His question was met with another one of those pregnant pauses. Only this time, she didn’t bother to lie. Instead, she just flat-out ignored the question.
“Why are we talking about me? We’re wasting valuable time.”
McKenna was incredibly efficient when it came to planning promotional opportunities, always going the extra mile to make sure he knew everything he needed to going in. Hell, most of the time, he knew more than he needed to.
Like right now, as she changed the subject to give him the names of not only the coaches of the Pee Wee team they were going to see but also the name of the head coach’s wife, with whom she’d spoken while setting up the appearance. She followed that with all the details of the celebration the parents had held for the kids following their big win. Tank had to admit, the parents had gone all out. He’d won countless tournaments on God only knew how many teams when he was young, and the parents had never congratulated him and his buddies with a bouncy house, laser tag, all-you-can-eat pizza, and two giant ice cream cakes—one chocolate, one strawberry—in the shapes of a hockey stick and a puck.
But he figured the over-the-top celebration made sense when he learned that the team went from dead last the previous year—never winning a single game—to top of the heap this season.
Because it was a Monday, they’d scheduled their meet and greet for four o’clock, as that was when all the kids were out of school. When they pulled up outside the ice-skating rink, he watched as McKenna opened her trunk, pulling out a box of swag she’d obviously packed prior to picking him up. He tossed his duffel bag over his shoulder, grabbed his hockey stick, then took the box from her.
He was surprised when she pulled her own skates from the trunk.
His were in his bag, since today’s photo op didn’t just include him posing for pictures with the team. He was also slated to skate around with them, do some fun drills, stuff like that. Of all the things the PR department had scheduled for his penance, this was the thing Tank had been looking forward to the most. He loved getting to slap the puck around with young players.
“Skates?” he asked, when she hung them over her shoulder by the tied laces.
“I’m taking pics of you with the kids. I figured I’d get some big group shots in front of the net. It’s easier for me to skate than to try to walk on the ice in my street shoes.”
“You skate?”
“Why do you ask that like you’re surprised? Of course I skate.”
Tank wasn’t sure why he was shocked. Maybe it was as simple as he’d never seen her in skates before, which was a stupid reason, considering she’d have no reason to wear them around him.
They walked into the rink together, and within seconds, Tank was surrounded by young fans, all the boys and girls jostling for position. He smiled, promising to sign all their stuff as they slowly made their way to the side of the rink. The stands were filled with parents and grandparents, all excited to see their kids spend time with an NHL player. This was the best part of his job, Tank decided…after playing games, of course.
The coach walked over and introduced himself.
“Jason Burrows,” he said, shaking Tank’s hand effusively. “Really nice of you to take time out of your day to help the kids celebrate. I thought my wife was pulling my leg when she said someone from the Stingrays had called and Tank Phillips wanted to come meet the team. I swear it took her a good twenty minutes to convince me it was really happening.”
Tank chuckled, waiting for the man to take a breath so he could enter the conversation. Right now, he wasn’t sure who was more excited. The kids or their coach.
“I’m glad to be here. After all, winning a state tournament is no small feat.” While he was talking to the coach, he was aware the kids and parents were hanging on his every word, so he spoke up. “Told my boss I needed to meet the team that pulled off such a big win, especially after struggling last year.” McKenna’s shared wealth of information was helping him win back any fans he might have lost in this group with that video.
McKenna smiled and played along, then did what she’d done on all their other press stops. She took charge.
“It’s very nice to meet you, Coach Burrows. I was the one who spoke with your wife, Janet. Tank and I thought it might be fun to start with a little bit of skating. He’s offered to teach the kids some of the drills they do in the NHL.”
That comment was met with lots of oohs and aahs, and more than a few kids started high-fiving each other, saying “all right!”
Tank walked over to the metal bench to quickly pull on his skates. He’d dressed appropriately in athletic gear. McKenna sat next to him, placing her own skates on the floor.
“I’ll stay on the sidelines for this part and take pictures and videos while you drill. Then, I’ll join you on the ice, and we’ll set the kids up for the photos. I suspect they’ll all want a picture with you on their own, along with the group photos.”
“That sounds great.”
“Cool. I also told the coach’s wife you’d sign one thing for each kid, as well.”
“You didn’t have to put a limit on it.” Tank got the sense McKenna expected him to balk at what she’d set up, though he wasn’t sure why. He hadn’t grumbled about any of the other things they’d done, genuinely enjoying the time he spent with the veterans at the VA, the cancer patients at Hopkins, as well as chatting with the fans who’d shown up at the sporting goods store. “This sounds like a lot of fun.”
McKenna tilted her head. “Really?”
“Of course. I love playing hockey with young kids. Figure when it’s time to hang up my skates, somewhere way, way down the road, I’ll see about volunteering to coach my own Pee Wee team.”
“That’s sweet,” McKenna said. “I’m totally including that future goal in one of my posts about today.”
Tank tapped McKenna on the nose, enjoying the way that silly touch always made her blush. Rising from the bench, he faced the kids and gestured toward the ice. “Who’s ready to tear this thing up?”
