I scan the calendar for February, and his math checks out. It doesn’t stop my mouth from gaping open.
“You want to have dinner with me? On a date?”
He nods yes.
“Even after I propositioned you for sex?”
He nods yes.
“And almost ruined your work call?”
He nods yes.
“And told you that I’m bad at making pierogies? I should let you know that I’m bad at all kinds of cooking.”
“Just kiss me, smart guy.”
I lean forward and indulge in a syrupy sweet kiss with my boss.
We board the plane holding hands, and despite not taking off yet, I already feel like I’m soaring above the clouds.
9
BILL
Two weeks later
I pull back my stick and take my shot. Unlike when I asked Tate out for dinner, this shot misses terribly. The puck slides right past the goal. Hank, playing goalie, doesn’t even need to hold out his stick to block it. He gives it a wave as it passes.
“Nice,” Hank says to me. “I should bring a book to practice next time. Y’know, seeing as I don’t have to work.”
He cracks himself up, his helmet shaking with his jolly laughter.
“I’ve gotten plenty of shots on you this practice,” I fire back. “Are you tending goal or running a 7-11?”
A few weeks ago, I had the crazy idea to get my old hockey teammates back together to play in a local recreational league. In high school, we were the Wolf Pack, an unstoppable force on the ice that won back-to-back championships. None of us have played competitively in over twenty years. But I found myself craving the ice and the team camaraderie.
When you’re a teenager, it’s easy to hang out with your friends all the time. Not as much when you’re adults and there’s full-time jobs and kids and spouses. Life gets away from you, days pass into years.
We’re calling our team the Comebacks. And we’re working like hell to live up to that name and show people that twenty years on, we still got it. Admittedly, hockey is a lot harder on the body at this age, even for someone like me who exercises regularly. And finding the energy to practice after a long day of work is a herculean effort. But we’re doing it. I get to spend time with my friends, which makes all the pain and exhaustion worth it. Des and Tanner, along with our fellow teammates Derek and Mitch, skate up to the goal. We started out as classmates, but the ice made us brothers.
“Hey, cut Bill some slack. We’re all a little rusty,” says Tanner, the sweetest guy who ever played the game.
“We’re better than we were a month ago. My body isn’t in total agony after practice anymore, just regular aches and pains,” Hank adds, then turns to Mitch. “How are you feeling, Gramps?”
“Hanging in there.” Mitch, who’s our age but already a grandfather, is a man of few words and mostly grumbles.
Derek nods along and scratches at his thick beard. “We’re getting our groove back.”
“Can the groove come back faster? We have our first game in a few weeks,” Des says.
The comment stings for all of us. Tonight’s practice has been a little rough. Missed passes. Plays that need more coordination. Pucks that should’ve been caught before sailing into the goal.
“And speaking of things coming back, anyone hear from Griffin yet?” Des asks.
“He said no again,” Tanner says with a sigh. “He doesn’t play hockey anymore.”
“None of us did, but now here we are.” Hank shrugs his shoulders. “We need Griffdog back. He’s the only original member of the Wolf Pack who’s not here. Heck, Derek moved back from Alaska to join the team.”
