When I find the door, it’s closed. Do I knock or just go in? I decide to walk on in. The first thing I notice is that it looks like a small boardroom. There is food and a bar to the left, large leather chairs in front of me and to the right it’s all open to see the crowd. I gasp, looking out to the arena. Whitney turns and smiles.
“Well, you missed warmups but the game is about to start.”
“Whitney, stop being mean,” a short, older female says. She is sitting by the bar. I know right away that she is Hudson’s mom. She has the same hair color and the same chocolate brown eyes. “I’m Wendy King.” She walks over to me and shakes my hand. “You have to be Ellie.” I nod. I can’t believe that I’m meeting Hudson’s mom, especially under these conditions. “I know this seems strange, but Hudsy told us everything that happened. I’m glad you came.”
I give her a small smile when she says ‘Hudsy’. It’s the cutest thing ever, the way she says it.
“Hey, the game is about to start,” Whitney announces.
Wendy loops her arm in mine and leads me to the leather chairs. “I know that you’re still mad at my son, and you have the right to be, but I wanted you to see this before you made your final decision on him.” Wendy pats my hand as we sit down.
I’m not sure what to say. I just look at the massive ice rink in front of me. “I don’t know anything about hockey,” I say.
“Hockey is an easy sport to follow,” Whitney says.
“Does…does he know I’m here?” I fiddle with the hem of my shirt.
“No, he doesn’t. This is just my way of getting to know you better.” Wendy gives me a kind smile. “Hudsy has told me a lot, but I wanted to know the real you.”
My attention is pulled from her when the crowd begins to roar. I look out and every person is standing and cheering. When I focus on the rink, I see navy blue jerseys as they skate onto the ice. It’s the Portland Vikings. I feverishly search for number fourteen. When my eyes see him, I almost cry. He’s skating around with a hard look on his face. When his face comes up on the massive screen in the middle of the arena, I can tell that he’s tired.
“Are you ready to learn some hockey?” Wendy leans in a little towards me.
I nod. They go on to tell me there are five players on the ice at all times and one goalie. They explain that there are three periods and two intermissions. They even tell me what the lines on the ice mean.
“Hudson has played a long time if you know all that,” I quietly say.
“All my children played hockey. My husband and I are huge fans. Ethan played, even through college, but he fell in love and chose a different path. Whitney played through high school.”
“But I got tired of it,” she adds.
“However, Hudson was different. The moment he touched the ice, it was like he was home. We put him in a pee-wee league when he was about five, and that was it. After his first game, he told everyone he was going to be in the NHL.” She smiles proudly, talking about her son.
“Here we go.” Whitney points to the ice.
I can see Hudson in the center getting ready for what I was just told is a faceoff. I lean forward and watch as Hudson and the other members begin. Hudson gets the puck and skates like he was hit by lightning down the ice.
“Oh my God.” I look at his moth
er.
“Yeah, he skates pretty fast,” she confirms without me saying anything.
I look back out on the ice and watch as everyone fights for the puck. That is when I notice that almost everyone has a beard. “Um, is it a hockey thing to have beards? When I met Hudson, he didn’t really have one,” I ask shyly.
“Hockey players are extremely superstitious. When your team makes the playoffs, they don’t shave. They’re called ‘playoff beards’,” Whitney explains to me.
Everything is beginning to make sense to me. I still can’t believe that I didn’t pick up on the hints and clues. After a little bit on the ice, he jumps over the wall and sits down.
“Is he hurt?” I ask them both.
“No, nothing like that. Each shift only goes out for a little bit. Keeps them from getting worn out,” Wendy explains.
I watch the game and keep an eye on Hudson. After several minutes and no score, he comes back on the ice. I can’t believe how fast he is, and he looks so graceful. I remember that day on the trail:
“Are you not a runner?”
“No, I mean, I run, but in a different fashion.”