Not before I’ve had a chance to tell M.
Which technicallywason the agenda pre-footwear freak out.
And there wasn’t really timepost.
I had patients to see and time-off requests to approve of and gear to inspect and a hot homemade meal to get to.
Gahhhh, I love that Jukes cooks.
I love even more that he insists on doing it.
Sadly, I’m already seeing many takeout meals in me and Bronny’s future when he’s unavailable.
Imayattempt some of the easier meals suggested by the team chef, but we’ll see.
“Okay,” I shrug, indifference purposely kept in my tone. “Don’t wear them.”
His brow immediately crunches in confusion. “Huh?”
“You’re sixteen, Bronny. It’s not my job to police your wardrobe.”
Additional bafflement raises his voice in pitch. “It isn’t?!”
“Nope.”
Another shock filled expression is flashed.
“My job is toparentyou. To provide theassistand at times playcaptainto guide you into being the least shitty human you can possibly be.”
He stares on in continued bewilderment.
“Wear what you wanna wear. Your body. Your choice. Your nuts to freeze off if you show up in in shorts, flip flops, and a tank.” I turn to begin my descent of the stairs, yet stop to face him again after only going down two. “Do you know why they pick one thing for us all to wear for the season opener?”
“Tradition?”
“Yes, but do you know likewhyit’s a tradition?Whyit started?Whywe keep it?”
Bronny slowly shakes his head.
“Not everyone has family that can come see them play or cheer them on or be there for themphysically. Some don’t even have families that can afford towatchthe game – assuming it’s being broadcast where they’re located.” My fingers lightly drum the railing. “You know some of the boys don’t actually get to see their families or their loved ones for more than like three weeks a year?”
“No-huh…”
It’s my turn to gradually nod. “Depending on how everything goes, the schedule for training through post regulation season vastly varies and if you factor in play-offs, potential injuries – some of which require surgeryandrehab – charity events, social events, andtrades,three weeks can easily becomeone.”
Empathy noticeably floods his face.
“We all wearonething in a show of solidarity. Support.” Pride pushes my shoulders back. Tips my chin. “We wear it so each of the boysknowsthat while they may not have other family that can reach them, they haveus.That we’re there not just for whoever we’ve slayed but for them too. That while they are the team we needonthe ice, we are the one they can count onoffit.”
The tiniest crack of his jaw lets me know the information has sunk in.
“Like I said…” this shrug is less innocent than I’m trying to let on, “wear whatever you want. Boots. Kicks. Flops. Choice is yours.” Our stares stay latched onto one another’s. “You’ve got six minutes to gettothe car, or you’ll be taking the bus.”
“You wouldn’t make me take the bus.”
An impish eyebrow lift is all he’s given.
“Th-Th-Thayne…wouldn’t…let ya…”
