“Hmm, probably before Dad’s time, but I guess he can’t be too bad if he was a Wolf,” the petite blonde concedes.
I’m intrigued. “I’m going to assume your father played for the Wolves as well?”
“Oh yeah, the last eight years of his career. Retired a few years ago. Probably would’ve played longer, but he injured his groin, and there was no coming back from it, unfortunately.” The name Marks rings a bell.
“Marks? Johann Marks?” Now I remember. Marks was a well-respected and talented Swedish goalie. He was at the height of his career when he was injured. It was an accident—a player from the other team lost an edge after a breakaway. Marks had his left leg out in a butterfly and was trying to grab the puck with his glove. The forward who shot the puck was unable to stop and slammed into his leg. Hit him right above his leg pads. I’ve seen the replays, and I wince with empathy every time. His groin and his knee were never the same, even after tons of rehab. It’s a hazard every player lives with, but to have it happen to someone so talented and at the peak of his career was tough to watch. Every player knows that it could be any one of us someday. Damn shame.
“Yup, that’s Dad,” she chirps.
“I never met him outside of hockey, but I played against him a number of times. He was a beast in net, always hard to score against.”
“Yeah, Dad’s a warrior for sure. He was pissed when he had to retire, but Mom loves having him home. He loves her, so he got over it after a while, but it took a bit. Now they just travel and enjoy life. They’re over in Sweden right now, visiting family for a month. Summer’s an excellent time for traveling in Europe,” Astrid tells us, and it’s easy to tell she’s happy for her parents. Hell, I’m thrilled for him.
“Oh, I love that they’re off enjoying themselves,” Joslyn says with a fond smile. “I remember your mom had a whole retirement plan for them. I knew she wouldn’t let him stew about his injuries for too long. How’s his knee doing?”
“Despite not being able to play hockey professionally anymore, he’s still as active as ever, if not more so now. He’s doing all the things he couldn’t do when he was under contract and loving it. They’ll be back for ski season, so don’t worry, Jos. I’m sure they’ll call you for dinner at some point. Dad tried snowboarding last year and can’t get enough now. It’s hilarious.”
She shows us a picture of Johann and his wife snowboarding. He’s proudly showcasing a ridiculous chicken hat, and the two of them are laughing like kids. It warms my heart because retirement can be a challenge for some guys, especially after an injury. It’s terrific to see a success story.
“Alright, enough chit-chat. What would you like to eat, you two? As you can see, it’s pretty busy here, but I can probably squeeze you in.”
She gives us a roguish look as she winks, then points to the menu.
“My burger is the house special. We grind our own meat, all organic and grass-fed. The patty’s a combo of buffalo and beef. I just finished cutting up some potatoes so I can pair them with some fries. How about it, big guy?” She looks at me with clear expectations.
I’m starving, and a nice juicy burger would hit the spot, so I give her the go-ahead. Joslyn orders the same with a glass of red wine. I stick with water, as usual, and we settle in to wait for the food to be ready.
We spend the next few hours talking about hockey, the team, and the upcoming season. Then, we talk about our kids and being parents. It’s late by the time we decide to head out. We completely lost track of time, and Astrid practically had to throw us out the door. I didn’t care one bit. It was the best damn time I’ve had with a woman in years, maybe ever. The moreI get to know her, the more I realize Jonesy is right - I am fucked. Because she just keeps getting better and better.
Chapter Ten
Joslyn
My office phone rings and I answer it without looking up. I’m deep into this financial data.
“Hey, Mom.”
“Hey, Basty Bear! How’s my favorite hockey player?” I’m overjoyed to hear my son’s voice. The older he gets, the less frequent our communication. I understand, but I don’t love it.
My twenty-two-year-old son, Sebastian Robertson, plays for the Philadelphia Panthers. They drafted him three years ago during his sophomore year at Boston University, and he was thrilled. He has a three-year contract with them, and it expires next year. While I would love for him to play for Colorado, I haven’t brought it up because he thinks it would look like nepotism. It doesn’t matter to me—being the owner, I can choose to overlook it—but it would be more complicated for him. I don’t want to put him in a difficult position with his teammates. I, personally, would love nothing more than to have both of my children in the same state.
“Hey, Mom. I’m great. You know that nickname’s a little outdated,” he teases, but I can hear the smile in his voice. He pretends to hate it, but I know it still makes him smile.
“It will never be outdated to me, hon.”
“Sadly,” he replies, and I hear a deep masculine chuckle in the background.
“How’s Philly? Are you coming home to visit? I was hoping to see you at least once this summer.”
“Not sure I’ll make it, at least not this month. I’ve been in Ontario for a month working with Nathanial Tripp. He’s agreed to train a few of us this summer, and you know I can’t pass that up.”
“Wow, honey, what an exciting opportunity. I understand. Jesus, that man is a legend. How did this come about?”
Nathanial Tripp is a Hall of Famer who played for the Pittsburgh Pythons about twenty years ago. He’s considered one of the best, if notthebest, centers in NHL history, and he’s got the stats to prove it. Under his tenure, the Pythons won the Cup a record three times. He’s a down-to-earth kind of guy, which is such a hockey thing. The humility and teamwork they’re taught even from a young age is one of my favorite things about the game.
“He played with Pop Pop,” my son says quietly.
“Oh,” I answer softly, my eyes welling up.
