Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
When people ask me where I’m from, I say Omaha. I told myself that I’d never return to Cobbiton except for games against the Knights.
I wouldn’t even spend the night in the team hotel and would make reservations elsewhere. If I had my way, I’d have wiped the place off the map. Though I’d keep Spaglietti’s because they make the best pizza on the planet.
Growing up here, this place was no better than a chewed-up corn cob. But it’s changed. Or maybe I have. Arriving this morning, it has a charming, small-town vibe that I had never before noticed. Could be that it’s early spring and everything is fresh.
On my way in, I spotted a new book store called Once Upon a Romance, the Busy Bee Bakery, a few restaurants, boutiques, and a toy store on 4 th Street.
There’s a trolley which must be the work of the Cobbiton Activities Committee—they reach out to me once a year and ask if I’d like to donate. The driver, who I think is Mr. Gormely, the town gossip’s husband, tooted the horn when he passed. I had just gotten out of the car, so I’m surprised he recognized me.
It’s no surprise that O’Neely’s Fish Bowl is the same. Outside, the brick is as faded as ever, the green paint in a perpetual state of needing a refresh, and the awning still sags.
Seated at a table makes me feel slightly nostalgic for the times when Mr. Rice would bring Derek and me to watch early games. It’s a family-friendly pub until about nine—seven on some nights. This place is a hockey fan’s paradise if they like glass fish bowls filled with free popcorn, greasy food, and televisions that only broadcast hockey—past games and present.
Not to mention there is memorabilia everywhere, including trophies, jerseys, sticks, pucks, posters, and random swag Stan O’Neely collected over the years. When I was a kid, the biggest highlight was Sir Goalwain Gretzky the Hockey Knight—a lifesize statue dressed in armor and a hockey jersey.
Even though St. Patrick’s Day was only a couple of days ago, they’ve already decorated with cheesy Easter décor—yes, on top of the rest of the stuff. Let’s just say every surface is cluttered, which reminds me of the small apartment I lived in when growing up, though this place is somehow cleaner.
I’m in Cobbiton to get my hockey career back and for no other reason. No drama, no relationships—my last one practically buried me in an avalanche of deceit and humiliation. I refuse to get distracted.
The plan is to get in and get out unscathed.
I rub my eyes. They’re tired and dry. It’s probably time to replace these contacts, but that doesn’t change what I don’t want to see—a place where I hid my past and vowed not to return.
A deep voice says, “There he is.”
Derek approaches and opens his arms for a bro hug.
My smile must betray me .
“Oh, right. Big hockey hotshot doesn’t want to get recognized and mobbed. Trust me, people will leave you alone in here.”
Just like the guy with the beer belly did, hassling the waitress and calling her a puck bunny? Sure. I’ll believe it when they don’t probe me with questions about my suspension. However, I figured sitting with my back to the action may help me remain incognito for a little longer.
Derek slaps me on the back. “Man, you’re as solid as ever.” He flexes his arm. “I better step up my game and get in better shape.”
I squint because the guy is in great condition, keeping active in his landscaping/hardscaping business.
He bellows, “It’s good to have you home.”
Even though Derek Rice was one of my best friends growing up, he never came to my house. It was always his place or Trey’s. I didn’t let them see the squalor I was subjected to with an absentee mother. My father was never in the picture.
In response to his comment about being “home,” I mutter, “That remains to be seen.”
He leans back in his chair, man spread style, and rolls his fingers on the wooden table. I notice a few fresh scars on his knuckles.
Studying me, Derek says, “Hmm. Yeah. Mid-season trade. It’s not the first time Badaszek has pulled a rabbit out of his hat.”
I take it I’m the rabbit in this situation. Not to be confused with a puck bunny or the multitude of happy kitsch cottontails decorating the pub for the holiday late next month.
Derek leans forward as if he doesn’t want anyone to hear what he says next. “I’m not in the Knights’ inner circle, but Coach Badaszek knows what he’s doing. The guy is a coaching wizard. Whatever he says, do it. Trust it. ”
Derek’s not entirely wrong. Badaszek has a reputation for being the toughest and best coach in the business. His record proves it. But that doesn’t explain why he picked me after everything that happened. I’m in my own personal losing season, and I can’t quite see how I’m going to battle back.
“The Knights won the cup last year. They’re going to again this year with thanks to you.” Derek wears a hopeful smile.
“I’m sure he’ll play Ted Powell until he retires.”
“Powell’s knee has never been the same. As far as I know, you have all your original equipment, tendons, ligaments, sinew, or whatever.”
“This is true.”
“Of course he’ll play Ted, but you’re going to get ice time. Believe me.”
“Believe you? Trust you? Like the time you said the glowing cigarette lighter in your dad’s Dodge was the Hyperdrive Booster and to push my thumb into it?”
He chuckles as only an old, true friend would. “It was during our Star Wars phase.”
“Or when we were at the lake and you said it was fine to take out your uncle’s boat because you knew how to drive it?”
“You have to admit, it was fun.”
“Until we ran aground and careened into Sherrie McMillan’s rose garden.”
“It was like we had an airboat.” His eyes widen as if remembering the thrill of being airborne for a second.
My mouth presses into a thin line and I shake my head. “Or the hot pepper dare of sophomore year? You said we didn’t need gloves. Then when I went to the bathroom . . .”
He winces. “Not my brightest idea.”
In our trio, Derek was the bad boy. Trey was the pretty boy. I was just the boy. The boy next door, I guess—normal, wholesome, helpful. Only I lived on the other side of town above a car repair shop that was later condemned because of the wrongful disposal of oil on the premises.
In reality, I had secrets. I was the one with diabetes. The one with a single mom with problems of her own. The one who had to look after his brother.
The waitress brings my soda.
Derek says, “Finally. You made us wait long enough. I’ll have what he’s having.”
She stares eye daggers at him.
Given that look, he must’ve hit on her before he married Deborah and it wasn’t welcome … or something. However, the waitress doesn’t wear a wedding band, not that I routinely notice these things.
Derek isn’t hideous—at least Deborah thinks he’s attractive. On the other hand, the waitress is a knockout. It’s no wonder the guy with the beer gut referred to her as a puck bunny. She’s every hockey player’s dream with warm brown eyes (when she doesn’t look like she’s going to eviscerate her customers), blondish brown hair that reminds me of caramel (I checked and my blood sugar is solid), a straight nose, faint freckles, and lovely curves hidden behind her apron.
However, her O’Neely’s shirt is on backward and I anticipate Derek pointing that out in three, two, one . . .
“Did you get dressed in the dark or do you hate working here that much?” He points to her shirt.
She looks down and her cheeks flush. “I just hate twit customers like you.”
“Ouch. You hate me? Really? Then no tip for you.” Derek shakes his head.
Mine cats between the two of them, worried about how much this is going to escalate.
“Then no soda refills or popcorn.” She grabs the fish bowl from the table and starts to stalk away.
Derek says, “I’m telling the owner that you?—”
Before this goes nuclear, I say, “I’m ready to order. I’ll take the pub potato skin pucks, please.”
She turns to me as if remembering I’m here and wears a tight smile. “We’re all out.”
“When will you have them again?” I ask.
“Never.”
Derek tilts his head to the side. “If I ask Uncle Stan?—”
She quickly says, “I mean tomorrow. We’ll have them tomorrow.”
Ah, Derek played the My uncle owns this place card. I’ll be sure to leave a big tip because he’s being obnoxious about that fact. Small towns, I tell ya.
“We’ll split the nachos,” Derek says.
“I’ll be sure not to spit in them,” she says, storming away.
My eyes widen. “Dude.”
“She won’t.”
“Just like you know Badaszek will play me this spring?”
He squints at me as if my head is on ice.
“Trust me. She’s not going to spit in our food.” He rolls his eyes. “She’s just been grouchy lately.”
“How do you know each other?” I wag my finger between him and the general direction of the waitress who is stabbing the screen at the computer terminal, probably telling the cooks to accidentally drop our food on the floor.
Derek’s jaw lowers and there’s a strange edge to his voice when he asks, “Are you kidding me right now?”
“What’s in the water here?” I push my cup away.
Why is everyone so aggro?
“You ordered a soda.”
“Maybe she spit in that too.”
He shrugs like it’s a possibility, then says, “Dude, that’s my sister. ”
My lips part with surprise. “No.”
“Yes.”
I shake my head because I wasn’t only noticing her inside-out shirt earlier. “No,” I repeat.
“Yes. Heidi. My sister,” he says slowly, enunciating each syllable.
“She’s all grown up.”
He flings his hand dismissively. “Yeah. That’s generally what happens. You’ve been gone too long, man.”
I mean, she’s grown up, grown up . I remember her being Derek’s bratty little sister. When she had braces, she made her mother cut the corn kernels off the cob when she could’ve easily done it herself. She’d kick us off the ice in their backyard rink when she wanted to figure skate and we were playing hockey, then ten minutes later come inside after purposely roughing up the surface.
In high school, she joined the cheerleading team and dated football players—a few I had to help Derek keep in line when they got a little too frisky.
I was so focused on hockey, I never considered Heidi becoming a woman .
“Your sister,” I breathe as this fact catches up with me.
“I come in here just about every day and make sure no one gets the wrong idea.” His hand tightens into a fist.
“Yet, you give her a hard time about her shirt being on inside out.”
“You had a brother. You know how it is.”
I had a brother. Past tense. Theo was about ten years younger than me and didn’t survive the car accident that put our mother in jail. When she got out, she was the same as ever—drunk—and wasn’t around too long after that.
I grunt, not wanting to revisit that part of town and wander down memory lane .
Heidi brings her brother a soda and then throws a straw at him. She’s physically fit and has nice curves. Loose pieces of hair come loose from her ponytail, framing her face. She has a little dimple in her chin that would be cute if she smiled.
I shouldn’t be noticing these details.
She says, “The nachos should be out soon.”
“Heidi, you remember Grady, right?”
“Of course,” she says in a measured tone.
I’m about to apologize for not recognizing her at first, but her glare keeps my trap shut. I might come off sounding arrogant if I acknowledge that—go pro in the NHL and forget all the little people or something.
Instead, I say, “Hey, next Lions game, we should have had Trey meet us here like old times—your dad too.”
Derek’s eyes widen and he shakes his head slowly, warningly.
Heidi storms off.
Then I add, “Maybe you should come in here less. She seems tired of waiting on you.”
This time Derek grunts. “Forget the three musketeers. You, Trey, and I were the three miscreants. She picked the wrong one.”
“I was the good one.”
“Says the guy who recently came back after suspension. What was that about, anyway?”
I won’t talk about it. I didn’t admit or deny the accusations. Not to mention, I didn’t fail any drug or doping tests. Even though there’s a formal procedure for misbehavior, my former general manager decided to make an example of me. I took the hit like a man.
Nostrils flaring, I reply, “For the record, I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“That’s what they always say.” Derek’s other fist tightens.
“If you’re wondering, it doesn’t have anything to do with a woman.” Well, except for my ex’s brutal betrayal.
“Yet Badaszek took a chance on you.”
“Still can’t figure out why,” I murmur.
“Don’t be modest. You’re a team’s secret weapon.”
He refers to my role as an enforcer, in certain circles it’s also known as the “Goon.” This means that aside from my regular duties as a defenseman, I also hit the ice—and other players—when necessary. As it is, I went from a game opener to third string. The Knights have a reputation for relatively clean play, so I’m not sure what Coach Badaszek has in mind.
I’m on the schedule for a meeting with him tomorrow and I haven’t yet decided if I want to prove that he made the right one or give him an excuse to get rid of me so I don’t have to survive Cobbiton for the second time in my life.
After devouring our plate of nachos, Heidi comps the meal. I leave double the tip. She doesn’t so much as say thank you. Then again, neither does her brother.
He follows me back to my new house because I need some muscle to help move the few pieces of furniture I brought from Pittsburg.
He gets out of his truck and gapes, “Seriously? A McMansion, Grady? I thought you were suspended without pay.”
I’ve lived modestly since signing with the NHL and invested wisely. During my hiatus, I learned how to day trade. This part of Cobbiton is a newer development with several home models. I bought the biggest one on Cornflower Cul-de-sac. There are twelve sections, all with corn-related names like everywhere else in Corn Town. When I found out I was moving back, I bought the place out of spite and because I wasn’t going to return the same broken kid—literally from a broken home. The roof leaked. The windows frosted in the winter and we used the oven for heat .
Impressed, Derek says, “I missed my calling in the NHL.”
“Your service is far more admirable, bro.”
He joined the army after high school because it’s what the Rice men do. Even though I’m not an official family member, I had all the forms filled out, but a hockey opportunity came up before I submitted them.
After we move my bureau around an awkward bend in the stairs, I pass Derek a soda and crack one for myself. We tap cans and I lead him to the back patio.
“I’m getting a pool and hot tub installed out here. Next time we play a home game with the Lions, you, me, and Trey will have to hang,” I say, echoing my comment from earlier.
My childhood wasn’t always bad. I had two best friends. Derek and I stayed in touch. As we always said, Trey is going to Trey . He went off and did his own thing. But it would be good to catch up off the ice.
“Are you serious right now?” Derek growls.
“Whoa, don’t Hulk out or anything. What’s the problem?”
He studies me for a long moment and then says, “Heidi and Trey got married. They had a kid. He ditched her.”
The words tumble slowly toward me and then hit home all at once. My mouth opens and closes.
As if anticipating what I’m trying to say, Derek says, “Yes. Trey Dillard.”
I squint as if that’ll help me better understand.
“I’m somewhat shocked you didn’t know.”
“I was on the other side of the country, dealing with my own stuff.” Namely my ex Alivia—like Olivia, but with an A instead of an O .
“Hockey is a small world.”
“It’s the entire world,” I say, lightening the mood.
“And so is my family. ”
“I had no idea Heidi has a kid. That makes you an uncle.” I clap him on the back. “Congrats.”
“And a guy with a criminal record for assault.”
I take that to mean he defended his sister’s honor.
“The rare times I see Trey are at games.” Knowing this now, his name leaves a bad taste in my mouth.
The guy plays center for the LA Lions. While Derek and I remained friends, Trey went his own way, swept up in fame and the perks that come with being a professional athlete.
“You let Trey have it?” I ask, referring to the assault charge comment.
“Considering he broke my nose, he gave it back.”
“Your nose was already broken.” I recall a backyard hockey game. We thought we were invincible. A puck to the face is no joke. After that, I always wore a helmet.
“I’m also in physical therapy for my wrist.” He presses the cold soda can on it.
“Old man,” I joke.
He’s twenty-eight. Same as me.
“Just looking after my joints.”
I snarl. “You should’ve told me. I would’ve helped.”
“You need your wrists.”
“So he’s out of the picture? Not in Heidi or the baby’s lives?”
“And missing out. The loser.”
This information puts Trey permanently in the penalty box.
Derek tells me about the kids’ hockey league he coaches, Grow Together—his landscaping/hardscaping business—and catches me up on how his parents still haven’t taken the cruise they’ve been talking about for years.
“You sound busy.”
“I’m also Heidi’s manny. ”
“Her what now?”
“I babysit Bunny while she teaches figure skating on Tuesday and Thursday evenings.”
I chortle. “Manny? Never say that word again.”
“Like a man-nanny.” He punches me softly in the arm.
Giving it a mock pat, I say, “Figure skating? But she works at the Fish Bowl.”
“Being a single mom isn’t easy.”
I know this is true along with the difficulty of being the son of a single mom—well, at least, my mother. “Doesn’t Trey help?”
“Before I bashed his face in, we pursued appropriate avenues to encourage his involvement. The guy wouldn’t give Heidi or the baby a minute of his time. Not a cent of his money. Won’t even acknowledge the kid.”
My jaw tightens because I’m all too familiar with the results of a deadbeat dad. Not to say single moms aren’t amazing and can make it on their own. Some of them are superheroes. However, I’ve always wondered if my father had stuck around, things would’ve turned out differently. Like I could’ve invited Derek over for macaroni and cheese night instead of feeling like the Rice family mooch.
Derek exhales through his nose. “In hindsight, fighting him didn’t help her case. He relinquished all responsibility and custody.”
“You can do that?”
“Through certain legal channels, apparently so. My sister is proud and independent, but I know she wouldn’t have turned down financial help. Despite her dislike for Trey after what he did to her, of course, she wanted Bunny to know her father. And the real kicker of the whole thing, he’s already remarried.” Derek’s nostrils flare, telling me if Trey walked in this room right now, he’d take him down to Punch Town .
Truth be told, I would too, given the fact that I’ve crumbled the soda can in my hand. Dillard played the field, er, ice, and had a reputation with the ladies, but this is next level.
“I was on suspension, not in outer space. How did I not know this?”
“You’ve always been in your own world, Grady.” Derek doesn’t say this in an insulting way. More like it’s a point of fact.
He’s right because I didn’t even recognize Heidi earlier. She was always Derek’s bratty kid sister, but she’s all grown up and didn’t deserve what Trey did. It makes me want to pummel him. Derek is tough, works out, and coaches pee-wee hockey, but at that stage, they encourage the kids not to fight. As an NHL defenseman, I’m on the ice every day using my body and stick skills in battle. I could wipe Trey off the ice, never mind the planet.
Next game against the Lions, maybe I will.
My blood sugar isn’t low. No, my blood is boiling.