“Not nervous. I’ve played playoff games before.”
“Yeah, but one more game and we’re in the conference finals.”
“Again, been here before.”
We were two up in the series and heading to LA for Games 3 and 4. Sure, I was excited about the prospect of being one round closer to the Finals, but I was more excited about something else.
Win the next two on the road, and I would have five days before the conference finals began. Five days to rest my body and head out to Boston to see Franky. Sure, she’d be back in Chicago in less than a month, but I didn’t want to wait. I needed to see her and Super Kid.
I cast a quick glance over my shoulder to the row behind me. “Still not sure why you’re on this plane, Connie.”
“Because Auntie Harper adores me. Rebels Air, man. Free travel for life.”
Despite Conor’s best efforts, the Detroit Motors had not qualified for the playoffs. He’d played like a demon. The team? Not so much. Now, he had decided to tag along, though I was pretty sure there was some liability issue with letting him fly with us.
The kid poked his head through the seats, which I (a) appreciated so I didn’t have to get a crick in my neck, but (b) wished he hadn’t bothered because he was about to annoy the fuck out of me.
“So when are you going to make an honest woman out of Franky?”
Hatch shook his head. “Conor Kershaw, whose filter between brain and mouth is permanently broken.”
“It’s not that kind of relationship.”
“Yeah, but … why not?”
It was a valid question. Rarely a day went by without a check-in by text or video call. When I couldn’t talk to her, I peppered my brother and Melissa with questions about how she was, what she was eating, and whether she had mentioned me. (Not so much that last one, but I lived in hope that he might help a brother out.) We were the perfect example of cooperative co-parents and good friends.
She was the first person I thought of when I woke up and the last person to fill my brain as I lay my head on my pillow—or took a little recreational time with my right hand. I didn’t think I was cut out for marriage or a love partnership, but we had this amazing thing, didn’t we? A baby on the way, mutual respect, blistering sexual attraction, and neither of us wanting to lose our independence. It might not be the perfect bond I saw with my brothers and their partners, but did it have to be?
“I don’t really have time to think of anything but hockey right now, Connie.”
My nephew smiled at me. “Don’t think it’s hockey on your mind.”
LA came out hard. They had to win one of these two games to stay in the running, though I didn’t reckon with their chances if we left with at least one win and they had to recover in Chicago.
But I was determined not to even give them that shot. All I could think of was getting to Boston to see Franky. Every blocked shot kept the enemy at bay. Every scream to my teammates to scramble, defend, push, break away, just do this thing, was done at the top of my lungs. From some deep part of me, I found untold reserves of strength. If I could do this, I got the prize of seeing her.
We won the first game, 4-2.
The younglings couldn’t believe we were 3-zip up in the series. The old guard—Nyquist and me, basically—had to put our skated boots down to ensure they limited the celebration to the hotel bar. One year, I came this close and ended up in a brawl with a Seattle fan that almost took me out of the next game. No way was I risking anything that might interfere with Game 4, the day after tomorrow.
“One round of drinks,” Nyquist said, using his captain’s voice, with a quick glance at me for backup. I gave a curt nod of agreement.
“Only one?” Conor said.
“You’re not even on this fucking team,” I snapped at him.
Hatch winked at his brother. “You can have two, bro. Some of us still have a series to win.”
As NoBo got the drinks in—“beers only!”—I checked my phone, scrolling through the multiple messages of congrats and well wishes until I found the one I was looking for.
Nice work in that first period, Daddio. Super Kid kicked every time you blocked a shot.
Or maybe it was indigestion.
No way. I had no doubt my child knew exactly how hard I was fighting to come see her and her mom. I wanted to talk to Franky. Maybe throw out some feelers about how she saw things between us in the future. I wasn’t even sure I wanted to stay for one round in this bar, not when the alternative was a moment celebrating with her.
“Back in a second,” I murmured to whoever was standing closest, and I moved off to look for a quiet spot. Near the short side of the L-shaped bar would work, but as I moved that way, someone stepped into my path.
