Chapter Four #2
That only makes her angrier for me and the chance that my ex convinced me to pass on. I’m just as much at fault, though.
Mila rubs her lips together, and I can tell what she’s thinking when a hesitant expression crosses her face. “You could always ask your fath—”
“No” I cut her off before she can finish the suggestion. “I already live with my father. I don’t need to work for him too.”
“Technically,” she corrects, “you’d be working for the team. And how cool would that be? Even if you only stayed for a season, that’s the kind of ammo that would look amazing on a future application. I bet plenty of people would be willing to hire you then.”
I cringe. Using my father’s connections isn’t how I want to get hired. Then I’d feel like I owe him, and living here is already hovering over my head. “I don’t know, Mila. I’m not so sure that’s a good idea.”
“Because of your dad or all the hot people with thick thighs and tight butts that you’d get to see all the time?
” she asks knowingly, propping her chin on her palm as she leans her elbows on the edge of the counter.
“If you ask me, that sounds like heaven. And how often would you see your dad anyway? He’ll be coaching.
You’ll be doing…whatever comms and social media people do. ”
Which usually involves the players, from some of the team’s social feeds I’ve seen pop up on my personal accounts. “I have a feeling I’d be seeing him more than you think.”
That doesn’t deter her. “I get that your dad was kind of a shitty one growing up. He was way too focused on his career when he should have prioritized you. Just like Max. But you know what? I’m selfish enough to admit that I liked it because that meant we got to spend lots of time together.
And even though your douchebag ex-husband messed up, and that makes me mad for you, you’re here again.
And I think you should take advantage of your connections to get your life where you want it for once. ”
I don’t know if I can come up with a clear reason not to ask my father about a job.
Am I going to let him or Bodhi be the reason I hold myself back?
I’ve learned my lesson already about not letting men do that.
I don’t plan on making the same mistake twice.
“They’re probably not even hiring. The season is about to start.
They usually have all the employees they need by now. ”
Her eyes roll. “What did I just say, Honor? Use your dad. If he asks, I’m sure they’d find something for you to do.”
I hate the way that makes me feel. I’ve always prided myself on working hard to earn things. Nepotism goes against everything I believe. “I’ll consider it,” I relent.
She claps. “Yay. Now that’s out of the way, are you ready to go? I finally have a day off and I want to get froyo with all the extra toppings. Screw the calories I just burnt at the gym.”
I snort, sliding off the chair. “Let me get Puck ready and then we can leave.”
As I gather his leash, my best friend says, “You deserve to be happy too, Honor. Max isn’t the only one who’s allowed to have what he wants out of life. Go after what’s going to make you smile again. Because I miss your smiles.”
I swallow at her words, tipping my head once in acknowledgment, but not knowing what to say.
*
When I step into the stadium that I’ve only walked into a few different times in my life, a heavy feeling enters my stomach.
Most of the time I’ve been inside MSG involved concerts, not my father’s games.
I’ve never let myself think too much about it until now, because I’m here for him. Because of him.
Puck must sense the mood shift, because he looks up at me and wags his tail. “I’m all right,” I reassure him quietly as we approach the security desk.
“Can I help you?” the middle-aged man says from his chair, looking between me and Puck. He examines Puck’s service vest before turning to me. “Are you Erikson’s daughter?”
My lips twitch at the question. “Did my service dog give me away?”
The security guard unlocks the top drawer and pulls out a badge with my name on it. “He did mention you have one, but it’s the eyes. Around here, we call it Erikson brown. You share the same intensity, same seriousness.”
I’ve always been told I’m my mother’s twin, which I used to consider an insult. She was pretty, at least before the alcohol took over. But I didn’t want to be anything like her.
Maybe looking a little like my father is a good thing. I can have the Erikson eyes to go along with the Erikson stubbornness that my mother used to loathe. She said it reminded her of my father, not that there was much I could do about it.
“Good to know” is all I reply with, shifting on my feet.
He passes me the badge. “I’m Cal, by the way. I’ll be around if you need anything. You’ll need to get a photo for your badge by the end of the week, and your dad can tell you where to go for that. He told me to show you to his office when you got here.”
The walk is quiet as I examine the back halls I’ve never seen before when I’ve come here for shows. Puck’s paws clicking against the floor is comforting as we wind down halls covered in signed photographs of celebrities and athletes.
It’s probably been close to four years since I’ve been here.
Max used to ask me to get us tickets to the games because he was a huge hockey fan, but I’d never reach out to my father about it for a few reasons.
One was pride. I didn’t ask my father for anything—not until today.
So, reaching out for Max wasn’t high on my to do list.
Cal stops us at a closed office that has my father’s full name on the door in bold lettering.
Devin Erikson. Head coach.
“Here you are,” Cal says with a big, friendly smile. “Tell the big man I said hi and I’ll see him later.”
I murmur a goodbye and stare at the doorknob before taking a deep breath and reaching for it.
My father is sitting behind a large desk staring at something on the computer and jotting down numbers on a piece of paper. It isn’t until I stop next to one of the chairs that he points the edge of his pen toward the seat. “Sit,” he tells me, still focused on what he’s watching.
When I asked him at dinner a few nights ago about meeting up to discuss work, he’d been speechless for about two minutes before agreeing.
Yesterday, he left a message on my phone telling me to meet him here for an opportunity.
He didn’t give me details, but said I’d be expected when I stopped by security.
After sitting, I realize it’s a game on the screen that has his full attention. “Are you trying to figure out plays?” I ask before I can help myself, glancing down at the X’s and O’s and arrows beside numbers on his paper.
The numbers are his players. I only know that because my online search of Bodhi Hoffman included his jersey number. What I didn’t tell Bodhi was that I looked him up years ago, after the night at the bar. And possibly a few, okay a dozen, times since. So what if I know his number? It means nothing.
My father shakes off his surprise and clears his throat, turning in his chair to face me. “I’m planning new formations for our first game against the Blackhawks to better utilize our offensive positions.”
I blink slowly, not sure what any of that really means. Just because I searched for one player doesn’t mean I YouTubed how the game works.
“That’s…cool.” We’re quiet for a second, save the ticking clock on the wall. “Isn’t that Seattle’s team? The Blackhawks?”
The way he gapes at me tells me I’m not correct. Probably not even close. “It’s Chicago’s team,” he replies slowly, setting his pen down and scratching the column of his throat. “You know, the place you lived.”
I wince. Right. I do know that. Max would talk about hockey all the time when we were together. Leaving him meant not being surrounded by twenty-four-seven sports talk.
“Right,” I relent, nodding sheepishly.
“Seattle’s hockey team is the Krakens,” he tells me.
Whoops. “I was close,” I offer weakly.
We both know I wasn’t. Not by a long shot.
The smallest smile threatens to tilt his lips before it disappears. “Do you think you’ll be able to handle a position with this team if a spot opens up? With social media growing, we’re always looking to spotlight our games and players.”
It’s an understandable question since I’m not well versed in anything hockey.
I make a mental note to research all the teams, so I don’t mix up anymore.
Next it’ll be the New England Celtics or the Baltimore Eagles.
“I’m a quick learner. You taught me how to ride a bike after a day and a half. Remember? I only fell once.”
This time, his smile grows. It’s not big, but it’s full of nostalgia. “You didn’t even cry. Stood up, brushed yourself off, and told me you wanted to try again. Didn’t even want a Band-Aid for the scrape on your knee.”
I can hear the hint of pride in his voice. We don’t have many memories together, but there are a mix of good ones with the bad. He’d clapped and cheered me on as I peddled down the sidewalk that day.
The memory fades from his eyes, and he’s back to business. Erikson eyes. I’m starting to see what Cal means. “Do you still shoot?”
I know it isn’t guns he’s asking about. Photography was an obsession of mine for a long time, and yet another casualty of my marriage that I gave up when my muse died out.
“It’s been a while,” I admit, an ache forming around the words in my chest that’s similar to the one I felt when Mila brought it up at the house. “But I still have everything. Why?”
He leans back in his chair, resting his interwoven hands on his stomach.
“Because our photographer went on maternity leave a few days ago. She also handled a lot of our social media pages—doing questions of the days, interviewing players, keeping up with engagement. She wasn’t supposed to be on leave for another month or two, but her doctor was concerned.
So we could use somebody to replace her. ”
When was the last time I touched my camera? I’d opened the case once or twice over the years, but the beauty of life had been missing too much to capture it. The thought of picking it up…
A heaviness settles in my stomach.
“So?” he presses expectedly. “What do you say? Think you can handle that? There will be someone more apt than me who you’ll report to. God knows I can’t make heads or tails of online shit these days.”
I huff out a laugh. I’d seen a post-game interview with him once being asked if he saw what some of his players were posting on TikTok. He asked what TikTok was.
Taking a deep breath, I remember what Mila said about having a fresh start. More importantly, I remind myself that I’m desperate for one.
“When do I begin?”
One of his eyebrows raises. “You’re not going to ask how much the pay is? Or if there’s health benefits?”
I would, but does it matter? “You wouldn’t let me accept something unless it had decent benefits given my health status.”
He dips his head in confirmation, not bothering to argue the fact. “And the money?”
Biting down on the inside of my cheek, I decide to be honest with him.
“My options are a bit limited right now. Anything is better than nothing. And, frankly, the only other choice I have is working at Mila’s Bistro.
Maybe I’ll even do that on the side, I haven’t decided yet.
The point is, I don’t care what it pays because I need something in my life.
And this sounds like the perfect thing to distract me. ”
His brows dip. “Distract you from what, exactly?”
I haven’t had a chance to see him since dealing with the divorce papers. It’s been a week and a half, and I officially got the call this morning that it was final.
“I’m officially a divorced woman,” I tell him, looking at him through my lashes. I lift my hands and wiggle all ten fingers. “Yay,” I murmur in mock joy.
His expression doesn’t change, but I do see a slight dim in his eyes. “That’s not a club I ever wanted you to join, Honor.”
What parent would? “Me either,” I whisper.
I look down at my lap, but I can feel him staring at me.
Then he says a number that makes my gaze snap upward.
And when I don’t say anything, he repeats it again.
“That’s what you’d get per season, because it’s going to be demanding.
You’ll be traveling with us, so it isn’t just committing to home games.
There’s the behind-the-scenes online stuff on top of it. ”
Holy crap on a cracker. “That’s a lot of money,” I rasp.
All he does is dip his chin.
“Would they offer anybody that?” I question.
“That’s what Mackenzie got,” he replies, looking back down at his notes. “So it isn’t nepotism if that’s what you’re concerned about.”
This time, I don’t answer.
When he looks back up at me, there’s an inquisition in his eyes. “So what do you say, kid? Do you want to be part of the team?”
I snort. “You make it sound like I’ll be out there on the ice with the rest of you.”
“You can probably skate just as well as any of them, if not better,” he states confidently. “If you didn’t forget how. If memory serves, you picked up on that skill quickly too.”
The fact he remembers how much I loved being on the ice—how good at it I was—makes me blush under the scrutiny of his knowing gaze. I used to spend hours on the ice skating and learning new moves. He would have to drag me off kicking and screaming when it was time to go.
“I haven’t forgotten,” I admit. “But it’s been a long time since I’ve done that too.”
He watches me for a second. “Why did you stop doing the things you loved, Honor?”
My heart sinks a fraction in my chest. Wetting my lips, I stifle a sigh at the truth. “I guess I found other things to love that got in the way.”
Max.
I don’t have the energy to figure out if that was real love or something mimicking it. Because real love doesn’t end, does it? It doesn’t make you cry or hurt. It doesn’t make you regret your life choices. So, it couldn’t have been love.
“Maybe it’s time to brush the dust off and remind yourself why you loved it to begin with,” he suggests. He lifts his watch up to check the time. “The rink won’t be used for another few hours.”
Is he suggesting what I think he is? “I don’t have skates.”
His lips waver as he moves his chair back, bends over, and picks something up from behind his desk.
I gape at what he holds. “Are those…?”
“They should still fit,” he says of my old skates. They look the same as they always have. There are even still stickers on the sides of them from when Mila and I decorated them to stand out from everybody else’s.
I shake my head in disbelief as he sets them on the desk in front of me. “I can’t believe you kept these.”
All he says is, “Knew you’d wear them again, kid. Kept up with them for when you came back.”
For when I came back. Not if.
When I glance up at him, he’s watching the screen again.
But there’s a softness to his face that wasn’t there before.