Chapter 36 JP - CENTRE ICE #2
Johnny and Will’s team ended up scoring a buzzer-beater to win the game, 6-5. As soon as the ref called the goal, the kids jumped out of the box and rushed their goalie in celebration, making me grin.
But my face dropped while watching the home team. They filed out of their box, hanging their heads.
Rossi shuffled onto the ice in his tennis shoes. I watched him paste on a fake-ass grin as he shook hands with Will and Johnny before he followed his team back to the locker room.
Knowing Rossi was back there with kids had my stomach twisting in knots. I really fucking hoped he changed into a better person over the years. But Ali’s words came into my mind, stopping that train of thought. Hope couldn't cut it with this situation. I needed to do something.
A mental snapshot of Ali’s bruised, tear-streaked face flew into my brain. I held my head and grit my teeth, trying to control myself. Because right then, I had a deep urge to seek him out and stop him from ever being able to harm another person ever again.
Breathing out a couple deep breaths, I centered myself before heading down to the locker room to congratulate the kids on their win.
In the locker room, I stood next to Johnny while Will gave the kids a solid debrief of the game, calling out kids who played well. I tried to pay attention, but my body was stuck on autopilot while my brain tried to make sense of Mark Rossi being a youth hockey coach.
“And now it’s time for the MVP!” Will shouted, making all the kids hoot and holler.
A kid across the room pulled a neon construction vest out of his bag. Holding it up, he gave a speech that had the whole locker room cracking up laughing before he handed it to a shy kid across the room from him.
Johnny leaned toward me while clapping. “You good?”
“Yeah.” Unclenching my fists, I started for the door.
But Johnny was quicker. He angled his body in front of me, blocking my path. “You’re a shit liar, bud. Something’s wrong. What aren’t you telling me?”
I cracked my neck and rolled my good shoulder back, trying to loosen the tension coiling around my body. Johnny knew bits and pieces of the past that Ali shared this morning, so I wasn’t spilling her secrets when I said, “You know Ali’s abusive ex?”
His eyes narrowed. “You see him or something?”
“Yeah,” I scoffed. “On the home team bench.”
Johnny’s face dropped in realization. He swore under his breath. “Okay, yeah, you should get out of here. Try to avoid him. This whole thing will be easier if he’s agreeable.”
I gave a nod.
“I’m serious, McQuaid. Walk out of here and go straight to your truck.” Johnny’s face held a grave look. “Do not go near him and do not talk to him, got it?”
“Yeah,” I said distractedly.
Johnny licked his lips and looked back at his brother. “Should I escort you out? Or can you be trusted on your own?”
I shook my head. “I’m fine. I don’t want a run-in with him either.”
Johnny offered me a handshake, then cringed when he realized my right hand was currently tied up.
“Asshole,” I muttered with a smirk.
Johnny cracked a grin and slapped my left shoulder. “We’ll talk soon. Right to your truck,” he said again.
Keeping my head down, I powered through the locker room hallway, walking past the first spot I ever talked to Ali.
I made it all the way across the lobby without passing another person, but right before pushing open the glass door, I heard, “Woah! Are you number 26? Guys! He’s number 26! It’s JP McQuaid, I swear!”
My eyes fell closed. I was so close. I could see my truck. But I couldn’t ignore kids.
Turning quickly, I spotted a couple sweaty-haired kids shouldering their heavy hockey bags and holding concession stand slushees. I gave them a quick wave and all three of their mouths dropped open.
“It is him! Wait, this is crazy!” one of the kids said, slapping his other friend in the chest. “Can you wait a sec? I need you to sign something!”
Before I could answer, all three kids dropped their hockey bags and scattered.
Shit.
My body hummed with the need to get out of here, but I couldn't just bail on them. Looking around the lobby, I breathed a little easier knowing that Rossi wasn’t around—yet.
Two of the kids rushed back to me holding sharpies and hats.
“Might have to hold it while I sign, kinda busted up at the moment,” I said, gesturing to my sling.
“Ooh, yeah, I saw that game. Kinda a shitty move for that guy to trip you, eh?”
I cracked a grin. “Are you old enough to use the word ‘shitty’?”
“What are you gonna do about it, tell my mom?” the kid joked.
“Maybe,” I said, struggling to keep a straight face. “I’ll prolly find her if I walk this way.” I started to my left.
The kid’s eyes bugged out while his friend cracked up laughing. “No, no, no, I was just playing, you don’t have to do that.”
“All right,” I laughed, “lemme see that hat.” Signing quickly, I added, “You guys played a great game. But make sure you have fun out there, yeah? That’s what makes a player go from good to great.”
They both nodded hurriedly before taking off.
And now I was standing there awkwardly waiting on the third kid. The only sign of him was his hockey bag by my feet. Looking down, I spotted the number four stitched to the side of the bag. So this was the little leading scorer.
“Where are you, kid?” I muttered to myself, looking at the lobby doors with longing.
“See mom! I told you he was here!” a kid shouted.
Relief bloomed in my chest.
But it was short lived.
Trailing the kid was a young mom dressed in leggings and an oversized Centre Ice zip-up. She had bright blue eyes and dark auburn hair, and she was holding hands with Mark Rossi.
“Can you sign this for me?” the kid asked, holding out his hat.
Rossi’s whole face hardened.
“Sure, kid,” I ground out, forcing the best grin I could muster up. Rossi moved closer to the woman and slid his hand around to her hip. He whispered something in her ear, making her mouth drop slightly open. She recovered quickly, smoothing her face into a bland smile.
“What’s your name?” I asked the kid, stretching out the time to assess this situation. The young mom’s eyes were darting between me and Rossi. I knew that look. She was monitoring emotions, piecing things together, preparing.
“Baker,” the kid answered with a wide grin. “Baker Smith.”
I noted the last name. So this kid probably wasn’t Rossi’s offspring. On top of the different last name, the kid’s sweaty hair was curly and blonde, and his face looked nothing like the scowling Rossi standing before me.
“You played a good game, Baker. Solid goal in the third.”
“Wow, you really watched,” he said in awe. “Thanks! I want to be like you, well, like you and Colt Conover,” Baker rambled. “Maybe more like Conover. He’s my favorite, sorry.” He grimaced. “But just because he also plays center,” he added quickly.
“Yeah? That’s good,” I said with a forced chuckle. “I’ll tell him you said so.”
Baker’s blue eyes widened. “You will?”
“Yeah, for sure, kid. You skate here? This is your home rink?” I fished.
He nodded.
“Colt and I will probably be back here this summer,” I said, my eyes meeting Rossi’s. His scowl deepened. “Maybe we’ll see you around.”
“Woah, yeah. Thanks, McQuaid,” Baker said.
“No problem.” I smiled at him, then my face went cold as I gave Rossi one last hard look.