Chapter 63
KAI
The whir of luggage being unzipped, and the slam of cabinets opening and closing fill the apartment.
After our shitty game last night, Rowan let the boys rest for the weekend. Except none of us are actually doing that. I know half the team is shoving their shit into suitcases at the last minute before we fly to Toronto to play the Hudson University Whales on Monday.
“Yoo-hoo! Kainoa!”
Uncle Manu lounges against my bedroom door, snacking on dried cuttlefish that leaves small dustings on his corduroy jacket. He grins at me as if I didn’t spend the night before ignoring him in the car when he tried to talk to me.
“Are you leaving already?” I check the time. It’s only 9:30 a.m. “I thought you were taking off at one?”
“I am, but I thought we could hang out a little bit before I go.” His brows perk up and waggle excitedly. “Come on, petit bouc! I’ll drive.”
The car pulls up at an empty ice rink.
I blow out a breath, dropping my head against the headrest. “Tonton, out of all the places I could be right now, it shouldn’t be an ice rink.”
“Aw, come on, Kainoa. Those twigs have been sitting in the trunk for so long. It’s been years since we’ve played a proper game against each other.” As rebellious and carefree as he looks, there’s a quiet plea in Uncle Manu’s voice. “Just one game before I go.”
I remember when I used to beg those exact same words before I flew back to Mo’orea for the summer.
I was lying every time because one game would eventually turn into three, and before I knew it, Uncle Manu and I were stuffing my suitcase hours before my flight took off.
That happened every time. I loved flying back with my legs still aching from skating because it was like bringing hockey along with me no matter where I went.
A sad ache tugs at my heart.
The little kid who used to beg Uncle Manu to play one more game feels so far away now.
“Alright, fine.” I give in. “Let’s go.”
The rink is empty when we walk in. Instead of lacing up in the locker area, Uncle Manu and I lace up by the ice.
“How did you score the place all to yourself?” I ask.
“The owner used to be a client of mine. Fixed up his lawn a few years ago, and he hasn’t forgotten about it since.” Uncle Manu rises with a grunt. He hands me a hockey stick. “Ready to go?”
“I guess.” I grip the old stick and follow him onto the ice.
Uncle Manu drops the puck and passes it towards me. I swipe it back to him.
He snickers. “Is that all you’ve got?”
I smile faintly. “I’m just going easy on you.”
“Hey, I should be going easy on you!” Uncle Manu pushes past me with the puck. I swivel around. He’s already racing towards the other side. He veers towards the dot and slap shoots the puck. It strikes the net.
“Whew!” Uncle Manu whoops. “Did you see that?”
I crack a small smile. “It’s the one move you drilled into me since I was a kid.”
“And you still gotta prove to me that you can do it.” He nudges the puck out of the net. “Now, come on, petit bouc. It’s been too long since I’ve had a chance to beat you at this. Give me everything you’ve got.”
“Alright, alright,” I relent.
No matter how much I feel like a joke in my skates, I owe Uncle Manu a good game after all he’s done for me over the years.
He passes the puck towards me again. I catch it and skate forward, my stick swiftly handling the puck. Uncle Manu tries to steal it back. The action snaps my reflexes into play until every muscle, every thought, hinges on the urge to defend the puck and get it into the net.
I slightly veer right, dragging the puck with me before snapping to the left. I charge towards the net and shoot it in.
“Now that’s what I’m talking about!” Uncle Manu hollers.
Before I can even reply, he shoves past me and snatches the puck.
I skate after him. “Hey!”
“You slowing down on me?” Uncle Manu glances over his shoulder and sticks his tongue out. “I thought I was the old man here!”
“You still are!” I shove him into the boards and take the puck back.
Uncle Manu cackles and scrambles onto his skates. “Sneaky son of a bitch!”
“Just say the word and I’ll go easy on you!”
“Never!”
Uncle Manu catches up to me. We race after the puck, laughing and panting.
Slowly, the rink fades away. I’m back home in Mo’orea, running around the front yard of my parents’ house, thwacking a tennis ball back and forth with a broom to the sound of Uncle Manu’s laugh and the clucking chickens trotting nearby.
Pressure untethers from my shoulders. The air runs through my hair and blasts across my face, as I skate around the ice, fueled by the power of defining something bigger than myself.
This is what I love about hockey: how strong and sure it makes me feel, the confidence of knowing that no matter how many losses I have, the game lives in my bones and nothing can take that away from me.
Suddenly, that little boy who begged to play one more game doesn’t feel so far away anymore.
“Mon dieu.” Uncle Manu huffs. “I need a breather.”
Our skates grind to a halt. The sounds of our heavy breaths pushing in and out echo across the rink.
Uncle Manu and I settle onto the benches and guzzle down some water. Sweat drips from my forehead. It pricks and glides down my water bottle. I spray water onto my face before raking my fingers through my hair.
“How are you feeling?” Uncle Manu asks.
The high from skating dies under the guilt sapping me dry. My thumb traces the faded emblem of the DHU griffin snarling on my water bottle. “I’m sorry for shutting you out last night.”
“You were having a bad time.” Uncle Manu wipes at his chin with a sigh. “Look, Kainoa, I saw the way you fought to change the direction of the game in the last couple minutes. You’re a fighter. You always have been, and the right team will want a player like that.”
“It doesn’t matter. Mama was right. It’s been three years, and I still have no show of getting signed.
Whatever doubts the Vancouver Phoenix had about me were cemented last night.
” My voice struggles as shame collapses over me.
“Everything that you’ve done for me…it’s all been for nothing and I-I’m… I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t you dare apologize.” Uncle Manu claps a hand on my shoulder, making me open my eyes to look back at him.
That headstrong fire and conviction flares across his face.
“Whether or not you get signed, I want you to know that I don’t regret everything I’ve done to get you this far.
I put in all those extra hours because I wanted you to have something that mattered to you. ”
Uncle Manu’s touch is soft, yet firm as he braces my face between his hands and wipes my tears away.
“We made no mistake when we gave you your Tahitian name: Te Aito. The Champion. That’s who you are.
That’s who you’ve always been. Don’t forget you came from a long line of people who forged their own paths out of hard work and ambition.
Their spirits still live inside you even if you’re far away from home.
You are going to find the right path and you are going to be okay. ”
Skill-wise, Anthony Benigno might’ve been the hockey player I looked up to, but the one hockey player I truly wanted to be is Uncle Manu.
He crushes me into a hug. I hold him tight as his words bring back a confidence and a strength I’ve forgotten.
“You deserve everything that’s good in this life, Kainoa, and out of all the truths you come to realize about yourself, I hope that one is the first.”