Yes, they’re grown men. And yes, there are worse things in the world than losing a hockey game. But I can see and feel how disappointed they are with themselves and their performance tonight.
I know from the short time we’ve spent with Grant that this is much more than just a game to these guys. It’s the sport they’ve dedicated their lives to perfecting, and it’s a big responsibility to get out in front of tens of thousands of people every week and keep them entertained.
Grant is one of the last ones to come through the door, showered and dressed in his perfectly tailored post-game suit. It’s impossible not to notice the crisp lines and the way the material clings to his shoulders, arms, and thighs.
I have to stop myself from checking him out, though, because that’s definitely not what he needs from me right now.
A few people stop him to pat him on the back or tell him what a good game it was as he makes his way over to us, but he barely acknowledges them aside from a grunt of thanks or the barest head nod.
I offer a tentative smile once he’s within talking distance. “Hey. You played well out there.”
“We still lost.”
There’s no inflection in his tone. No emotion behind his voice. Just a blunt statement of fact that I can’t deny.
I can still show him my support, though, just like Margo said to do.
“You all played your asses off and you were up against a really good team. I know everyone around us enjoyed every minute of the game, and a good chunk of that enjoyment came from watching you make some incredible saves.”
“Yeah,” April nods next to me. “The score would’ve been a lot different if you hadn’t been there.”
He gives her a hint of a smile, but he’s obviously not interested in being consoled. “I should’ve had that last goal. The angle was perfect. I just second-guessed myself at the last second and didn’t lean in enough.”
“But the redirect happened so fast, and?—”
“I know,” he says, cutting her off before she can mount a full-throated argument for why he’s still the best goalie in the league. “I should’ve handled it differently, though. That’s what I get paid to do.”
His tone is gentle with April, but it’s obvious that he’s already replayed those last few seconds a hundred times in his head.
The fact that he’s willing to shoulder the blame for the whole team’s loss is probably exactly the kind of thing that makes him such a good goalie. It’s also clearly making him miserable, though, and there’s zero chance that he leaves all that self-doubt, blame, and bruised ego behind when we leave here tonight.
I don’t quite know what to say, but I know he’s not looking for condolences. So I try something different.
“You know, this reminds me of the time I accidentally dropped April off for summer camp two weeks early, and then couldn’t figure out why nobody else was on time to drop their kids off that day.”
He blinks and looks at me like I’ve just started speaking in a different language. “What?”
“I spent twenty minutes arguing with the camp counselors about how they were obviously disorganized and unprepared before I realized I was the one who misread the calendar.” I stop and smile at the memory, even though it was beyond mortifying at the time. “April was standing there in her cute little camp outfit, watching her mother make a complete fool of herself in front of a bunch of strangers.”
“Mom,” she groans like I’m embarrassing her all over again. “We promised not to talk about that day ever again.”
We did make that promise, but desperate times call for desperate measures.
“I thought I was the worst parent in the history of parenthood. I was convinced that this one mistake was going to traumatize my daughter for life and that everyone at the camp would remember me as the crazy mom who couldn’t read a calendar.”
He snorts, but doesn’t quite smile, so I keep going.
“But those two weeks came and went, and you know what happened? I got the dates right, April had an amazing time at camp, and most of the other parents never even found out about my embarrassing screw-up. So if I can come back from that kind of humiliation, you can come back from one goal that ninety-nine percent of goalies wouldn’t have been able to save.”
For a moment, he just stares at me with his mouth slightly hanging open. Then what starts as a hint of a smile turns into a real, genuine laugh that comes from deep in his belly and is so contagious that I start laughing along with him.
“Did you really argue with the counselors?”
I nod. “For twenty minutes. I was so sure they were wrong that I made them show me their copies of the paperwork.” I pause as I relive the cringe-worthy moment. “And their calendar.”
He lets out another belly laugh that almost makes him double over. I know for sure I’m blushing like crazy, but I’m still laughing so hard that tears are forming in the corners of my eyes. Even April, who started out so annoyed that I even mentioned the summer camp incident, has collapsed against my side in a fit of giggles.
“What’s that weird noise?”
