Chapter 26
KAI
There are three rules Diana and I had established to keep our friends-with-benefits arrangement uncomplicated.
That’s why Diana and I try to avoid eye contact at the annual Little Griffins Hockey Club fundraiser.
Laughter fills the air as families eat at the picnic tables.
Their paper plates are greased with burgers and hot dogs from the grills that smoke up the autumn air.
The cold rain from the last few days held back just enough for the sun to bask over the fields in front of the DHU Athletics building.
The obstacle course for the giant Chuck-A-Puck game takes up one side of the field, while half of the parking lot is transformed into a car wash run by some of the Griffins.
Soap-suds run down my arm as I scrub down a black G-Wagon. I try to avoid splashing the Howler reporters walking by.
“Why does our equipment smell like sunscreen?”
“Because Mark got his grubby melanoma-fearing hands all over it.”
They set up their equipment nearby to capture footage of the fundraiser for their newscast. Diana stands by, guiding them and answering their questions with that focused, determined look in her eyes.
She takes in the sun, looking so gorgeous, I’d listen to every word she said, too.
The wind drifts through the soft black waves falling over her shoulders.
But she still looks pristine and sophisticated in her mini brown dress and matching heels.
Diana reaches over to fix the body mic on Rowan’s shirt.
The fabric of her dress catches onto her media pass, crooking it at an awkward angle.
I cough. Diana looks up as she steps away from Rowan.
I subtly nod at her before tugging at my shirt.
Diana cocks her head, her hands rising to her neckline.
Then she notices the lanyard hook clinging to the fabric.
She quickly unhitches it before smiling at me in thanks.
I wink back at her. Diana’s cheeks flush before her attention darts back to Rowan’s interview.
“In your own words, can you tell us why the fundraiser is so important for the Little Griffins Hockey Club?” the reporter asks.
Rowan rakes his hand through his hair and slings his baseball cap over his head.
“Well, hockey is an expensive sport,” Rowan answers.
His words are confident and undaunted as Captain of the DHU Griffins.
“That’s why it’s important to raise as much money as we can today.
It’s the best way to make sure the club can keep supplying the kids with fresh skates and gear without their parents worrying about paying a cent. ”
Cheers erupt from the other side of the field.
I turn around and see Luke and Wallace hosting another round of Chuck-A-Puck. Wallace is fiddling with the starting pistol while Luke commands both spectators and competitors with his megaphone.
“Alright, guys, this is it!” Luke bellows.
He strides across the field that’s lined up with eager little kids.
“This is your chance to win pucks signed by Anthony Benigno, Sam Muir, and Roger Hamilton from the Vancouver Phoenix. Whoever throws their puck into the net first is the winner! Are you ready?”
Hollers erupt in the air.
“The game starts in three. . .two. . .one!”
Wallace fires off the pistol.
The players speed across the bright obstacle course with a plastic hockey puck swinging around their necks.
I watch as they bop across the grass on neon hopper balls, crawl through the ring tunnels, scamper up the rungs on the inflatable castle, and glide down the slides to throw their pucks into the hockey net guarded by our goalie, Marcus.
“I mean, it was a great game. Callo’s goaltending was incredibly strong.”
My grip on the sponge shakes. I peek over the G-Wagon and nearly scream when I see Sam Muir, Roger Hamilton, and Anthony Benigno talking near the car wash.
It doesn’t matter how many times they’ve been here. Seeing them show up always has me on the brink of losing my shit.
They tower over everyone in their jeans and fiery red Vancouver Phoenix jerseys. What has me sweating and hyperventilating is Anthony Benigno, their renowned center. Scruffy and stoic-faced in his backwards baseball cap, he listens to the boys with simple nods and fleeting, amused smiles.
I try to keep my nerves under control as I scrub at the grime flecking around the bumper.
Anthony Benigno has been my hero ever since he gave me a puck at the first NHL hockey game I went to with Uncle Manu in 2012.
From that day on, I modeled half of my plays after him.
Benigno is quick and sly in his skating and deking despite being six foot three.
I have always dreamed about following in his footsteps, from playing at DHU to going all the way to the NHL.
“Kai, right?”
Goosebumps rise on my skin. I slowly turn my head.
Holy shit.
Anthony Benigno stands there drinking a can of orange seltzer. A faint, amused smile draws across the scruff on his face.
“Oh, uh—” I quickly throw down the sponge. “Y-Yes, sir!”
Benigno chuckles and waves his hand. “You don’t need to do all that. Just call me Anthony.”
“Yes, sir—” I shake my head with a nervous laugh. “Anthony.”
He reaches out and shakes my hand, his grip strong and sure. “That was a good game you played last night against Ottawa.”
“You…you saw it?” I sputter.
“Yeah, I watched the highlights after my game against the Seattle Shrikes.” He arches his brow and nods in approval. “Nice job stealing the puck from Brandon Reichman.”
“Yeah.” My heart pounds under my chest as I fight back the urge to scream. “I-I’ve, um…I’ve had some practice.”
“I bet you have.” Anthony smirks. “Playing against a tough team will always get you fired up. Especially when you go pro. Is that still in the cards for you? I heard it’s your last year and everything.”
“I’m hoping s—”
Laughter bursts behind me. “Yo, there he is!”
My smile falls as a group of guys with patchy, pimpled beards approach me. My stomach churns at their obnoxious grins.
“Hey, man.” A guy in a red crewneck tugs out a piece of paper from his pocket. “Do you mind signing this?”
He unfolds a picture of a severely jacked up man. His giant arms strain with veiny muscles that swell bigger than his head.
“It’s for my uncle,” the guy chortles. “You got him into doping, and he’s really inspired by you.”
Anger spikes inside of me when he dangles the photo in my face. Mocking laughter erupts all around me.
I snatch the photo, crumple it, and throw it to the ground.
“I think you need to leave,” I snap.
The guy rolls his eyes and chuckles. “Come on, we’re just playing around.”
“Well, people usually laugh when there’s a joke. You might wanna work on that part.”
The group blows raspberries in my face.
“This guy’s so boring,” they scoff, “Bet he’s more fun when he’s high.”
They chuck the sharpie at my feet and walk away. My hands shake at my sides.
I remember when bright-eyed first years used to approach me for autographs after my games. So many started playing because they wanted to do what I did.
Now I’m nothing more than a joke.
Anthony sighs and crouches down to pick up the trash.
I shake my head. “Don’t worry. I-I got it.”
“Nah, it’s fine.” He tucks the sharpie into his pocket before he tosses the crumpled photo into the trash. When he turns to me, the pity on his face makes me shrink back. He claps me on the arm. “It was nice talking to you, Kai.”
“You, too.”
Anthony brushes past me to join his teammates at the picnic tables.
My heart falls. Embarrassment warps the high I was feeling. I had a chance to show my childhood hero the kind of guy I am off the ice, and I fucked it up by spinning out the moment those jackasses messed with me.
A swell of panic slowly invades my thoughts. I try to calm myself down as I grab more sponges for the car wash.
Anthony saw your game and he saw what happened with those boys. If anything, he knows you’re not the problem. Your future in the NHL will be fine.
I scrub hard at the windows of a bright green Toyota. But no matter how hard I wipe down the grime, it doesn’t budge.
“You shouldn’t have done that, Andrea.”
“It’s not that big of a deal.”
Through the windows, I can see Diana on the other side of the car wash. She fiddles with her media pass, denting it slightly. She’s fuming while Andrea, with her smug smile and angled head, is clearly reveling in it.
“Benedict and the rest of the board suggested that you needed some help,” Andrea points out. “It’s nothing personal, Diana.”
“Help entails uploading footage to Adobe to make the editing go by faster,” Diana stresses. “Not scrapping an entire shot list that I approved.”
I shift over to the other side of the car where their voices grow louder.
Andrea snorts. “Judging by what happened with you and your brother, I don’t think your judgment is the soundest right now, don’t you think?”
Those words kill all the fight Diana has left. She relents; her crossed arms fall apart.
“What do you expect me to do?”
“Nothing for now. But we’ll call you if we need you, ‘kay?” Andrea smiles and brushes past her.
Diana scowls, shaking her head and muttering under her breath. Then, she storms towards the coolers.
A few days have passed since we sealed our mutually beneficial agreement of being friends with benefits.
It kept us relatively sane enough to finish Mellonbaum’s project, and I even had a steady streak of wins at our away games.
But judging by the fury on Diana’s face and the ache in my head from trying not to worry about that embarrassing moment with Anthony, I have a feeling that keeping each other sane is going to get tougher every day.
I put down my bucket and my sponge.
“I’m taking a break,” I shout. “I’ll be back soon!”
I jog over towards Diana.
“I swear that girl is going to be the death of me–ugh!” She tears out a bottle of water from the cooler.
I bend down to grab a box of root beer from the bottom of the table.