Chapter Four
EDDIE
I blinked, and the next thing I knew, the cursed alarm was going off. The only thing that got me up out of bed at warp speed and clomping toward Joey’s room to wake him up was the thought of coffee.
It was the only thing that kept me sane when I had to go wake him up for a second and a third time, him hollering at me both times that he was up and to stop checking. I swear, I need to learn more calming breathing techniques. This boy is testing me.
Coffee. Blessed, life-giving go-go juice.
That would save me, make my brain click on and help me function as a responsible adult.
I chugged one mug at home while watching Joey run around, trying to find socks—which he finally located in his dresser drawer.
I rolled my eyes big time at that—and then ordered another when we’d hit a drive-thru for a quick, healthy breakfast. Well, healthy-ish.
Joey vibrates with excitement the whole way but tries to keep it under wraps. His fingers drum against his knee, and he keeps fidgeting in his seat. He’s not much of a talker these days, at least not with me anymore, but she’s giving me one-word answers this morning, which thrills me to no end.
Remind me, I ask him as I navigate to the arena, are you helping out today with the younger kids, or do you get to skate with the professionals?
Both.
Are you excited about meeting that goalie you like? Sidney?
Sure.
I have to press my lips together to stop myself from snorting with disbelief. Sure. It’s not like Sidney was the main reason he’d agreed to this morning event in the first place. Unbelievable.
Do you think he’ll get in net and let kids take shots against him?
No, he sighs. Stop with all the questions. Could you drive faster? We’re going to be late.
I ignore his comment about being late. If he’d looked in the place I told him his socks were the first time, we wouldn’t be in this situation.
That would be pretty cool, I say, pretending like he hadn’t shut down my question.
When we pull into the already packed arena parking lot, Joey slides to the edge of his seat. I have to stifle my groan when I see that only the spaces in the back lot are empty. The car’s not even in park yet, but Joey is already unbuckling his seat belt and reaching for the door.
Hold your horses, mister. Wait for me to actually park before bolting.
Joey lets out a long, exaggerated sigh as he waits for me to safely stop the car. His eyes bulge at me, demanding I release him from this cage.
Yes, now. Go.
His passenger-side door is jerked open a second later, and I have to clutch my chest in relief that I didn’t park beside anyone. If I had, the other car would surely have a dent in it now. A repair that I cannot afford to pay for at the moment.
By the time I get out of the car and make my way to the trunk, Joey already has his hockey bag over his shoulder and is slamming it closed.
Let’s go, Joey demands, grabbing my sleeve and prompting me to speed walk with him to the arena doors. I don’t say anything about his bossiness. I know how much today means to him—being able to see his hockey hero.
Last night, as I lazed on the couch and let the stress of my workday melt away, I remembered talking about this event with Joey. His coach had mentioned the charity to me after he noticed Joey struggling with the weight of loss and leadership.
He’s only fourteen, but it’s evident that my son has talent and possibly a future in hockey.
If that’s what he wants. With that talent, however, comes responsibility and a heavy burden of finding balance.
He feels every loss more deeply because he feels like he owes that to his team, while at the same time, he can’t let the losses affect him because he needs to set an example.
He’s resilient, but I sometimes worry he’s hiding more than I could possibly see. And without a father figure in his life, he doesn’t have anyone to talk to about this. He comes to me now and again, but it’s not the same.
I can’t let that stop us from living in the moment. And right now, as long as my rambunctious, moody boy doesn’t knock my coffee cup out of my hand, I can smile at his bossiness.
The second his sneakers hit the arena floor, he takes off down the hall like a pinball, hockey bag bouncing wildly against his hip.
Bye! I love you! I shout at his back. I get a distracted hand wave as he continues to run, not bothering to turn around. I watch him jog to a table at the far end and speak with a woman with a name tag. After jotting something down, she points in the direction of the rink.
He’s off in a flash, spotting his friends, all of them chatting and laughing as they sit on the benches, getting their skates on. Some of them are already whacking each other with their sticks, even though they’re feet from the ice.
And honestly? Scenes like that always do something to me—make my chest warm, soften the edges of my exhaustion. There’s something magical about seeing your kid in their happy place. Joey’s a confident kid, but hockey brings out another side to him and such joy.
Joey steps into an arena and feels a world of possibilities and excitement. I step into an arena and feel nothing but the cold. Yet I would wear seventeen layers of clothing if it meant my boy was happy.
I sip my coffee, smiling at the boys, when I feel a presence on my left. I know, even before she says a word, that our conversation is going to be grating.
Cutting it close, aren’t you, Edith?
For fuck’s sake. No matter how many times I tell Rhonda that I prefer the name Eddie, she never uses it. Something about her disliking women using men’s names—as if that’s even a thing. A name is a name, right?
No hello, no how are you, no acknowledgment of the fact that I clearly crawled out of bed looking like someone in a zombie movie. Just straight to judgment.
Her eyes narrow, like I’ve personally offended the sacred schedule of youth sports. I shouldn’t engage. Not today. Not when I’m held together solely by caffeine and willpower.
I’m aware, I say, smiling the kind of smile you give someone when you’re trying to be polite but also mildly fantasizing about throwing your coffee at their shoes. Traffic.
There’s never traffic at this hour.
Maybe not from the direction you’re coming from, but from mine? I shrug. Oh, you’d be surprised.
I doubt it, she mumbles, not trying to keep her opinions to herself. I don’t bother responding to her question. I know she’s not expecting an answer. Needing to get her off my back, I ask what I think is an innocent, general question. I should have known better.
Are you excited to meet a couple members of the Toronto Nighthawks today?
Why would I be excited, Edith? They’re not here for me. They’re here for the children. This is a professional event, and I expect everyone to conduct themselves accordingly.
Oh, God. It is far too early to deal with crap like this. Closing my eyes and mentally cataloguing all the reasons why I should not put Rhonda in her place, I force a smile. I need to get out of here.
Enjoy the morning, Rhonda.
She doesn’t say anything back, but I can feel her eyes on me as I walk away. I glide past her—gracefully, shoulders back, head and coffee cup held high—and start toward the check-in table, where I’m supposed to be stationed.
The event is already buzzing with activity. Kids everywhere. Coaches corralling tiny, hyperactive gremlins. Volunteers setting up stations with inspirational posters and mental health pamphlets. The Goals for Good banner unfurls over the entrance to the ice.
And honestly? I’m impressed.
The whole organization is built around helping young athletes feel safe talking about their emotions and challenges.
There are young hockey players here of all ages and backgrounds.
I watch a girl who can’t be more than six get help with her skates from an older player.
She’s watching him with such focus, taking in everything he’s doing and saying.
There’s a kind of magic here. Something special.
When an event that focuses on a serious and rising topic can bring this many people together to learn and play, you know you’re a part of something big.
I wish a program like this had existed when I was younger.
Maybe then more adults of my generation would feel comfortable saying I’m not okay.
I take another sip of coffee, finishing the cup. My mood is improved, and I’m ready to start doing my part. Walking to the same table I saw Joey stop at, I quickly sign in as a volunteer and am put to work at the hot chocolate and coffee station. My perfect location.
The next thirty minutes pass in a blur of orders, smiles, and sloshed drinks.
I know by the end of the day that my cheeks are going to hurt from smiling so much.
As I’m handing a drink to a distracted parent, the hot chocolate gets knocked, and the hot liquid splashes on my hand.
I have to bite my lip to hold back the curse as my skin tingles with a minor burn.
Are you okay? one of the other volunteers I’m working with asks. I can’t answer her right away, breathing through my discomfort. She takes pity on me and asks if I wouldn’t mind going to the storage room to grab some more cups. I agree with a thankful smile.
I head toward the back hallway, winding around equipment bins and a stack of orange cones. I shake my hand, inspecting the red patch of skin. It’s nothing serious, but damn it hurts. The door to the storage room is barely ten feet away when—
I hear it.
A voice.
A familiar one.
Deep. Warm. A little breathless like he’d been talking excitedly about something he loves.
No. No, it couldn’t be. But my feet stop on their own.
Slowly, very slowly, I turn my head to look down an intersecting hall.
And there he is.
Sid. Uncle Sid. The hot, charming man from yesterday.
Except…not exactly.
He’s not in a hospital room holding a crying nine-year-old.
He’s not in a hoodie and jeans, looking like someone’s sleep-deprived brother.
He’s in full professional gear. Toronto Nighthawks warm-up jacket, team logo front and centre, surrounded by teenagers and other young players begging him for autographs.
Sidney. Freaking. Crane.
Oh. My. God.
Uncle Sid from the hospital is Sidney Crane, the starting goalie for one of the biggest teams in the national league.
I blink. Then blink again. My brain makes a sound like TV static. There’s no way. There’s absolutely—
Mom!
I feel my whole body freeze in absolute panic and shock. A voice that I vaguely recognize calls out a moment before a tiny body steps right in front of me. Her orange plaster cast hand is pointing right at me, her eyes on someone behind me.
Mom! Mom! It’s her! MOM, MOVE FASTER!
Shi-oot, the woman catches herself in the nick of time. I’m walking as fast as I can, Harper. Jeez. Do you not want this hot chocolate anymore?
Mom, Harper groans, her head thrown back dramatically.
Okay, okay. I’m here. The woman stops beside me, giving me an exasperated smile, partnered with a tiny eye roll. What is it?
With so much pride on her cute face, Harper points up at me again and states, This is Uncle Sid’s crush. The doctor.
Of all the things I was expecting, that had not even remotely been on my list. Oh my freakin’ God. No, this can’t be happening. This is all wrong. She’s mistaken.
I could and should have said about a hundred different things to counter Harper’s declaration. She’s got it way, way wrong. I need to correct her immediately.
But what comes out of my mouth?
I’m not a doctor.
Utter nonsense. Absolute stupidity. Probably the least helpful thing to say.
I open my mouth again, hoping to have some sense come out this time, when Harper’s loud voice calls out again. This time, to the one person whose attention I was hoping not to attract.
UNCLE SID! LOOK WHO’S HERE!
Oh God, no, I whimper, not sure what else to do. If I ran, would Harper follow? Would that make me look like a lunatic? If I stayed, would he think I was stalking him? This is too much for my sleep-deprived brain to handle.
I watch in stunned silence as Sidney Crane looks up from the kid he’s talking to. His eyes land on Harper first. He follows the direction her finger is pointing…and then his gaze is on me. It takes a second, but I see the exact moment he recognizes me.
His dark, warm eyes widen. Then, a smile slowly overtakes his face. He’s happy to see me.
Me!
I feel self-conscious under his direct gaze. I didn’t put too much effort into my appearance this morning. Yet, that feeling is fleeting. The way he’s looking at me…it’s like my non-makeup look is his favourite. Like he’s never seen anything like me before.
Maybe he’s never seen an overworked mom with a messy bun, under-eye circles, and an oversized sweater that definitely has a mystery stain. I feel like I’m about to pass out from how much direct eye contact I’m getting.
Sidney Crane continues to stare at me with glee.
He only looks away for a moment, saying something to the young boy he was talking to, before his eyes are back on me. This time, as he walks in my direction, he blushes. And I swear on my last ounce of caffeine: I might actually die right here in this arena.
He’s feet away from me. Any second now, I’ll be able to reach out and touch him…if that was something I wanted to do. Which I don’t. And shouldn’t.
That would be weird, right?
Not knowing what else to do, I raise my hand and wave. A small laugh bursts out of him, and he’s…
Sidney. This way, please. We’re ready to start the event.
Then he’s gone. Pulled away like a rag doll by someone he must know, surprise all over his face as he’s directed through a nearby door.
It all happens so fast that if Harper and her mom weren’t by my side, both equally amazed at how fast Sidney was pulled away, I would have thought I’d imagined the whole thing.
Well, the woman says. That’s one way to make an exit. Want to join us for the speech?
Umm, I start to say, trying to think of a good excuse to get away to compose myself. I’m too slow, however, and Harper pipes up.
You have to hear Uncle Sid’s speech! It’s really good.
Her mom laughs, glancing at me. That’s the Harper’s Notes version, but she’s right. The speech is pretty inspirational. I’m Dani, by the way. Harper’s mom.
Nice to meet you, I say instantly. I’m Eddie.
Oh, I know, she says with a wink, linking her arm through mine at the same time. Let’s go. I want to hear your version of how you met Sid.
I’m too stunned to reply.