After Kyler returns from the counter, we chat about Lacey’s school and how Miss Peterson is her favorite teacher. She tells me her best friends are Poppy, Ezra and Kehlani, and Miss Peterson sometimes has to make them sit at separate tables because they’re always talking. She says Kehlani already knows what she wants to be when she grows up (a princess) and Poppy and Ezra think she’s silly because there are no real-life princesses.
“But I know it’s not true ‘cos Miss Meghan married a prince, and they live happily ever after,” Lacey tells me with finality. To be fair, she has a point.
“Do you want to be a princess too?” I ask her, wondering which prince can be a likely candidate to match Lacey’s effervescent personality.
Lacey shakes her head vigorously in response. “Nope! I wanna play ice hockey like my Uncle Kyler.”
My eyes shoot to Ky’s who’s looking at his niece in wonder. I can tell by the shock on his face this is news to him, and Lacey hasn’t mentioned this before.
“You do?” I continue, prompting her to tell us why she’s decided this.
“Uh-huh. I asked my momma for ice skates for my birthday, but I don’t know whether I’ll get them because she says we can’t accord them.”
Kyler furrows his brow as he looks at his niece. “She said you can’t afford them?” he asks, correcting the mix-up in her words.
“Uh-huh.”
“Goddammit!” Ky mutters under his breath, aware there are little ears around. Lacey’s comment has annoyed him, and it doesn’t take a genius to work out why. Money is an issue in the Rose household, and Kyler hates that his niece suffers as a result. Nevertheless, he’ll no doubt do everything he can to ensure Lacey gets her wish, and one of her presents she’ll open on her birthday will be the ice skates she so desperately wants.
“She said I can have a hockey shirt instead, but I wanna learn to skate, so I can be as good as Uncle Kyler is,” Lacey continues as if she hasn’t just dropped the money bomb on her uncle’s lap.
“He is a great ice skater for sure,” I agree with her. It’s an understatement. Kyler is an exceptional ice skater and hockey player. I’ve no doubt he’ll be drafted and will be able to move on to big and better things. More importantly, he’ll be able to care for his family without the pressure he’s under now.
“He’s the bestest!” Lacey beams her toothy smile at her uncle, and my heart melts a little bit more. After eating some more of her ice cream, she looks up at me with those big puppy-dog eyes kids like to use when they’re about to ask you for something they want. “Miss Thea?”
“Yes, Little Miss Lacey?”
“Please will you come to my birthday party?”
And now I’m a puddle of goo on the floor. In the short amount of time I’ve known her, Lacey Rose has not only managed to win me over completely, but she’s also cemented her place as one of my favorite people ever. It’s no wonder Kyler absolutely dotes on her. But I also know he is very particular about who is around his family, so before replying to Lacey, I look at him for a hint of how he feels about Lacey’s question. If it’s clear he’s not ready for me to meet the rest of his family yet, I’ll say no, even though it will hurt my heart to do so. But he gives me the slightest of nods, and in that moment, I know he’s not only agreeing to me going to the party, but he’s giving me one of the things most important to him—his trust.
“I’d love to come to your party, Lacey. Thank you for inviting me.”
“That’s okay. Wanna swap ice creams?”
I laugh as I switch bowls with her because the attention span of a five-year-old means the monumental conversation which has just occurred has completely passed her by, even though it will stay with me for quite some time.
Twenty-Four
Kyler
I glance at the scoreboard.We’re down by one goal with three minutes left. The fans are loud, cheering their hearts out and giving us the encouragement we need to get a goal scored. Losing isn’t an option, not this late in the season. In my opinion, every victory counts more now than it did at the beginning of the season. I want to see another banner hung. Hell, I want three hung at the start of next season, with the most important being the National Championship. Anything less, and I’ll feel like I failed my team. I skate to the end zone face-off spot with my stick on my knees. My opponent is there, waiting, eyeing me with fierce determination. He wants to get this puck to the other end of the ice, away from his goalie. He wants to control the game and be the one celebrating at center ice when the clock hits zero. I can’t let that happen. I briefly close my eyes and inhale in an attempt to center myself. As soon as I open my eyes, the puck drops, and I’m on the attack. My stick hits the ice first, and one of my teammates—I can’t recall who’s on my line right now—shoulders the other team out of the way. I’m grateful and move the puck toward the goalie. He slides, blocking my attempt with his leg pad. The puck bounces off, and Jayson Woodell, our right wing, is there to fire it back toward the goal. This is where we want the puck. It’s our hurry-up offense. There is no time to set up a play or dilly-dally. We need two goals, and time is running out.
The red light behind the goalie lights up and spins. Mike Dowling, our right defenseman, puts his hands in the air, and we go to him.
“Fucking perfect,” I tell him before we skate to our bench to high-five our teammates, and then we head toward Jude and slap our sticks against his kneepads. Faceoff to goal took twenty seconds. It’s time to rest, but not for long. I’ll get maybe twenty or thirty seconds before a line switch. When games are close like this, Coach tightens up his bench. He starts with at least four lines, sometimes five, but right now, he’ll finish the game with two-and-a-half. This is what we condition for all year, the stamina we need when the game is on the line. But honestly, I’m exhausted. My side hurts, and I think I have a broken rib. Coach doesn’t know because he’d kick me off the team if he knew I was fighting, especially for the money. I’m breaking multiple rules, and I hate myself for it. And part of me hates my mom for putting me in this position, but there isn’t anything I can do. Not until I’m drafted and can afford to care for my family.
I squirt water into my mouth and hear Thea and Millie behind me. I told them not to sit there, but they didn’t listen. While a lot of people want to be close to us during the game, we stink. We sweat so much our gear reeks, and the smell never goes away, and as much as someone would like to think the odor stays with us, it doesn’t. It wafts, and the last thing I want is my girlfriend to singe her nose with my stench. I don’t even care if she’s used to it because of her brother. It’s different when it’s your boyfriend.
Coach tells me to get back out there. I jump over the board and skate as fast as possible to the puck. I’m a man on a mission, and the other team tries to stop me. The thing is, I’m fast, strong, and only care about putting another goal up on the scoreboard.
Nolan knocks the puck free, and I’m off, pushing it hard down the ice. The goalie comes out of the box to tempt me, and I chuckle. He wants to play. I give him credit, but I don’t give him the satisfaction. I’m in the attack zone before anyone catches up with me. My line is doing what they can to ensure I have a direct shot at the net. I don’t stop and rear back. Instead, I take the puck right to the crease and send it. I see it nestle in the webbing and pump my arms as my knee drops to the ice. I slide a bit until my teammates stop me, and then we’re following our routine.
When I get to Jude, he says, “Thanks for the cushion.” Jude hasn’t been on his game today and is down on himself for some reason. When Coach called a time out earlier, I thought he would pull Jude, but gave him a pep talk instead and reminded us we’re a team and need to function as one. When you play like a team, you’re unstoppable.
The final buzzer sounds, and I barely have enough time to breathe before my teammates have me in a circle, patting my shoulders or helmet. We gather at center ice, congratulate each other, and wait for the other team to leave before showing our fans some appreciation. When the last of our opponents have exited, I raise my stick high in the air, the others follow, and then I slap to the ice. The sound of forty-some sticks hitting the ice at varying times is music to my ears.
After accolades are handed out in the locker room, I shower and dress slowly. I asked Thea to wait for me at the mouth of the dungeon—the long hallway leading to the equipment and trainer’s room, the locker rooms, and the entrance to the ice. Tonight, her brother is gone. He’s made it a point to tell me, and subsequently her, he’s got a date and isn’t planning to return. Of course, Thea ran with this and reminded me every chance she could by shoving pineapple in her mouth and winking. At first, I was confused why all of a sudden she was eating so much fruit, and then I looked it up. I’m not one to embarrass easily, but holy fuck, I was not prepared for what I read. And talk about performance anxiety setting in before we’re actually in a position to do something other than the blowies she’s given me or me getting her off with my fingers. I’ve never been one to shy away from sex but having sex with Thea is something entirely different. I like her beyond what the word like even means, and that scares me.