Jax places his hand on my cheek, an intimate gesture that makes me smile.
“How about we take things one day at a time? I’m really attracted to you and I value our friendship. I can talk to you and I don’t want to lose that. Plus, we both have a lot going on career-wise right now. Me with figuring out my future in or out of hockey, and you with a huge opportunity coming your way.”
“That sounds good to me. Meanwhile, how about a beer?”
CHAPTER 9
Jax – Transitions
“Hear me out, man. From what I’ve seen over the last few weeks, you’re a natural coach and mentor. Something I’ve wanted to do for a while to give back to the community is to develop a youth hockey team. And we need an official team ambassador. Someone to represent us at key events and liaison with the community. I think you’re a perfect fit for both.” Trevor is doing his best to convince me to take on a non-playing role with the team.
The role of ambassador does not sound like anything I want to do. I hate talking to the press and it sounds like that’s an integral part of the job. Not my idea of fun. No doubt, the look on my face states my case. And it’s as if he read my mind about the press aspect.
“It’s not like you’ll be the team spokesperson. We’ve got PR people for that. The ambassador’s role is to interact with kids and community organizations. Just be your charming self. It’sa great way to transition into retirement, but still keep you connected to hockey.”
“I’ll think about it,” I reply in order to get him to stop talking. I’m not in the right headspace to think about all that right now. It’s tough not being able to play, although I’m proud of the way Cole has become more of a team player and is encouraging everyone to rally around the replacement Captain. If we win the next few games, we’ll be well-positioned for the playoffs.
I’m attending tonight’s game as a spectator for the first time. Even though I’m far above the action in the owners’ box, I find myself itching to coach the players and give my team mates advice.
Earlier, I toured the player tunnel installation with the rest of the team and management. Elise was in her element, showing off the design and answering questions. The more I interact with her, the more my attraction grows. She’s so different from the puck bunnies and West Palm society women with their fake nails, hair, and boobs. Elise is a natural beauty, genuine and down-to-earth, which I find incredibly sexy. At the same time, she’s comfortable in an environment like that charity event we attended a while back. Her classic, understated look was more appealing to me than any of the supermodels or socialites in designer gowns and jewels.
Speaking of Elise, she just entered the suite, still glowing from the accolades during the private tour earlier. She’s wearing my jersey again tonight, and when I see her in it, I feel pride, like a high school kid whose girl is wearing his class ring. Shortly after she sits down beside me in the seats overlooking the rink, Cole drives the puck into the net and the siren blares in celebration. Elise jumps up from her seat cheering, then wraps her arms around me in a hug. I’m having more fun watching her get into the spirit of the game than if I had scored the goal myself. For the first time ever, I’m seeing the game throughsomeone else’s eyes, reminding me that there can be pleasure in hockey even if I’m not actually on the ice myself.
After the game, Elise and I take a walk through the tunnel display again, filled with hockey fans, local dignitaries, and the media. I’m so proud of her as I note all the smiles and comments from observers marveling at the integrated artwork. Tuning everyone else out, it feels like it’s just her and I walking along. I know I can confide in her about my fear of change and my hopes and plans for the future.
“Trevor has made me an intriguing offer. But I don’t know if I can handle it, being around hockey, but not actually playing. I’ve never done anything else.”
“I know how you feel about fear of facing the unknown. I’m excited about the potential opportunity in Canada, but being in another country where I don’t know anyone? And I worry about not measuring up to expectations. Am I good enough? Is my art good enough? Will I be successful? Will this secure my future? So many questions.”
As she’s speaking, her hand brushes mine. It feels natural to intertwine our fingers. Our hands seem to know one another instinctively, acknowledging the growing connection between us, despite our uncertain futures, possibly in two vastly separate places.
As the arena begins to empty out and shut down for the night, I’m reluctant for our connection to end.
“Will you have dinner with me tomorrow night?”
“Yes.”
“How about coming to my condo? It’s a secure building, so hopefully no photographers will be lurking around,” I say with a wry smile.
The next evening when Elise arrives, I look around, trying to visualize my minimalist space through her eyes, noting the sharp contrast with her cozy, eclectic home. The key word beinghome.She has a home, a space that reflects her personality. I have a million-dollar storage unit with amenities where I lay my head down whenever I’m not traveling for hockey.
As I’m pouring Elise a glass of wine, I get a text alerting me to a visitor.
“That must be our dinner. I ordered from the Golden Palm.”
I grab my wallet in order to tip the delivery person and open the door wide.
“Mom! I wasn’t expecting you tonight.”
My mother has been hovering over me since my surgery, trying to do everything for me. Even though I really don’t need her help, I humor her because I know she loves me and wants to take care of me.
“Hi, honey. I forgot my key. And I figured you need to eat.”
She steps across the threshold, then stops when she sees that I’m not alone.
“Mom, this is my friend Elise Kinney. Elise, my mother, Diane.”
My mother walks over to Elise and embraces her in a warm motherly hug. “Nice to meet you, Elise.”
