Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Justin
My eyes follow her as she walks away from me as if I’m in a trance.
The minute I pulled up and got out of my car, my eyes went to her as she walked with his hand in hers.
I almost jogged to make sure I would get to the door so I could hold it open for her.
I was only planning to help her, but then she looked up and her green eyes knocked me back and made my chest tight.
“Justin,” Amy says from behind me, and just the sound of her voice makes me shiver like nails scraping down a chalkboard.
“It’s time for you to go upstairs.” I turn to look at her and try to stay out of her grabby hands.
She’s been working with the foundation for six months and has tried to get me in her grasp since then, but it will never happen.
One thing I’ve learned is you don’t fuck with anyone who works for you.
When we walk out of the room, and she starts to tell me everything I need to do and say, I zone her out.
Climbing the back stairs, I come to the tables where the kids are sitting and the parents hang out in the back.
I nod at everyone and try to find her without making it too obvious, but I don’t see her when I look around.
Dylan sits at the table with another child, and when I step up to the front, the kids get quiet.
Looking around, I think back to how I got here.
I mean, if you think about it, there really was no other choice for me.
I was born a Stone, and anyone who knows hockey, knows the Stone name.
I started skating as soon as I could walk, and I even have a picture in my condo of me on the ice with my father holding me up.
I loved it, and it was a good thing because we were always at the rink, whether it was for my father or for Matthew, my brother who was drafted first overall.
We have that in common, but that is where it stops.
Where he got drafted to Los Angeles, I got drafted to Edmonton, and we both handled it differently.
He went out and partied while I sat in my room missing home and everything about it. Mind you, Edmonton is no LA.
It was so fucking hard, and I suffered from homesickness so bad that my parents would come out every other week.
Slowly, I got into the groove, and now six years later, I’ve settled, knowing that I will probably never leave Edmonton.
They have me signed for another two years, and I’m not one to toot my own horn, but the stats don’t lie.
I’m at the head of the leaderboard every year, and just last year, I finally beat Evan, my brother-in-law who plays with New York and is married to Zara, one of my twin sisters.
My other brother-in-law, Viktor, who is married to the other twin, Zoe, finished third, and from what he told me last week, the next season will be his last. Better to go out on top than be asked to leave, he said to me.
That and Zoe wants to have another child, and he wants to be home for it all this time.
The sound of clapping makes me turn my head to see what is going on, and I see everyone getting up and the parents coming over to me.
I look at Amy and see her smiling. “Thank you so much for doing this,” one of the dads says with tears in his eyes.
“It’s not easy to get him on the ice, and then I try to bring him to the outdoor rinks, but it’s hard.
” I shake his hand and thank all the parents for trusting me with their kids.
When they finally leave, it’s time to get on the ice.
I walk to my locker room where the other hockey coaches are.
I’ll be on the ice with the kids the whole day, and I’ve hired people to direct the activities off the ice as well as three extra pairs of hands on the ice to run the drills I set up.
Once I get on the ice, the doors open and five kids join me.
One loses his balance, but he gets up again, and when I look down, I see that Dylan is the first one who skates to me.
“Okay, today we are going to do five drills over and over again.” I explain to the kids what they are going to do during the drills.
Standing on the side, I watch as they do the first drill, and I have say Dylan is good.
He can skate faster than all the other kids, and he uses both hands to help skate and speed up, which not all kids know to do.
He can skate backward and do crossovers better than all of them.
“Dylan, how old are you?” I ask him when he finishes the fifth drill before everyone.
He looks up at me through the cage of his helmet. “Eight.”
“How long have you been playing hockey?” I ask him, and he shrugs.
“Not a lot,” he says, and I shake my head. Having nieces and nephews, I get that it can either be all the time or once or twice.
“What team do you play for?”
“I only played a little bit last time because I didn’t have any equipment.” I look at his skates, and you can tell they are well worn in. “Mom tried to get some skates, but there were none.” I shake my head, not thinking about how that might hold someone back.
“Well, looks like you have skates now,” I say with a smile while the other kids finish. Then I blow the whistle. “Okay, let’s do it again,” I say. Dylan skates to the first cone, and I drop a puck for him. “Try to do it with a puck,” I suggest.
He takes the puck and then stick handles it better than any kid on the ice.
When his hour is over, I call him over and ask him to stay on the ice again with the older kids, and he stands out even with kids who are ten.
After three hours, we skate off the ice, and I expect him to complain that he’s tired, but instead, he grabs a water and then looks at me as he takes off his helmet.
His blond hair is stuck on his head from sweat.
“Are we going to do that every day?” he asks as he drinks the water.
“I can make it happen if you want.” I smile at him, and he just nods and walks back to his locker room.
I follow him since he was left back on the ice, and I didn’t know where his group was.
I sit down with him while he takes off his equipment, and his elbow pads are too small for him.
His shin pads don’t fit properly, and don’t even get me started on the chest protector.
He puts everything in the bag and then grabs the shorts and the T-shirt. “You hungry?”
“Yeah,” he says, and I get up from the bench. “Follow me. I have to change my skates, and then we can get some grub.” I turn to walk out of the locker room and run smack into Amy.
“I was looking for you,” she says, and I just turn to walk toward the locker room where my shoes are. “I was thinking we can sit together at lunch and go over a couple of things.”
“Yeah,” I say. “I’m having lunch with Dylan, but you can bring what you want to talk about,” I say and walk into the locker room. Dylan sits on the bench next to me, swinging his legs. “You can meet us up there.”
“Okay, yeah sure, or if anything, we can do it over dinner.”
I know what she’s doing. “Lunch will be good, Amy,” I say, and she just nods and walks out.
I put on my sneakers, and we head up the stairs to the food.
There are a couple of kids at the table, and some are watching the other kids play hockey from the viewing windows overlooking the rink.
I grab a tray for myself and one for Dylan.
“What do you want to eat?” He shrugs his shoulders. “Do you like veggies?”
“No,” he says and then looks at me, “but my mom said I have to eat them to grow.” I try to hide my smile.
“Your mother is right. My mom used to make broccoli every single night,” I say, and he looks at me in shock. “I used to give it to the dog. Don’t tell anyone.”
“We don’t have a dog,” he says, and I grab a plate of chicken and pasta and put it on his tray. “I love pasta.”
“Me, too.” I grab my own plate and walk over to an empty table. He sits down, and I don’t know if I should cut the chicken for him or not. “You need help?” I ask him, and he just shakes his head. The chair beside me pulls out, and Amy sits down.
“If you want, I can find his team coach and take him to them,” she says. I look over at Dylan, who isn’t even listening while he tries to cut his chicken after giving up eating his pasta.
“It’s fine,” I say, leaning over and cutting his chicken, and he just nods as he puts a piece in his mouth. Amy goes over the things happening this week and lets me know that a couple of my teammates will be coming by on Wednesday to get on the ice with me for a couple of hours.
I look over at Dylan who finished his whole plate and is now drinking the apple juice that I put down for him. “Can I go watch?” he asks of the game taking place in one of the rinks. About five other kids are standing over there to watch, so I just nod.
“I can call and see if my brother and my brothers-in-law want to come and lend a hand,” I suggest, and Amy nods. The bell rings somewhere, and the kids look around. One of the coaches claps his hands and tells all the kids to go into their locker room for the second part of the day.
I finish my lunch and then walk back to the locker room, taking my phone out and sending a group text to Matthew, Max, Viktor, and Evan.
Me: Do you old men want to get on the ice in a couple of weeks? I can get some canes to help you out.
Before I have a chance to put the phone back into my pocket, Evan answers me.
Evan: M&M are dinosaurs. Can they even skate?
I laugh. When Evan started dating Zara, he gave Matthew and Max that nickname, and it’s stuck ever since.
Forget the fact that they hated each other when they first met, but then Max eloped with our sister, Allison, something that Matthew refuses to let him forget.
But now they are both working for the Stingers organization.