The crowd applauded, laughed, and cheered, and it was hard not to fall apart as I listened to an arena full of people showing my best friend love.
The video shifted back to the still image of Leif.
“In honor of Early’s memory,” the announcer went on, “his number is now officially retired.” A spotlight appeared in the rafters, illuminating a black piece of fabric hanging beside the retired numbers of two legendary Pittsburgh players. “Welcome to your place of honor, number sixty-one.”
As the crowd roared again, the black fabric was rolled up, revealing his number, his name, and the years spanning both his life and his hockey career. Both were too short. Much, much too short.
I struggled to choke back my tears. I’d told him a long time ago that his jersey would end up in the rafters someday.
“They’re gonna put you up there with Wilcox and Reynolds,”I’d said during one morning skate.“I bet you a thousand dollars.”
He’d laughed and smacked my shoulder.“You’re on. Because I’ll either get my jersey up there or some of your money. I can’t even decide which I want more.”
I’d flipped him off, and we’d both laughed, and here in the present, I’d have given anything to be counting out that money for him a decade or two from now. I’d have sold my soul to listen to him chirping at me and rubbing it in that I’d lost. Or, even better, to be standing at a podium and telling him“I told you so”in front of a packed arena.
Oh, but this wasn’t over yet.
Rachel and the kids were introduced, walking out from the bench onto a long black carpet. She held little Elsa on her hip, and the twins, Linnea and Kalle, walked close beside her. Linnea clutched Rachel’s hand while Kalle gazed around with huge eyes.
The announcer spoke again, “We now ask that Houston captain Jon Zachary and Pittsburgh captain Avery Caldwell join Early’s family for the ceremonial puck drop.”
I swallowed hard as I skated away from my teammates to join the family.
When I made eye contact with Rachel, her chin quivered. She let go of Linnea’s hand and hugged me fiercely with one arm. When she let me go, she tapped the C on my jersey and managed a smile through her tears. “The team is in good hands.”
I almost cried, but instead pulled her into another hug as I tried to keep myself together.
There was a little tug at my sleeve, and I looked to see Elsa pulling on the fabric.
“Hey, kiddo.” I gave her a gentle hug and kissed her forehead. She smiled. At not even two years old, she didn’t understand what was happening tonight or what had been happening the last several weeks. She was blissfully unaware of why everyone around her was so sad, and tragically too young to have much if any memory of her father.
God, this whole night was going to destroy me.
Then I shifted my attention to Kalle and Linnea. They were older—they’d turned six in July—and from what Rachel had told me, while they were still learning what death truly meant, they did understand that their dad wasn’t coming back. Linnea was crying, but her brother was trying hard to hold it together. Tears beaded on his eyelashes, and his chin quivered when he looked at me.
I crouched, took off my glove, and rested a hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay to cry, buddy. Trust me—” I gestured around us, and my voice cracked as I said, “You’re not the only one.”
With that, he had his arms around my neck, and he was sniffling against my shoulder pad. I closed my eyes and hugged him. Linnea joined, and I closed my eyes and tried to keep myself together. The network was probablyapoplectic about this ceremony taking forever, and the team might even get fined or some shit for delay of game. In that moment, I honestly didn’t care. These poor kids were at center ice a month after they’d lost their dad. Everyone could fuckingwait.
After a moment, they both let me go, and they wiped their eyes with shaky hands.
“I’ll see you and your mom after the game, okay?” I said.
Without speaking, they nodded. Then they both stepped back and clung to Rachel’s legs.
Zachary, who I’d known from around the League but wasn’t close to, waited patiently. When Rachel and I were ready, he took his position opposite me. Rachel held out the puck. We all offered smiles for the camera. Then she dropped the puck.
I gave her and the kids another round of hugs. As they headed back to the locker room, Zachary turned to me and extended his hand.
“I’m sorry, man,” he said. “Always hard to lose a teammate, but I know you two were tight.”
God, was everyone conspiring to make me lose it on live TV tonight?
But as I’d done every goddamned day of training camp, practice, media availability, and just…existing, I kept it under the surface.
Accepting the handshake, pretending my jersey wasn’t damp with the tears of two kids who’d lost their dad, I nodded sharply. “Thanks. It’s, um… It’s been tough.”
Mercifully, that was the end of the memorial for Leif. Thank God, because I didn’t think I was going to last another minute.
