“You know that I’d beat anybody who crosses you,” he said with a grin that showed a tiny dimple under his scruff. “That makes me super charming.”
It was genetically unfair for him to have something as boyish as a dimple alongside rugged features like a Roman nose, aneyebrow scar, and head-to-toe tattoos. “Watch it. You’re going to make me like you,” I teased.
He rolled his eyes but kept his smirk. “Don’t lie, Mara. You already do.”
“Other way around,” I said.
“Maybe,” he said.
“Get out of here,” I said, the door in my hand. “Have a good trip.”
“See ya, Mara.”
He might have liked me, but he’d just told me he’d never love me.
And that was the problem.
TWENTY-ONE
JACK
NOVEMBER
My body had carriedout this action hundreds of times in my career. As the small kid in primary school, as the still-small kid in my hockey boarding school, as the shrimpy guy in Juniors, and throughout my professional career as—surprise, surprise—still the small guy. I got in the middle of the zone and passed the puck to a d-man waiting on the outside, who either passed it to another waiting winger or slapped it himself.
It was just as satisfying as always, but this one meant a little more because I had done it 499 times before it.
My 500th NHL point.
It was bittersweet. I was happy, of course. It was a mark of how long I’d been in the league. A lot of guys don’t make it as far as I had. It was a mark of all the ways I’d helped L.A. and Toronto before that become winning teams. A mark of the life I’d dedicated to this sport and why I hung with it when I could have retired to take care of the kids.
But that came with mixed feelings. Was putting that piece of rubber in the net worth all that?
Then I looked around. Smiling faces on our bench. A few of our fans in the arena standing and cheering. These were my brothers, and I wasn’t ready to give up the brotherhood.
Sorrento went into the net to collect the puck so I could keep it. My teammates and coaches knew and got extra loud for me. But we were on the road, so the arena didn’t erupt in cheers. There was no goal horn. My kids weren’t there to see it. I wouldn’t be there to even sneak in their rooms and give them a quick kiss to celebrate. I’d have been shocked if my parents were watching or were even aware that I was close to the milestone.
Even surrounded by guys who supported me day in and day out, I felt alone.
I didn’t have anyone to celebrate with me.
And one face stood out in my head, and that face had no reason to be watching my games. I knew she’d be happy for me if she knew, but I wasn’t going to be the one to tell her.
As I warmed down, I could have crawled out of my own skin with the urge to tell her.
Mara.
Even if I wasn’t going to tell her about my achievement, I had to find some way to talk to her.
MOM
Congrats, lovey
We’re so proud of you. Give us a call sometime
“I can’t just say,hey, I’ve been thinking of you,” I griped to Romey as we took our seats on the bus back to the hotel. He’d just been giving me shit for looking like hell when I’d achieved something so big.
“That’s exactly what you can say?” Obi chimed in from the aisle, waiting to get to his usual spot. “That’s a really nice way to talk to someone? Am I wrong? Am I bad at this?”
