“Nope,” Monroe says. “Just passing by. Like I said.”
I don’t answer, watching him walk off out of the corner of my eye. I may have just drilled the last screw harder than necessary, and I’m trying not to think about how warm my ears suddenly feel.
***
“What’s all that?”
I finish stacking the wood I’m reclaiming from the rink—including a bunch of old hockey sticks—into my truck before turning around to speak to Monroe.
It’s been a whole two days since I ran into him fixing the church railing, and I start to wonder if he’s going to keep turning up like a bad penny.
It only serves to underscore how often I think about him. Too damn often.
“Old wood from where we put in the new locker room and some hockey sticks that are no longer in use.”
Monroe leans an elbow on top of my tailgate when I shut it. “Yeah, ok. But what are you going to do with it?”
I shrug, tugging off my gloves, something I notice he watches closely for some reason I’m sure only makes sense to him.
“I don’t know yet, Monroe.” He waits for me to say more, as if he knows I can elaborate, I’ve just chosen to use the fewest words it takes to respond. “People in Fox River Falls love The Keep, they love the Iceguard. I figured somewhere down the line there’ll be a project that needs to be made out of the old Iceguard penalty box or the Juniors’ old lockers.”
Monroe smiles, like he’s lapped me in some race I didn’t even know I’m running. “Cool,” is all he says, but the smirk on his face says more.
“Jamie okay?” he asks as we make our way into the rink. “Game yesterday was rough, I heard.”
I shrug. “He wasn’t happy with how he played. It wasn’t his best game, but still decent hockey for most kids.”
“Sorry I missed it. These last few away games make me glad we found time to keep up practices.”
“I’m sure it’s just a slump. He’ll pull out by Saturday’s game.” I pause when we get to where we should part ways. “The Iceguard held their own on the road.” That’s begrudging. Monroe hasshown himself to be a solid player, not as flashy as he used to be in those clips that Jamie watches.
A winning smile lights up his face, all the way to his eyes, “You keeping tabs on me, Thatcher? Watch every game? Want to join my fan club?”
I narrow my eyes at him, something feeling off inside with his teasing. “No.” I turn to go, irritated that I bothered to give him the compliment in the first place, when something hits my shoulder. I lift it off and turn to stare at him.
“Your jersey? Really?” The words are clipped but my stomach churns a bit at the jersey in my hands. At the ridiculousness of it. As if I would ever wear Monroe’s jersey. The idea makes my face heat.
I most certainly do not catch the scent of Roe’s spicy soap, or something rawer, and draw it into my lungs. That would be weird.
Right?
“Only the best for my number one fan,” he says, smirk fully in place as he ducks his head, turning toward the entrance to the Iceguard’s locker room. “See you Saturday.”
By the time Jamie’s game on Saturday rolls around, I’m hopeful his slump is over. He and Monroe had a good practice this week, and his team practice was solid.
I made all his favorite meals, and made sure the week went smoothly. I even did a few extra things I usually expect him to do, like starting his laundry for him. Anything to make his life a little bit easier.
But by the first five minutes of the game, I know Jamie’s too in his head. All I can do is watch as he hesitates with every move. Hesitating when he should be leading. I see Arch give him a concerned look when they come off for a line change, and Jamie’s face is as pale as the ice.
Coach benches him at the next line change and I think I forget to breathe. Jamie’s never been benched.
I can feel Monroe side-eye me, but I ignore it, waiting for him to say something so I can be mad at him at least.
He doesn’t. When Jamie takes the ice again, Monroe cheers him on, and Jamie makes a great play that morphs into a few minutes of solid play time before he’s back in his head again.
Jamie rides the bench into the third period.
They lose by one, and I can feel the tension roll off my son as he skates off the ice with his team to head to the locker room.
