“Smart.”
Feeling awkward, I ask, “So, what would you say if I decided to come to Bing for a few weeks?”
He doesn’t skip a beat when he asks, “Too afraid to go home?”
I laugh. “Not afraid, more not in the mood.”
“Yeah, I would avoid that lecture train for as long as I could.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Are you asking if you can stay at my house? Because I’m on the hunt for a girl, and I don’t want you stealing her away with your brawny athletic body and good looks. It would actually be detrimental to have you around.”
Racer is such a nitwit.
“I was going to ask Mr. Lockwood if I could stay at his place for a few weeks; he’s offered it up before.”
“You fucker. Of course he would offer up his house to you. Let me guess, you leave a few signed hockey sticks around the house and call it even?”
Pretty much.
Racer and I both had Mr. Lockwood as a teacher in high school. He lives on a hill in a little cottage that overlooks the area. He’s retired now and spends his summers in the Adirondacks, leaving his cottage up for grabs for any of his friends or former students.
“If I leave a signed jersey for the man, that’s between me and him.”
“Such bullshit.” He huffs and says, “So you’re coming to Bing, huh?”
“I think I need to.”
“Then let me throw together a welcome home party, but you’re paying for it.”
I roll my eyes. Of course I am, the cheap fuck.
Chapter Two
HAYDEN
Ring. Ring.
“It’s about time you gave me a call.”
After settling into Mr. Lockwood’s cottage, organizing my clothes, putting away food I picked up from Price Chopper, and popping open a much-needed beer, I decided to finally call my dad.
“Sorry about the wait, Dad. I needed some time to cool down.”
“I can understand that. So what happened, kiddo?”
Kiddo. I’m twenty-three with a year of professional hockey under my belt, and yet my dad still calls me kiddo. Oddly, it soothes me.
“This is going to sound really immature, but . . . he kept slashing me, Dad.”
He chuckles. “Yes, it was quite clear Miller was taking cheap shots, but that doesn’t mean you can lose your temper. I taught you better than that.”
And he did.
React on the ice with skill not fists. It was ingrained in me from the very beginning, when I would spend countless hours in the driveway with my dad bundled up in pillows, acting as a goalie. He was larger than life in that goal, difficult to get anything past him. But he tested me, pushed me, encouraged me. Memories I’ll always hold close to my heart.
“I know, Dad.” I exhale and lean back into Mr. Lockwood’s brown leather couch. “I’m sorry.” It feels weird to apologize, but I know I let him down, not because we lost the game, ending our playoff run, but because I embarrassed him.
