers. Fresh. Sea salt. Air and sunshine.
She sighs, as if surrendering. Even though it’s a subtle sound, it jolts me back to reality. When she realizes the loss of my lips, her eyes open, searching mine.
“Princess. I want you so badly. I feel such a connection with you and I want to explore it. Navigate it with you. See what it means. Where it goes. I would love to take you to my bed right now, but I don’t want to screw things up just to satisfy a physical need, I want to do things right. When we’re both ready.”
I cup the side of her face, marveling at the softness of her skin and the endless depths of her eyes.
Eloquent words escape me as my mind goes blank.
Although my body is screaming for relief, my heart says wait.
It’s self-preservation. We’ve both got futures to figure out.
Once Elise decides what her future holds, if it doesn’t include me, I know my body will recover, but I’m not sure my heart will.