Pack? He hasn’t called me that since…
I was ready to call bullshit until I realized the smile was real. Except for the press conference, he hadn’t smiled at me like that for seven years.
“You’re right.” I clapped him on the shoulder. “Let’s try to have fun.”
The kids filed in, and after the teachers wrangled them into seats, the principal introduced us. The kids clapped and cheered like we were movie stars. I caught Nico’s eye, and we shared a smile.
When the noise settled, he held out a hand, telling me to go first.
“Hi,” I said into the mic. The kids erupted again, so loud I had to wait before going on. “I’m Packy. I play for the Buffalo Warriors.”
I nodded at Nico, and he leaned in beside me. “I’m Nico, and I play for the New York Condors.”
More cheering.
We asked who’d seen a hockey game, and about a quarter of the hands shot up. Before we could explain anything, a girl near the front asked us to do exactly that.
After we covered the basics, Nico said, “Talking only goes so far. Want to see a demo?”
That got the loudest cheer yet.
I winked at him. “Why don’t you demonstrate while I talk?”
He grinned and played it up for the room. “My buddy Packy always wants to do the talking.”
I leaned in to the mic for a stage whisper. “Don’t tell him I’m letting him skate because he suc— er, is bad at talking.”
The kids laughed, and Nico cupped a hand beside his mouth. “Got him fooled. I’d rather skate than talk any day.”
He demonstrated stick handling first, then waved me over for a one-on-one. Because hockey players can’t help themselves, we were competitive from the start. I went at him fast, and he deked left and stole the puck. The kids screamed. I made a quick turn and checked him with my shoulder, just hard enough to throw him off. Once we got into it, we forgot the audience and played hard. Goddamn, it was fun. We were all precision and speed, trading the lead back and forth. I’d forgotten how good it was to play with him, the good times we used to have.
Nico won by a point, and the kids blew the roof off the place, chanting both our names.
I leaned close to Nico’s ear. “Ready for them to play? We’ll let them try stickhandling around the cones, then passing and shooting.”
Nico smirked. “Tell them not to shoot too hard. We don’t want to be responsible for denting the principal.”
It took a while to get everyone through forehand and backhand passes, and then wrist shots.
“Should we show them how to do a slapshot?” I asked.
Nico grinned like a third grader. “I’d say yes, but remember, no dents.”
“Shame,” I said. “I always wanted to dentmyprincipal.”
His breath was warm on my neck when he whispered, “Pretty sure I did once. She was a fucking trip.”
We laughed so hard people turned to stare. One of the teachers wandered over, shaking her head. “I should be scowling because we’ll never calm them down, but this looks fun. May I try?”
A few other teachers joined in, and the kids loved watching them embarrass themselves. When we moved on to Q and A, everyone was still grinning.
The next fifteen minutes were the best kind of chaos.
“Do you ever fight?” a kid asked.
“Only when he’s wrong,” I said.
“So, every day,” Nico deadpanned.
