5. Maddox
5
MADDOX
The kids make me laugh. I go classroom to classroom, doling out foam hockey pucks, stickers, and tattoos bearing the team logo. I answer questions about what it’s like to be a professional athlete and encourage them to pursue their dreams with gusto.
They ask if I’m strong enough to lift cars (definitely not), if I’d win a scrap against the league’s most notorious fighter (probably not), how many times did I fall learning to skate (lots, and I still fall sometimes, but it’s more important to get back up).
Through it all, Jocelyn and Melissa take photos and video. I try not to think about them too much because this isn’t a performance for me. This is about inspiring kids the way I felt inspired by my big brother, Dominic, as he worked his tail off to get to the big leagues.
But in the middle of story time, my eyes connect with Jocelyn’s and the bare admiration in them slams into me with the force of a mean body check.
My mouth runs dry as I tear my gaze away, trying to infuse my voice with growly grumpiness as I stomp around, arms raised, acting out the role of a bear who learns to extend kindness to others.
Later, when I take command of the P.E. class and the music pumps through the sound system, I’m at an utter loss at what to do.
Thirty eager faces look up at me while I two-step in place like an idiot.
“Maybe a warm up?” Jocelyn calls from the sidelines as she fiddles with the music and Melissa aims her camera at me.
“Yes. Right. A warm up! It’s important to get your body ready for movement so no one gets hurt.”
I bend and stretch, keeping an eye on the floor-to-ceiling mirror as a bunch of ten-year-olds follow suit. But when the song ends, I’m feeling foolish and floundering when the music changes and everyone’s eyes look expectantly at me.
I’m used to dancing in the privacy of my own home, following the instruction of Juicy T on my TV, or just messing around in the relative darkness of a club with pulsing lights. It’s something else entirely to be in front of a whole class of kids with a camera recording every second.
Sickness roils in my stomach as I glance from one slightly confused face to another. Visions of a group of kids laughing me right out the door rear up in my head, and I shut my eyes for a second.
This isn’t my grade school. I’m not standing in front of a classroom having to try to present a project or demonstrate how difficult it is for me to collect my thoughts and express them about anything remotely academic. No one is grading me.
This is supposed to be just fun.
My forte.
I drag air through my lungs, then glance up at the clock. Only seven minutes have passed. Seven! How the hell am I going to fill an hour of this?
Then small, warm hands circle my forearm. A hip bumps my thigh, and I turn to see Jocelyn’s whipped off her oversized, thick sweater to reveal her form-fitting black leggings and a long-sleeve crop top that exposes a strip of her soft, dark honey skin. The word JUICE stretches across the swell of her breasts and my heart rate races.
“Need some help?” she asks, her voice low and laced with kindness.
I swallow hard and nod. Then she gives my arm a gentle, reassuring squeeze as I step aside. My shoulders sag with relief as the attention shifts her way.
“Alright, class. Maddox is my best dance student, but I bet he’ll struggle to keep up with all of you! Today, we’re going to learn a new dance together.”
Gratitude and admiration run through me as Jocelyn leads us through a quick routine, teaching us step-by-step in that engaging, encouraging way she has. She’s attentive in helping those who are struggling with the motions and providing an alternative move for anyone less mobile.
I work hard to keep up alongside her, and everyone laughs when I end up facing the wrong way once or twice, but I’m only being silly for the benefit of the kids struggling with their coordination. They love correcting me, and I love the way Jocelyn’s eyes shine and her mouth twitches with laughter.
Melissa and her camera fade into the background, and for a moment, I forget that the reason I’m here isn’t just to hang out with a beautiful girl and some awesome kids. It’s because I’m benched for some bad off-ice behavior.
Easy to do when I’m having so much fun watching Jocelyn shake her ample ass and seeing her come alive.
With every twist, turn, and bounce, her hair escapes the tight roll of her bun until it’s more like a wavy ponytail. The laugh that bursts out of her is heady and musical. The smile that tugs on her lips widens and brightens until nothing but an arresting kind of joy projects out of her.
It’s fucking beautiful and blinding.
If I could just make her smile like that at me, just once, I could die a happy man.
By the end of the hour, my pride and admiration for Jocelyn has soared. The kids have nailed the short routine, and we run through the dance several times, ending the session with a couple of minutes of freestyle dance. I turn into a robot, making the kids giggle, and at least one star student totally shows me up with their version of it.
“Well done, everyone! Thank you for spending your afternoon with us!” Jocelyn calls out. Then we pose for group photos and the kids file out. Jocelyn crowds close to Melissa and nods at the phone. “How’s it looking?”
“It’s all good stuff. Good luck deciding what to use.” Melissa hands the device over and glances between us. “My favorites are the ones of you both dancing together, if it matters.”
I crane my neck to see the clip, but all I can see is Jocelyn smiling at the camera and me looking at her like a lovesick puppy.
Melissa clears her throat. “I’ve got a few things that need doing, so I’m going to hit the road. But I’ve uploaded the clips to the cloud and forwarded the link to you both. Maybe you can decide what to use together.”
Then she leaves us as I cram into Jocelyn’s tiny car. My knees are practically squished against her glove compartment and I feel a bit like a sardine in a tin can, but it doesn’t matter because I’m with her. Her arm brushes mine over the center console of her car as she pulls out of the parking lot, and the contact between us sizzles.
Neither one of us moves as she drives back to the practice rink.
“You did good today,” she says softly. “You’re good with kids.”
“I have two nephews and a niece,” I say, wanting to give her more of me. Show her more of me. Maybe that way she’ll learn to trust me. “Every summer, I spend a few weeks with them and try to see them as much as I can during the season.”
“Your brother plays too, right?”
“He did. He’s retired now.”
A smile tips her lips. “Explains why you’ve got fun uncle vibes.”
My knuckles brush against hers. Something sparks between us, burning hotter than the heated air blasting through the vents. Her eyes remain on the road and the distant snowy peaks of the Rockies, but I feel an urgency rise up in me.
I want this woman to know me. To see me.
“Life’s short. It can be cruel.” The words are out before I can stop them. “It’s important to have fun when you can.”
“I read up on you, you know.” She slants me a look. “What’s so cruel about a multi-year, multi-million-dollar contract and being talented enough to skip years of development in the minor leagues to jump right into the Show?”
Ah, yes. The shiny veneer of what’s on my public profile page.
“You think it was easy getting there? That I’ve had a charmed life?”
She lifts a shoulder. “From the outside looking in.”
“I’m told I wasn’t an easy kid. My birth was tough, my needs and activity were a lot. I guess that’s why my dad abandoned our family when I was four. My brother and I were raised by a single mom with some help from the community and the kindness of nearby neighbors. Sports grounded me. Gave me an outlet. Especially because I found school hard. I’m not particularly academic.”
I take a deep breath, feeling the old wounds tear open inside me. My gaze falls to our hands, side by side. The contrast is striking between her small, delicate brown skin and my large, rough, paler skin.
“We played hockey in hand-me-down equipment and I had scouts hounding my mom about me for years, but all she wanted was for us to have as normal an upbringing as she could give us.”
I remember the arguments we’d get into, the tears my mom cried, and the times she’d gone without so she could afford to send us both to hockey camp.
“Some years were leaner than others, and she had to pick between us. But because I looked more promising to the scouts, I was chosen over Dominic. He sacrificed a lot for me, taking on the mantle of Man of the House in the absence of our dad. Everyone sacrificed for me to get where I am.” My voice turns hard and my hand curls into a fist as Jocelyn pulls into the mostly empty lot. She parks next to my Range Rover and kills the engine. “And during the pandemic, without hockey, without my team or family around me… I almost wasted it all.”
“What do you mean?”
She angles her body toward me. Then, her hand flips over and with it, so does my heart as I thread my fingers through hers.
I take a deep breath. Better to bare it all and let her see the whole of me. The good, the bad, the ugly. Then she can do with me what she will.
“I didn’t do well in isolation, Jocelyn. Wrestling with my own thoughts day in and out lead me to rely too heavily on alcohol to get through the days.” A shudder works its way through me and my hand tightens on hers, holding on to her like I would a lifeline. “But one day, I came across your channel. Your smiling face. Your encouragement to just have fun with it. And for the first time in a long time, I felt hope. You didn’t know me, but you were a beacon of light in my darkness. And now, in my moment of need, here you are again, guiding my way through another cluster of my own making.”
I reach over with my free hand, caressing the curve of her cheek and nudging her chin up. Her lips part and a flash of her pink tongue slides along her bottom lip.
“So, see? I’ve needed you for a long time, Jocelyn. Even before you knew me. Hell, I think I may need you for the rest of my life.”