“You better be spaced out because you’re thinking about the next game, Monroe. Or is my talking getting in the way of yourdaydreams, princess?” Coach asks and the room snickers. I nod along, taking the hit I deserve for letting my mind wander.
“Sorry, Coach.”
Coach snaps his attention back to the room. “The next thing I needed talk to you all about was The Freeze. It’s an even bigger deal this year . . .” Coach pauses as the guys do some general mumbling and shit-talking about the skills competition. “I know you all want to show off your skills, and the Iceguard have a strong tradition of putting up impressive numbers each year, but this year will be about more than just the skills portion.”
“As you know . . .” Coach’s eye lands on me and I do not like the look he’s giving. “We’ve been focused on community. And as you also know, a big part of The Freeze is hosting not only a local collegiate match on the outdoor rink, but also the tournaments for the junior teams, and the annual charity game the Fox River Falls residents play in each year.”
His gaze lands on me again, and this time I’m sure I’m about to be nominated for something I don’t want.
“I think Roe Monroe will be a great choice to represent the Iceguard at The Freeze as our ambassador. It’s going to be a long day, Monroe, but you can handle it.”
Benji snickers, and Diggs quits trying to hide his laughter.
“Monroe, I’ll give your contact information to the coordinator for The Freeze. Generally, you show up, look pretty, play in the community game, and announce the events. Maybe coordinate some of the chaos. Whatever they need. I hope the rest of you take part in the festival too, beyond the skills challenges, of course. I recommend the ice sculptures myself.”
Coach gives me a devious look and I smile in return. He acts like he just handed me the worst assignment of the day, but how hard can smiling and being an ambassador for the team really be? It makes me feel like I’m earning something, maybe even a “C” on my jersey right above my heart.
Coach pivots from that to getting serious. We have a long road series ahead of us—about two weeks—and then another similar stretch later in the season. Two weeks on the road with only a few of those days being without a game, and they’re usually travel days. It’s a grueling schedule, but I’m playing solid hockey right now, so my goal is to stay in the crease and keep things going.
And I do. From the moment we hit the bus, I can feel that I’m in the zone. By the second game I’m getting a few questions from the press. Of course, the press is never like it is in the NAPH—there are no after-game press conferences, only yelled questions on the way to the locker room—but it’s not nothing.
Chapter eight
Gabe Thatcher
The Bench Social Media Group
Ash Patel: Not to stir the pot, but has anyone noticed that Roe Monroe only gets quiet around Thatcher?
Riley Novak: Right? The man chirps like it’s a job, but next to Gabe he turns into a contemplative statue with biceps.
Patti Jensen: Meanwhile, Thatcher—who doesn’t look at anyone—is suddenly making eye contact like it won’t kill him.
The loud sound of my front door banging closed startles me. It shouldn’t, since I’m the one who closed it, but it knocks me momentarily out of whatever brain fog my head’s been in all day.
Three days since I dropped off Monroe, and I can’t get him out of my head.
Don’t mind me, I’m just standing in my foyer staring at the hook for my coat. The coat that’s hanging from my hands. Somehow, putting the two things together is too hard for my addled mind.
Distraction is not a good thing for working with sharp tools, so I did a rare thing and came home early. Far earlier than Jamie will be home from school.
I make my way out back to my woodshop, where I’ve been working on turning the extra hockey sticks from the Iceguard into a bench for the locker room. Surely I can find something to do that requires minimal use of power tools but will keep my hands busy. But once I’m sitting down at my workbench with time to work on it, my gaze keeps going to the hard-sided plastic container on the bottom shelf. Finally, I just give up the pretense and go pull out the carry-on sized box, sawdust falling from it. I find a towel on my bench and wipe off the lid.
Inside is the beginning of a mini wooden version of Fox River Falls. I began working on these pieces when Jamie was just a toddler. I thought it would be something Jamie and I could do together, that the project would grow with his skills. I could create the pieces, and he could paint, eventually working up to creating his own additions.
But I’d stopped making them—not due to Jamie, but due to me.
I pull out the hand-sized hunk of wood that’s the beginning of The Keep. I never finished it, because when I started it I just sort of froze, unable to continue. Instead of asking Jamie if he wanted to help with the project, I’d abandoned it, telling myself he was too busy with hockey for something like this. In truth, I’d worried that I’d be forcing something on him, the way my dad had forced hockey on me.
Now I doubt he even knows these pieces exist.
I pack the items back into the box, pausing on the unfinished Keep. Not making any decisions about completing the project, I leave that piece sitting on my workbench when I put the box back on its shelf.
I pull out the notebook that I use to sketch ideas, and flip away from the hockey-stick-bench drawings to find a clean page.
What I should be doing, instead of a vanity project with hockey sticks or a personal project, is developing ideas for The Freeze. Every year I take part in the ice sculpting—ice isn’t all that different from wood, really. The competition is fierce, and the tourists and locals love to watch the carving and wander through the finished works for weeks after. Participation generates business and is good advertising too, as good as a job well done that wows someone who sees it, like the staircase at Marge’s Inn.
Given that sketching is the only thing my distracted brain is likely to be able to accomplish this afternoon, I start with sharp lines across the graph paper, letting my mind wander.
