That’s when Coach blew his whistle and called everyone to the bench.
I snuck away from the bench and went into the hallway toward the locker room.
I saw my father standing there with a young boy.
“Madison, you remember Mike Jr., right?” my father asked.
“Oh, yeah,” I said. “Coach’s son.”
“He wanted to come watch practice,” my father said. “Although you can’t see much from here.”
My father threw out his infectious yet scary smile.
Mike Jr. glanced at me.
The look in his eyes…
I had to turn away.
That look.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I have to get back to the ice. Don’t want to pass up a good shot.”
My father pointed at me. “That has more than one meaning. Photography and hockey.”
I looked at Mike Jr. again and hurried away.
I felt like crap for doing that.
I distracted myself by taking pictures that didn’t need to be taken.
Coach was now out on the ice working with the offense.
As I started to look for Maverick, he was suddenly moving right in front of me.
He looked at me for a second and didn’t say a word.
Then he brushed up against me as he walked into the tunnel.
My toes curled.
My body shivered.
I took a deep breath.
The sneaking around thing was fun for sure.
But this was far more than that.
As I turned my head, I realized my father was gone.
But Mike Jr. stood there.
Alone.
Maverick stopped at Mike Jr. and he stuck his hand out.
Mike Jr. punched Maverick’s hand.