Chapter 5
HUDSON
I shouldn’t care whether Howie the hockey gnome smashes on the floor. The thing haunts me … along with my yearbook and being back in Cobbiton, for that matter.
Somehow, it’s endured after all this time, so maybe I should give it a proper Viking send-off or something.
My brother tormented me with it. I’d find it in my laundry, behind the toilet, in my gear bag—all because I wasn’t dumb enough to try to steal the high school mascot one night.
Like Hunter, Howie was always leering at me or the cookie jar or the dust bunny in the corner. He’d also send me photos of it taken in random places. I urged him to return it, but Hunter was the original contrarian and routinely did the opposite of what he was told.
Pierre watches us all with curious scrutiny as if he’s trying to piece things together.
Me too, man.
“What was that?” Mikey asks, studying his hands as if trying to figure out how the gnome disappeared so fast.
“More importantly, where did you get it?” asks Micah, returning to the room as quickly as he’d left.
“Um, I obtained it.” After years of protecting Hunter, the answer is out of my mouth like a bad habit before I can think twice.
He glances at Vohn, who’s deep in conversation with head Coach Tommy Badaszek. They both have full plates of food, but their conversation takes priority. Hopefully, it’s about hockey and not me having to explain something stupid my brother did years ago.
I’ll find the gnome and return it. It’s as simple as that. I’m an adult now. No longer my brother’s keeper.
Then the reality of the big picture situation sets in.
My jaw drops slightly. My eyes bulge. What on earth is my coach doing at my house?
The only times I saw my previous coaches were at practice, during and after games, and at formal events.
They were rare, enigmatic creatures—like spotting a Yeti.
“First rule of Knights. We don’t speak of the gnome. Ever,” Micah whispers.
“Why—?” Mikey asks.
“No gnome jokes, no gnomie nothing. Ted was from Oklahoma and once said that he was going home to hang with his homies. Badaszek misheard and thought he said gnomies.”
“Easy enough mistake to make,” Grady says.
“Coach went ballistic,” Micah says.
“Are we talking about Ted ‘the Bear’ Powell? I wish I’d gotten to play with him rather than being thrashed by him,” Mikey says as if reminiscing about the good old days.
“No gnomes, got it?” Micah says as if still the team captain.
Neal Sanderson, another retired player and legend, nods solemnly.
Liam nods and gravely says, “You heard the man.”
We disperse and when a loaded plate lands in my hands, I’m soon seated on the sofa surrounded by my teammates, all talking like we’ve known each other forever.
This isn’t a bad thing. I’m just not used to it. On my previous teams, we all played a variation of survival of the fittest. The Knights are obviously a brotherhood and by the pitch of the laughter, they genuinely enjoy each other’s company.
I’m an expert at identifying types of laughter: for instance, there’s polite laughter when in mixed company, contagious laughter, which is the best kind when shared with friends, and nervous laughter, to name a few. I’m currently engaging in that last one.
From the hallway comes a hoot of laughter which falls into the “something outrageous happened” category.
Someone says, “Look at baby Robo!”
I launch to my feet. As far as I know, there’s a singular baby photograph of me in existence and it’s at the bottom of a drawer in my bedroom. Busting in here with food is one thing, but if they’re going through my personal belongings, I’ll show them all to the door.
Mikey holds a glossy book and Pierre peers over his shoulder. I must’ve left the yearbook on the stairs when they arrived.
“Looks like Robo has a twin.” Pierre points to the page.
I take it these two are the goofballs of the group. We’ve got a couple of grumps. Micah and Neal, both retired, wear a crown and own the throne, respectively. Mikey is a DIY-er. Redd is an insider. I’ve been called a golden retriever … among other things.
“Don’t tell the puck bunnies our pretty boy hockey star has a twin,” someone hollers from the other room.
Pierre leans closer to the page in question. “Why is there another person in the portrait photo with … Hunter?” He reads my brother’s name. “Are you a triplet like the coach’s daughters?”
“You mean like your wife?” Mikey asks.
I’m about to explain, but Pierre says, “Hold up. That’s Leah with Hunter. Cara’s best friend.”
“I thought Ella was her best friend,” Jack says as if he’s about to go to bat for his bride.
Grady pops in. “Don’t forget Heidi.”
Redd rolls his eyes. “They’re all best friends.”
I quickly gather that they’re referring to their girlfriends and wives.
I mumble, “Before that, she was my brother’s ... something.”
And a real pain in my butt like falling on the ice without padding. However, every time I did, she’d laugh, which made me realize early on that I wasn’t a dark horse like Hunter. I love making people laugh … but not inside my house. That’s where I draw the line.
Leah followed my twin around like a lemming, at risk of liberty and limb. It was everything I could do to keep him from destroying his life with her following suit.
Pierre says, “Talk to Cara, she’ll get her VIP suite tickets.”
I splutter, “Why would I want to get Leah VIP suite tickets?” I haven’t given her much thought in years. Hunter either. Well, not until the early morning visitor, followed by the gnome materializing in my garage like an apparition.
Mikey says, “Leah is already in the box with the babes. I’m talking about getting your brother tickets. When it comes to the Knights, it’s a family affair.”
My face screws up. “He and I had an angel and devil situation.”
“Should I ask which was which?”
“He said angel and devil, not witch,” Liam mutters.
I grunt. “You sound a lot like Beau.”
Redd says, “And Vohn. Though they’ve both been using their words more lately.”
“I blame love,” Hayden singsongs.
They all laugh.
In theory, I wouldn’t object to being married like these guys are, but I’ve seen the end of the road and it’s that relationships don’t last. They inevitably fall apart.
But like everything else in my life, I strive to defy the odds and re-stack the deck I’ve been dealt.
To make it work. Leah must’ve done the same if she’s a team insider.
She always loved hockey, so it’s no surprise that she’d wind up with a player.
I feel a faint buzz inside like I’m breathing the air during a lightning storm.
Pierre goes quiet, reading something in the yearbook.
This intrusion into my life makes me feel twitchy in addition to itchy.
It’s not like I have anything to hide, but after a lifetime of having the strange men my mother dated and my brother’s meddling friends in our home, I built up my walls and put a security code on the door, only allowing me entry. It’s a lair-hobbit-hole situation.
“Okay, enough of this trip down memory lane.” I move to grab the yearbook, but I’m up against a defenseman.
Pierre says, “My high school was so small, we didn’t have a yearbook. Let me live vicariously through you.” He pauses. “Though, maybe not this part.”
He reads aloud the letter from my secret adversary in the back of the yearbook. “Ouch. That’s harsh.”
Hayden says, “Definitely not a love note.”
“What did you do to make this person hate you so much?” Redd asks.
I close the book and stash it under the couch cushion. “Never found out who it was.”
“So somewhere out there, you have a secret adversary?” Micah asks.
Liam balks. “Is that a thing?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. It is what it is.”
“Don’t you mean was, past tense?” Jack asks.
“They email me periodically.”
Nervous laughter filters around the room.
“Your secret adversary emails you?” Hayden asks.
“And you don’t block them?” Grady asks as if ready to body block anyone who crosses one of his teammates. Glad the D has my back.
Their expressions hold many questions. Before I can explain, a clatter comes from the kitchen.
Besides, I didn’t want these veritable strangers to know someone out there despises me—though I’ve come to think of it in an oddly endearing way, considering they still reach out with hateful notes even after all these years.
Reminded of the strange noises early this morning, I rush toward the sound in the kitchen.
Liam says, “It’s okay. Like the pro goalie he is, Beau saved the cake.”
I rub my hand down my face. I mentioned that I’ve invested in real estate and still own each property. However, I never had guests over. I was the king of the castle … but these knights have stormed the palace.
To be fair, they brought grub and with a toast, they congratulate me on joining the team and pass out slices of Bundt cake for dessert.
Liam, the captain, says a few words and everyone cheers.
It’s definitely a brotherhood and a lot different from the slow simmering animosity between my twin and me.
Eventually, almost everyone filters out except Coach Badaszek.
He remains on the couch chatting with Vohn, Pierre, and Liam.
It looks serious and I don’t want to interrupt.
I’m about to go clean up in the kitchen—I cannot fathom the mess they made—when everyone except the coach abruptly gets to their feet, thanks me for my hospitality, and then leaves.
Now, I’m alone with Badaszek. In all my years of playing for the NHL, I’ve never been anywhere alone with the guy who makes or breaks my career, least of all in my own home.
“Nice place you’ve got here.” He tips his head toward the door. “We’re practically neighbors.”
I swallow thickly. “I made the purchase sight unseen.” However, the moment I pulled onto Bantam Lane, a memory surfaced. A hockey garden gnome-sized memory. I just didn’t expect to see it again.
My hands get clammy. Badaszek has to know.