Epilogue
Theo
Jesus Christ, how is this harder to do sober than drunk?
I mean, fuck. I feel like I’m ninety years old, and it’s only game five of the first round.
I groan as I lift myself off the bench in front of my cubby.
Callan looks up at me with concern in his blue eyes.
“Everything hurts. Playoffs sober is not for the weak.”
He smirks at me. “I don’t think it’s about being sober. It’s about the fact you’re old.”
“Fuck off, rookie.” I laugh. “I’m only twenty-eight.”
“Yeah, well, that’s past mid-life in this career.”
He’s right. I’ve got probably about seven years left if I get really lucky.
My dad had won a Cup by now. The thought is stupid, an unnecessary comparison.
I am not my dad. I’m me. I have my own path.
Drunk Theo was all about beating everyone in the family at everything.
Sober Theo wants peace and to focus on the actual scoreboard in a game, not the mental one in my head. Oh, and Lola. I definitely want Lola.
“How’s my sister?”
“What?” I yank my jersey over my head.
“I never see her anymore. She basically lives at yours.” Callan says. “So I’m checking in.”
“She’s there a lot because her work is walking distance from mine,” I mumble and still feel sheepish about the fact that I’m dating his sister. I mean, he seems cool about it, but still. “And she goes to Ocean Pines to sit Randie all the time.”
“And drives back to yours nine times outta ten,” Callan says, and I shrug. “You know you guys can sleep at our apartment. I’m not some weird caveman that will try to murder you if I see you in my house after dark.”
“Good to know,” I chuckle. “But I think it’s more that she’s avoiding seeing your hook-ups.”
“I don’t do that anymore,” Callan’s tone is harsh, and it makes me stop dressing and stare. “I mean, I’m focusing on hockey, so you’re safe.”
My eyebrows are still raised as he shoots me a quick smile. It looks forced. I wonder what’s going on with him and make a mental note to have Lola check in with him. “Right now I just wanna win this game and get to round two.”
“Me too. So let’s make it happen. Old man.” I cuff the back of his head lightly, and he laughs.
We win the game, which sends the Quebec team golfing, and the Riptide into round two.
The mood in the locker room is very upbeat.
Everyone is so happy they let Grady pick the music, even though it’s a hockey fact that goalies have the worst musical taste.
Some weirdo rap version of an old eighties song comes over the speakers, and I groan.
I shower and change extra quickly because I need to get away from his archaic music and see Lola.
I get to the Friends and Family Lounge and am swamped by half of my family.
My grandparents, my parents, my sister, and a boatload of cousins are here.
After getting hugs and pats on the back, I make my way to the far corner of the room, and my whole body tingles warmly as Lola looks up at me and smiles.
She’s like a natural painkiller. Nothing hurts when she looks at me.
“Hey, second rounder!’ She steps away from where she was sitting on the floor with Randie and Conner’s foster daughter, Violet, and wraps her arms around me.
I kiss her and then bury my face in her neck, and she wiggles in my arms. “I’m gonna need you to win the next round in four games.
And the one after that. The faster we get through this, the faster that scratchy beard goes away. ”
“I don’t know, I kind of feel like I might keep it through the summer.
” I run my fingers over the thick, slightly out-of-control mess on my face.
She rolls her eyes, and then I lean in to whisper in her ear.
“You had no complaints this morning when it was rubbing up against your thighs while I licked your sweet pussy.”
When I pull back her cheeks are pink. “That was a ten out of ten. I’ll give you that.”
I grin and pull her to me again. “I can’t wait to get you home and do it again.”
Playoffs, 2nd Round…
Theo
I wake up and reach for her. It’s become part of my morning routine.
Reach for Lola, have sex with Lola, make coffee and breakfast for Lola, and tell her I love her as she heads to the Art Collective every day, and I go do hockey stuff.
It’s perfect. Only this morning, she isn’t there.
She had an early morning meeting, and I didn’t get home until after two, since the game was in Boston last night.
I was hoping to wake up before she left, but I was too tired and didn’t even hear her leave.
We won round two of the playoffs last night, four games in a row, boom!
With that done, the Riptide now had to wait to see who won the series between Halifax and Toronto.
The Halifax Hawks were a new addition to the league, an expansion team that started this year, which was nerve-wracking.
They wanted it as bad as we did, only they had more to prove. I really hoped Toronto would win.
I begrudgingly get out of bed, throw on some sweats, and wander outside. I’ve been craving the bacon and egg sandwich from the breakfast spot down on Congress for this entire series, and I used it as motivation. I only get the sandwich if we win. So today is the day!
It’s a short walk, and the weather is great —sunny and warm.
I get stopped twice on the way to the restaurant, once by two young fans who want a selfie and once by an older guy who asks me to sign his Riptide ballcap.
This is happening more and more because all of Maine has playoff fever.
I’ll never complain because the farther we go in this playoff run, the more humbled I become that I got another chance at all.
So, swamp me fans, harass me, I am too grateful to care.
I order the sandwich from their takeout window, along with a caramel latte, which I’ve started drinking again.
My psychologist and I worked out that I was denying myself stuff I enjoyed, like flavored coffee, as a way to punish myself.
As I wait for my order, I get a call from my dad.
Before I can even say hello, he says, “My kid is gonna do it!”
“Do not say another word. If you jinx this, Dad, I’ll be so pissed!”
He laughs. “Not gonna jinx it. Just be sure not to touch the President’s Trophy after you win the next round. That is the real curse.”
“Dad!”
The woman at the window calls my order, and I give her a thankful smile and juggle my phone, coffee, and sandwich until I can find a bench to perch on.
The original plan was to bring it home and eat it there, but it smells too good to resist. I prop between my shoulder and ear and listen to my dad’s take on last night’s game as I unwrap the sandwich and put my coffee on the bench next to me.
When he’s done talking about his favorite moments, he asks, “How are you feeling, physically. I know playoffs take a hell of a toll on your body.”
“I’m sore everywhere. Full disclosure, I may have a couple bruised ribs,” I admit. “But I’m managing. It’s definitely more of a grind than it’s been in my runs with Vegas.”
“You’re older now.”
“I’m sober now,” I tell him. “Hard to feel pain when you’re buzzed all the time.”
I take a bite of my sandwich, and it’s an exquisite explosion of aged cheddar, runny egg, and crisp smoky bacon. I try not to groan because my dad would be weirded out.“And you’re doing okay? With sobriety?”
“Yeah. Really good. I promise.” I take another bite.
“And if you guys… if you don’t make it? How is that going to weigh on you?
” His voice is tentative and nervous, two things I’ve only heard my dad be since I fell off that fucking roof.
I hate that I brought that out in him. I miss the way he was fearless and cocky and our family’s invincible leader before I fucked up.
“If I never get my name on another trophy, I’ll live,” I say, and what’s weird is that I mean it with every fiber of my being.
“Dad, nothing is going to take me back to that place… to being the person I was. I’m really loving my life right now, and I’m not just talking about the playoffs.
In fact, that’s not even in the top five things I love.
You and Mom are. Playing with Grady and Conner is.
Lola is the number one thing, obviously. ”
“We love her!” Dad says. “I’m glad you two found each other.”
“Me too. So glad.”
“Theo…” He pauses, and I can hear him swallow. He’s struggling with something. “I’m so proud of you. And I’m not talking about hockey.”
My heart inflates instantly, like an airbag going off. I blink. “Great. Now I can’t see my delicious breakfast sandwich because my eyes are watering.”
Dad laughs. “Sorry. I just… I need you to know. I love you.”
“I love you too,” I say and force the tears away. Then I take another bite of my sandwich. “You’re a great dad.”
“Ah shit,” He sniffs. “Now I’m gonna get harassed by your uncles. I have to meet them at the arena for a pick-up game with some other old timers, and my eyes are gonna be red. They’re gonna know we did this whole bonding thing.”
“Tell them it’s allergies,” I suggest, and swallow another bite of sandwich.
“You must get your smarts from your mother.” He replies. “I gotta go. We’ll be at the first game of the next series. Are you hoping for Toronto, too?”
“A hundred percent.”
“Don’t worry if it’s the Hawks. You’ll win anyway.”
“DAD! You’re gonna jinx us!”
“See you next round, kiddo.”
Playoffs, 3rd Round…
Lola
“This isn’t fair. It can’t end like this. I will not allow it.” I clench my stomach and regret that last pretzel I ate. It’s sitting like a brick in my gut. My eyes look up to the rafters. “Dear Hockey Gods, tell me what I need to do. I’ll do anything. Just name it.”
My dad starts laughing, loudly. I glare at him. “My daughter, the atheist hippie vegetarian who hates hockey, is bartering with the Hockey Gods. Hilarious.”