"He didn't say. I'd be surprised though. He'll probably wait until the end of this season. But what's going on with you? What was the big talk you had to have with Dad earlier?" she asks.
So I tell her about the helmet project and my new job, and she's appropriately excited for me. I don't tell her that my brand-new coworker is someone who I hooked up with only a few nights ago, though. Some things are on a need-to-know basis only, and my older, extremely level-headed, and totally responsible sister does not nered to know this particular detail about my life.
A few minutes later, my parents and Brad come back in, but Josie and I exchange glances and decide it's time to head out. I want to be fresh for this week since it promises to be a big one.
As we say goodbye to my family, Brad gives me an unusually big hug. "Good luck with the new job, little bro," he says. "And, uh, sorry I was a dick today. Just going through a rough patch."
"Thanks, Brad," I say, noticing Josie's raised eyebrows as she takes in the scene. It's definitely not normal for Brad to apologize for anything and even less normal for him to admit to anything that could be construed as weakness, like "going through a rough patch." Who knows, maybe my older brother is finally growing up.
As Josie and I head back across the lake, excitement about my new job courses through me. I can't believe this week could be the start of my NHL career, something I've dreamed about for my entire life. Sure, it would be nice if my father was a bit more excited on my behalf, but it doesn't matter. Without being overdramatic, I need to focus on the fact that this week could literally be the start of my dreams coming true, and I am ready for all of it.
Chapter 12
BEN
Mondaymorning,Iarriveat the Sasquatch offices, located in a beautiful, spacious area adjacent to their rink in downtown Seattle. I’m so damn nervous I’m sweating like a snowman in a sauna as the elevator takes me up to the executive area. All I can do is hope no one can tell I haven’t been able to sleep in days. I can’t fucking get Aleks Warren out of my head. Seeing him at the fundraiser on Saturday night set off my anxiety, and I can’t stop imagining the worst possible scenarios of what could come from working together. On Saturday night, when Carson “introduced” us, he acted like we’d never met before, which was understandable. But as we stood around making small talk with the group, I noticed him stealing the occasional glance at me, and the look on his face was anything but warm and welcoming.
He’s certainly within his rights to be pissed at the way I ditched him the other night; it was a real dick move. But even though I have no idea how I’m going to handle things with him, I can’t bring myself to regret that night. Fuck, it was amazing, and I’ve been replaying it every damn time I close my eyes, meaning sleep has been real hard to come by.
My weird, jealous reaction when I saw him goofing around with the Sasquatch players only confuses me more. I’ve never been a jealous guy, ever, and I have absolutely no claim to Aleks, so where the hell is the jealousy coming from? I don’t know what kind of spell the man’s cast on me, but it’s powerful.
The team office is decked out for Christmas with all hockey-themed décor, including stockings made to look like skates hanging from the reception desk, each with a different NHL team logo and colors.
I make my way to Carson’s office, where his assistant, an attractive young person sporting aThey/Thempronoun button on the lapel of their gray pantsuit, shows me to the conference room, and my impression of Carson Wells shoots up another couple of levels. I like the way this team seems to legitimately walk the talk when it comes to diversity. The hockey-Christmas theme continues into the boardroom, where a Christmas tree sits in the corner of the room, a large wing-backed chair sitting beside it. There are stacks of presents under the tree, and on a small side table beside the chair is a stack of what looks like children’s books.
After getting me set with a cup of coffee and pointing to the small plate of pastries on the counter at the back of the room, the assistant, whose name is Kelly, leaves, and I’m left to my own devices to wait for Aleks and Carson. I wander over to the tree, and I smile as I see the kids’ books are a selection of hockey-themed holiday stories. The famous Canadian children’s storyThe Christmas Sweater,is on the top of the pile. I’m thumbing through the old book, remembering when my mom used to read it to me as a kid sometimes when Aleks steps into the boardroom. He looks absolutely edible, even though the look on his face is impassive. His green eyes focus intently on me as we shake hands, but the hint of a smile crosses his face when he notices the book in my hands.
I’m about to take the bull by the horns and apologize for sneaking out on him a few nights ago when Carson enters the room. He’s a commanding presence, even though he’s young for his position. Tall and lean, he’s wearing a perfectly tailored charcoal suit with a stunning royal blue dress shirt. His Patek Philippe watch peeks out from under his cuff as he shakes my hand first and then Aleks’. “Good morning, you two.” He smiles widely when he sees me holding the old kids’ book. “We’re doing a kids’ party here in a couple of nights, so we’ve got Santa’s station all ready for him. That’s a great choice in reading material you’ve picked up there.” He grins, heading to the back counter to grab a coffee.
“I remember my mom reading it to me as a kid,” I say. “A true Canadian classic.”
Carson nods, his eyes warm. “Absolutely. You grew up in Canada?”
I nod. “Yeah, Saskatchewan. Spent many an afternoon playing hockey on backyard rinks outside of Saskatoon.” We both chuckle. “Fuck, it was cold though.”
“I bet,” Carson laughs. “I’m Canadian too, although I’m a city kid. Grew up in Etobicoke, outside of Toronto.”
Aleks’ eyes ping-pong between us as Carson and I spend a few minutes reminiscing about our childhoods.
“I don’t tend to advertise it, but my stepdad played in the league for years,” I say. I have no idea why I’m sharing this with these two men. I rarely tell anyone I’m related to Bob, mostly because it’s his story to share, not mine. I’m sure he doesn’t want to be the poster boy for CTE, and given the nature of my research, people would make assumptions about my motives.
“Really?” Carson asks. “Who’s your stepdad?”
“Bob Prescott,” I say, and sure enough, Carson’s reaction tells me he knows the story. His eyes widen slightly, and he darts his gaze to Aleks for a split second before focusing back on me. Aleks doesn’t react, which probably means his father has never told him about the incident.
“Oh,” Carson says. “How is Bob doing these days? Last I heard, he had moved into a memory care facility?”
I nod. “He’s doing fairly well. He was recently accepted into a drug trial that’s had incredible results in other people, so we’re very hopeful it will have a positive impact on him.”
I turn to Aleks, who’s wearing a look of confusion. “My stepdad played for almost twenty years in the league, but he was an enforcer. He’s been in a memory care facility for a couple of years now, and we’re certain his dementia is caused by CTE,” I explain. “Although, as you know, that can’t be confirmed until after someone passes away.”
I can’t help but wonder if Aleks’ father has ever mentioned the incident to him since he would be too young to remember it himself. While it was a big topic of conversation around the league for a while, it happened so long ago that it’s entirely possible Aleks only knows my dad’s name as one of his father’s many fighting partners. If Kent never talked to him about it, it’s not hard to imagine that other people might not bring it up around him, thinking it might be embarrassing for him or something.
“Oh my god, I’m so sorry! I didn’t know,” Aleks says, some of the coldness in his bright green eyes melting away. “I recognize his name, but I didn’t realize… You must know of my father, then. Kent Warren.” His face doesn’t show any hint that he knows the history between our fathers; there’s only sympathy and compassion there. “It’s so sad that so many of these big guys are affected by CTE. My dad’s just been really lucky up until this point, I guess. He was an enforcer too.”
I swallow hard and nod, noticing Carson gauging my reaction to Aleks’ obvious ignorance. But I get that it’s not his fault. “Yeah. I know of your dad. But like I said, Bob’s doing alright these days, so we’re staying optimistic.” I give him a reassuring smile.
Carson clears his throat and steers the subject into safer territory. “We’re doing a kids’ party here in a couple of nights, which is why we’ve got Santa’s station all ready for him,” he says as we settle around the polished wood conference table. “You should think about joining us, Ben. A lot of players will be here, and most of the staff and their families.”
