Chapter Four
Dash
Time flew leading up to the big tournament. Between travel prep, my work schedule, and familiarizing my neighbor with Jersey before I left so she’s well taken care of while I’m away, the weeks leading up to this moment were packed full of activity.
I arrived in Washington, DC an hour ago. Soon I’ll meet the team of guys I’ll be playing with for the next few weeks. But first, time to settle in.
Stepping into the hotel’s grand foyer with its gleaming, polished marble floors and decorative vases, I’m greeted by the clerk behind the desk.
Once he realizes that I’m a part of a hockey all-star team, I’m ushered to my suite as if I’m royalty.
I had to insist at least half a dozen times I’d carry my luggage myself before he finally let me.
My suite is big—too big and ornate for just one person—but it’s comfortable.
I toss my suitcase on the mattress, unzip it, and flip it open.
Everything I packed is neatly organized, just like Dad taught me.
If he ever caught me shoving things into a bag before a big family trip, he’d dump every last item out onto the floor and make me repack it, military style.
Man, I miss him. He wasn’t a perfect parent, but he was consistent.
Tough love was his specialty. Even with the harsh words he sometimes spoke, I knew he loved me by his actions.
And he would’ve been thrilled to see me play for an all-American team like this.
He was a patriot through and through. If only he could be here for this…
I shove the melancholy away and take the time to put all my clothes into the dresser drawers since I’ll be living here for a while.
I’m tempted to live out of my suitcase, but Dad’s nagging voice in the back of my head won’t let me.
It feels a bit surreal, making a home somewhere so far from where I’ve lived for the last seven years, but I remind myself to soak it all in. Enjoy it.
Who knows where I’ll go from here?
That familiar pinch point pulses any time I consider what I’ll be doing after this season. Which brings me to the next thing on my list—setting up my gaming system so I’ll be able to live-stream while I’m here.
My schedule won’t be the same as it is at home, but I’m hoping to be able to stream once a week. And if not, it will at least all be set up so I can play some in my downtime.
Streaming a couple times while here will keep my fans from losing interest. That’s the thing about creating content.
If I’m not constantly engaging, they move on to follow someone else.
Even my hockey notoriety isn’t enough on its own.
Which doesn’t bother me, other than the fact that if I want to keep my channel monetized and grow an even larger following, I’ve got to keep creating content that incites people’s interest.
Basically, I need to entertain them. Keep them coming back to my channel for more. Add the pressure I now have to keep things up in case I need to rely on this gig for the future and… well, internet math at its finest, I guess.
It only takes me about fifteen minutes to get all the cables and monitors hooked up and working in the living room area, leaving me time to explore the hotel a bit.
I find the weight room first thing, then familiarize myself with the pool, spa, lobby, and lush outdoor space. This is easily one of the nicest hotels I’ve ever had the pleasure of staying at during my career.
A woman with a rolling suitcase walks by me in the hall, and we make eye contact. I smile politely. She does the same back, and almost instantly, the promise I made Max springs to mind.
But I’m not attracted to the woman, though she’s objectively attractive. I guess.
Looks like I can’t even walk by a pretty woman now without being haunted by that stupid promise. It’s been like this for weeks.
Yet you still haven’t asked anyone out, Max’s voice sounds in my head as if he’s some horned devil seated on my shoulder.
I remind myself that I’m looking for more—for that ridiculously cliche spark. Not just a pretty face.
Would sensing a spark be enough for me to go out on a limb, though? Guess I won’t know until the time comes. If it comes.
I make it to the elevators again and step inside, heading back to my room. I’m assaulted by my own reflection in the wall-to-wall mirrors.
“Yikes,” I mutter, ruffling a hand through my overgrown mop. I brush my fingers down what now looks like an unkempt beard. I should’ve gotten a haircut before leaving Utah, but I was so preoccupied with everything going on, I didn’t realize how shaggy I looked.
Something about being in this upscale establishment makes my ragged self feel out of place. I pull my phone out of my back pocket and look up local salons for a quick cut and shave. There’s no way I’m showing up to the team breakfast tomorrow looking like a yeti.
I’m still glancing down at my phone, scanning the local salons and barber shops, when I walk out of the elevator and round the corner toward my suite. And nearly collide with a person.
Jake Twiles, a right-winger for Nebraska, backs up, then lifts his hands in the air. “Whoa, there. Sorry, man.”
“Jake Twiles,” I say, extending a hand of greeting. “In the flesh.”
“The one and only.” He takes out his ear buds and shakes my hand with a wide grin. “Gotta say, I’m a huge fan, DiFranco. Nice to finally meet you off the ice.”
“Same. You on this floor too?” I jerk my chin, indicating the hall behind him.
“Yeah. I think all, or at least some, of the West guys are.”
“Huh. Nice to know.”
“You all settled in, then?”
“Mostly,” I say, rubbing the back of my neck. “Just got in a couple of hours ago.”
“Oh, good.” He gestures toward the elevator. “Hey, I was about to hit the gym. Wanna join?”
Excited to meet a new teammate, I decide to put the haircut off until later. “Sure. It’ll only take me a minute to change.”
“All right.” He pops his ear buds back into his ears. “I’ll see you down there.” He disappears around the corner before I even register our interaction. All at once, the realness of this moment settles in. I’m finally here in DC, getting to play in the tournament of a lifetime.
All I can do is hope that my shoulder cooperates long enough for me to be able to give this—and this upcoming season—my all.
***
“Hey, Mama,” I answer the phone while lying in bed and scrolling through the local TV stations.
“How’s my favorite defenseman doing this evening?”
I release an airy laugh. “Doing good. Just resting before the team breakfast tomorrow.” And praying my nerves settle.
Working out with Jake helped alleviate some of that, but I still can’t shake this feeling of uncertainty.
At this point, I’m not sure if it’s regular tournament nerves or the fear of jacking up my shoulder even more.
Doesn’t help that by the time we got done with our workout, it was too late to get my hair cut.
So much for not looking like a yeti tomorrow morning.
“You sound a little out of sorts,” Mom says as if she can read my freaking mind.
“I’m not out of sorts. I’m good. Swear.”
I still haven’t told her about the meeting with Coach and Kevin. I just…can’t yet. She sacrificed so much for me to go all in on hockey after Dad died, and she’s been unwavering in her support of my professional career. To let her down like that? Not looking forward to it.
Though you’ll have to eventually, my conscience helpfully points out.
She hums through the phone, somehow sounding almost exactly like Max. Guess that’s what happens since our moms are sisters. “Okay,” she says with a huff. “I won’t pester you. I just wanted to call and tell you the good news.”
“Oh? Were you able to get time off work to come?”
“Yes!” Mom squeals so loud, I have to pull the phone away from my ear. “But not just me…” I wait, hoping she doesn’t mean— “Your sisters are coming with me!”
“All four of them?” I jolt up in bed. Of course I did the brotherly thing and sent them all tickets to the games, but I didn’t think they’d all make time in their busy schedules to come.
“Were they able to get accommodations?” I’m already doing the mental math on how much their lodging will cost if they haven’t been able to secure it yet.
“It was a close call, but we did! A different hotel than yours but still.”
I rub my forehead. “And Davina’s job? They let her take time off?” My second oldest sister’s the managing editor at an up-and-coming publishing house in Cincinnati. We rarely get to chat, but from what Mom says, they’re keeping her extremely busy over there.
“She said once she explained to her boss that you were playing for the country’s two-hundred-fiftieth birthday and that these games were a once-in-a-lifetime event, he gave her paid leave!”
“Wow. I’m shocked. And Danessa? How’s she able to be away from the kids that long?”
Mom tuts. “Eric can handle the kids for a long weekend. Or so Danessa says.” She murmurs the last part as if she may not believe it herself.
“This is great news, Mom,” I say, though anxiety needles its way past my ribs. I’m pretty close to my family. But having all four of my older sisters here while I’m kept super busy with our team schedule adds another layer of chaos to the mix, “How long will everyone be in DC?”
“I think we’re flying in right before Game Three. Hang on...” Some more rustling. “Op! Found it!”
“What did you find?” I ask, turning off the TV to give her my full attention.
“The hotel reservations. I printed them off last week, but they got lost in a stack of papers.”
I release a sigh. “Mom, you know you don’t have to print those things off anymore. This isn’t 2001.”
“And you know I don’t like technology.”
An enormous understatement. Mom still uses a flip phone and an old school GPS to navigate with, despite the fact that she drives and loves the brand-new SUV I bought her last year.
“What time are you flying in?” I ask, hopping out of bed and pacing the length of the bedroom. At least they won’t be arriving until the tenth, giving me plenty of time to lock in at practice and get through the tournament’s first few games.
“The Friday morning before the game,” she says brightly. “We fly out the following Wednesday.”
“All right. Text me exactly what time and what terminal when you can, and I’ll have a car pick you guys up.” If one car will even be enough. Knowing Danica, she’ll have so many suitcases, two will be necessary.
“Thank you, Dash. I’ll do that as soon as I get back from my exercise class. I’m running out the door right now.”
“Still kicking it with the eighty-year-olds at chair yoga, huh?”
“Hey! Those ladies are my accountability partners and deserve your respect.”
“Forgive me.” I let out a chuckle. “Give your chair yoga buddies my love.”
“You know I will. The gym owner, Stacy, keeps your picture posted on the weekly highlights bulletin board in the gym lobby, you know. She’s a nice girl, Dash. A cute, spunky blonde who was recently divorced—”
“I’m good, Mom.” Max’s stupid admonition comes to mind again.
“Are you?” Concern edges Mom’s voice. “I worry about you sometimes, Dash. It’s time you got over Sarah and found a nice girl to settle down with.”
I suppress a sigh, leaning back against the wall. Haven’t I had those very same thoughts since my conversation with Max? I can’t deny that the first part of his plan worked. Blocking Sarah on social media opened up my mind to the possibility of love again with someone else.
But my heart? I’m still not sure it’s ready.
“I know, Mom,” I say gently. “I want to, but…it’s hard to find a good girl these days.” Or rather, it’s hard to find one with whom I can connect on a deeper level with.
“And that’s why I’m mentioning Stacy!”
“Mom. She lives in Ohio.”
“So? Maybe when you come home next time, we can set something up.”
I push away from the wall and scrub a hand down my rapidly spawning beard. “Thanks, but no thanks, Mom. Hey, here’s an idea,” I quip with a snap of my fingers. “How about you try setting up one of my two single sisters? I’m sure you’re equally worried about them settling down too.”
She makes a sound of annoyance. “You know how your sisters are, Dash. Davina’s too busy to find a man and Danae never leaves the house! She’s a regular ol’ hermit these days.”
I smile, thinking of Danae, the second to youngest of my sisters. She’s the total opposite of me—an introvert—yet also the most like me in other ways.
“Well, keep trying, Mom. I’m sure they would appreciate your attempts to secure their relational bliss just as much as I do.”
“Dash,” she scolds. “Why does it sound like you’re mocking me?”
I pull open the door to my suite’s mini fridge and peruse my drink options. “Me? Mock you? Nah.”
She sighs. “All right, mister. I’m getting off the phone now, so I’m not late to class. I love you, and I’ll see you soon.”
“Love you too, Mom. Don’t forget to text me the details.”
“Will do. Or better yet, I’ll have Danessa do it.”
Ah, yes. The most responsible one of us all.
“Sure, Mom. Talk soon.” I end the call and pick the tab on an iced cold pop, letting the liquid cool the last of my nerves.
As overwhelming as it might feel to have my entire family show up for the last games of this tournament, I’ll at least have some familiar faces in my corner, cheering me on.