“Pay attention.” Sutton giggles. “You’re getting it on my skin.”
“Have you seen your hands?” I hook a finger around her pinky, tickle her palm, and she squeals. “Admit I’m better at this than you, Dave.”
She narrows her eyes at me.
“No.” Sutton leans forward, snatching the polish. “Gimme your feet, I’ll show you.”
Friday isour last game before the conference tournament starts, and Dad’s here. I didn’t see him or Mr. Davis during warm-ups, but they’re there now. The empty seat next to them was empty till right before puck drop. My favorite, steadying redhead, rushing in. Her dad’s arm around her shoulder, pulling her into a hug.
I throw one leg over the boards, dig my skate into the ice, and kick the other over. Taking a lap around our half of the ice beforestretching for the next period. I skate by them, wink at Sutton, and make a hand heart on the glass, stick in my armpit.
Her dad blows a kiss with his free hand. Mine folds over laughing.
Everyone is having a great game. Beck hasn’t given up a single shot. He passes his most recent save to Dawson, who passes it to the freshman defenseman, who is lightning quick and speeds down the ice into offensive territory. Nudging it off before being slammed into the boards by the opposing team, Jaxon scoops it and passes the puck to me behind the net.
I skate, brushing off the defenders on me. Our other winger comes in for the rescue, and I get him the puck before skating back around the net, getting into position for a backside goal.
That goal puts us up four to zero, and I’m officially three goals out from Dad’s record.
Jaxon throws his arms around me in a hug. The rest of my teammates on the ice are joining him.
I skate by Sutton, again, and point my stick at her to claim her.
I hope the guys sitting around her realize she’smineand stop looking at her butt every time she jumps to her feet.
She won’t be mad to learn the goal wasn’t for her, she knows it’s because of her. That goal was for me. Even with Dad here, this game is for me, for my team.
After the game, the three of them are waiting for me. Sutton’s in her light denim overalls and a ribbed, long-sleeve, navy shirt. Curls pinned half-up with a matching clip with the Bears logo painted on it.
Absentmindedly, and oblivious to our dads standing over her, I walk up to her, cup her cheeks, and kiss her. Hard. Possessively.
There’s a cough.
Sutton pulls away with a full-body blush.
“Hi, Mr. Davis.”
“Carmichael.”
“I—” I’m about to apologize, but for what? “I like your daughter a lot, and she’s a good kisser.”
My dad sighs into his hands. Sutton gasps. And her dad chuckles, messing up my freshly showered hair.
“Happy that she’s kissing you, son.” He drops his hand. “Great game tonight.”
Dad chimes in next. “That goal—what number is that?” We both know the answer. “Eighty-two. You’re going to do it, Cooper.” When I take in a slow inhale, he adds, “If there’s anyone I want to break my records, it’s you. Watching you play and share the love of this sport with you is the highlight of my career, Cooper.”
His words fight off the lingering voice in my head.
I was four when I asked if I could skate with Dad. Told my mom I wanted to be like him when I grew up. When Dad came home from that stretch of away games and she told him, he cried. The next day, he took me to get skates, and we spent the entire afternoon skating.
In middle school, I wanted to try other sports. It didn’t surprise me that he was at every practice or throwing the baseball with me, calling his brother-in-law for tips.
In the midst of the darkness in my head, drowned out by voices, it was easy to lump him in with everyone else. Believe that what they were saying was also his opinion, but it never was.
I had lost sight of my love for the sport because of my fears of not being good enough. But I also lost sight of getting to do this with him. I love sharing hockey with him.
I smile, a reflection of his. “Then you better get ready to be dethroned. I bet it’ll happen before we even make the semifinals.”
